Hello! - this is your trigger warning for the entire blog!
If you have a few seconds - Hi!
This is a side blog dedicated to the so-called whump: fictional stories or fanfiction that feature a character that's placed in a compromising position, often resulting in need of care. For those who don't know, such stories can get quite dark, ranging from a character simply coming down with a cold, to extremely graphic descriptions of abuse and torture.
Most of the stuff posted here WILL BE SICKFIC STUFF, BUT....
OCCASIONALLY, THIS BLOG MAY FEATURE ELEMENTS OF VIOLENT WHUMP, INCLUDING WRITTEN (BUT NOT VISUAL, NOR AUDITORY) DEPICTIONS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL AND PHYSICAL TORTURE, MUTILATION, ABUSE, SELF-INFLICTED HARM, AFTERMATH OF PHYSICAL AND MENTAL DISORDERS, IMPLIED NONCON AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE. If you are sensitive to any topic of those described, please turn back now.
I don't care much about pet whump or BBU stuff though I may occasionally reblog such content.
In addition, I DO NOT condone real-life acts that depict any type of abuse, violence and coercion that whump usually engages with.
This blog will NOT feature intentional kink content.
I have a main blog dedicated to fanfiction and writing that I want to keep relatively wholesome and free of NSFW concepts and darker content. As the time went on, however, I got more and more into whump, and instead of sprinkling my main blog with it, I decided to make a side blog dedicated to whump! Here, I'll reblog or post my own whump prompts, ideas and things I'd like to see in fanfiction.
P.S: a lot of the stuff I post is often done either with my favorite fictional characters OR my own OCs in mind.
P.S 2: I still prefer using A, B and C over Whumpee, Whumper and Caretaker, am I a poser
Anon asked: Do you have any ideas for a defiant whumpee interacting with an obedient/broken whumpee?
Broken whumpee: A
Defiant whumpee: B
“Come on, A, don’t you want to get out of here?”
“B, if you stop fighting they’ll stop hurting you so bad.”
“It’s not so bad, B… sometimes they bring soup and fresh bread.”
One day, A can’t stand to see B get themselves hurt any longer so A sacrifices themselves to the torture.
“You shouldn’t let them hurt you like that A.” B huffs, slapping a large bandaid over one of A’s deeper cuts, the two hadn’t been given much to patch themselves up, so B was being sparing and haphazard in their care. “You should have fought back.”
“If I fought back, then they would have just hit harder. As long as I don’t reveal any information, and adhere to their rules then I’ll be fine.”
One whump trope I love is when a whumpee comes back to work too soon following an injury.
The whumpee walks in the door and everyone is just like woah woah woah what are you doing back here? The constant side eye and concerned glances from all of their co-workers. The whumpee struggling to hide winces and cringes, their stiff movements betraying just how much pain they’re in, taking any chance they can get to support their weight on a counter or wall or what have you. They end up absolutely exhausted by the end of the day.
if you're ever writing something that you have committed to not sharing but a little voice tells you to post snippets of it that would be 'safe' to show........that's the devil talking. and he's very persuasive
Whumpee deliberately puts themselves in situations that make them relive bits and pieces of their trauma again and again. They know it’s irrational, but they miss an aspect of it that they perceived as positive – maybe their own strength and endurance, or maybe the silence that came after the storm was over. Their brain had blocked out the pain of the violence they’d been subjected to, but at the expense of their self-preservation instinct – and so they indulge in their past conviction and the rage and fear that kept them alive. They hate how helpless they felt once they got the help they truly needed, because from their perspective, their situation was bad, but “it could have been worse, right?”
The people in their primary support system are on edge. Some of them held Whumpee through their nightmares, others lost time, sleep and resources to ensure Whumpee’s safety, some had to reiterate the extent of the damage over and over to various actors when Whumpee couldn’t do it themselves... They all know recovery isn’t linear, but they were also hoping Whumpee was getting better. Nobody is addressing the elephant in the room, because everybody is tired and silently hoping that someone else will take the initiative to bring it up.
Hello! Uh, I have a character who's kind of co-dependent on their partner but, I'm not sure how to show it in my writing. Do you have any suggestions for signs of co-dependency?
Hi :)
Signs of Co-dependency
always waiting for the other person before doing anything
not recognizing each other's boundaries and not enforcing boundaries
having low self-esteem
feeling the need to be of service to the other person
struggling with their self-image and self-worth
making excuses for their partner
being self-sacrificing
needing their partner's approval
avoiding conflict, taking on blame
failing at proper communication
minimizing or ignoring their own wants
doing things to make their partner happy
asking for permission
fear of rejection or abandonment
guilt over doing something "selfish" (for themself)
Thinking of Whumpees who are generally quiet, minimalistic in terms of speech and expression, non-disruptive, almost invisible - until they get into a dangerous situation.
Surrounded by a group of dangerous people, they suddenly can't stop talking, blabbering, spewing out a non-sensical string of words barely akin to bargaining, a thinly disguised plead. A nervous laughter that their enemies can only perceive as utterly obnoxious follows their every sentence, a futile attempt to mask their primal fear for their own life.
It's the only thing that keeps them grounded, but it only makes things worse for them. Maybe they can defend themselves - but it seems like they've forgotten how to find the perfect moment to fight back.
And their pathetic attempts at bargaining are not working on their enemies.
Maybe a fist connects with the bottom of their jaw, or the side of their face, or their stomach, just to get them to shut up. Maybe their fight-or-flight instinct finally kicks in favour of fighting back, and they spring into action, though incapacitated.
Either way, they hate the babbling mess they become when under pressure. It's the antithesis of everything they are, and everything they perceive themselves to be - and as much as they don't want to admit it, they know that one day, this uncontrollable trait of theirs might be just the first step of their ultimate downfall.
"I'm fine! I'm fine... just a bit stunned." Teammate A exclaims in the most reassuring tone they can evoke to their teammates after getting a hard hit on the head that could have knocked them out, had it hit the right spot.
Everyone else looks at them in concern for a few seconds. Maybe one team member notices how their eyes seem unfocused, another one behind them sees how they're clutching the injured spot in an attempt to soothe it, maybe someone else is contemplating pulling A to the side and letting them sit for a bit before they move on.
But there's no time to panic and register the damage, and they all keep going anyway. It’s not that anybody wants to aggravate A’s condition, it’s just that the team has more pressing matters on hand, and nobody can rest until the job is finished.
*The antagonist is referred to as Stalker rather than Whumper.
.....................
7:25 PM
The lights seemed too bright and too dim at the same time.
Too dim to see what was right in front of them, yet bright enough to illuminate a figure, a stance, a posture and a face that Whumpee could only wish that they'd never see again.
A wave of nausea overwhelmed them as they froze in their place, not even realizing that for a few seconds, their inactivity had attracted the audience's attention. The thumping in their ears almost drowned out the muffled whispers that seemed to crawl towards them from all directions, plunging them into a world of blur and white noise.
The only one engulfed by clarity was the uninvited guest in the audience, their gaze locking directly with their person of interest.
Whumpee could have sworn that the stranger smiled before a yell grounded them back to reality.
...
Half an hour later, all Whumpee could remember was the ugly grackle that pulled them out of their trance - the rest of their ordeal went on in a blurry autopilot, each movement nothing but muscle memory, each step a blind reflex. They could no longer register the reactions of others, letting it all pass behind them like too-colorful, muted advertisements for abstract objects they never knew even existed.
It was intermission time, and they had left the stage as soon as their mind could comprehend that they were granted a small break to collect their thoughts - and yet all they could envision was the cold, expressionless face that they had been spotting everywhere for weeks.
It was now official. The last bit of privacy they had was infiltrated by the human plague that inserted themselves in every other aspect of their life; always watching and leaving messages, never making a sound.
Shuddering at the memories of late-night encounters of Stalker loitering right across the street, Whumpee crossed their arms and kept their head down as they trawled towards the bathrooms on the second floor of the building. They could use the bathrooms inside the locker rooms, but all they wanted was a moment away from everyone else, a moment of peace, silence and solitude - gifts of life they were no longer granted.
Their limbs ached as they passed through the quiet, seemingly endless corridor and they blinked continuously to relieve their eyes from the burn that aggravated their headache. If they didn't know any better, they could have sworn that the white noise from the luminescent lights was whispering to them.
It took longer than it should have for them to notice the pair of shoes right as they turned the corner and they looked up, startled.
Stalker stood right underneath the ceiling lamp as if guarding the public bathroom - unmoving, acting unassuming, ever so quietly staring. There was a malicious gleam in their eyes that Whumpee had never noticed before, rarely finding themselves so close to the stranger that never stopped following them around.
And then that stranger took a step forward, expression still unchanging. And another one, and a third.
Whumpee hadn't even realized they had stepped backwards too, their survival instincts screaming at them to flee the scene immediately. The tension was suffocating, and they prepared themselves to bolt, feeling all their muscles clench in preparation, even as a blurry motion entered their peripheral vision.
"Hey, Whumpee!"
They flinched as the sound of their name tore the silence, echoing in the hallway, as if a choir was pulling them back into reality.
Rival suddenly emerged from behind the corner, right from the hallway Whumpee had come from, and stood by their side the moment they made their presence known. They bit their lips and gave Stalker a cordial, almost casual wave - one that Stalker had the audacity to return nonchalantly.
Whumpee all but cursed under their breath.
"What, did you get lost?" Rival then returned their attention to their opponent.
"No."
"No, huh? And who's gonna clean up that nasty mess of yours in the locker room?" Rival crossed their arms.
Something heavy settled in Whumpee's chest.
"Excuse me?"
"You're not excused. Nobody else here drinks those rank 'medicinal' energy drinks that you always carry around. Pretty sure that spill came from you."
Under normal circumstances, Whumpee would have loved to take the bait and show that they could, in fact, defend themselves, albeit in a lot less brash and more diplomatic way. But in this instance, they truly needed this empty accusation, even if it tore apart their pride and dignity.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but whatever. Show me." They did their best to keep their voice unwavering in the face of danger, finally gathering the strength to turn their back on their stalker.
The presence that followed them by their side - the one that kept turning their head to make sure that the intimidating figure wasn't following them - had never felt so grounding.
And yet, they still couldn't fill their lungs, no matter how many shallow breaths they took with each step.
Thankfully, the locker room wasn't nearly as full as they expected it to be.
They were safe.
"Hey, Whumpee. Do you know that, uh, person?" Rival muttered out once the two entered and stood in a corner near the exit.
The heavy pit of anxiety that had accumulated in their chest traveled up their throat, forming a lump that threatened to spill out into hundreds of words and bottled up feelings, all neatly packed into stories and instances of stolen privacy and constant observation, each sealed with a shaky sigh and a pleading for help, one that didn't work for the police.
Do I know him? DO I KNOW THIS FUCKER? How could I NOT know him? He is everywhere, he's outside my house, he's always two bus seats behind me, always lurking and watching, always a step ahead and I can't deal with this anymore I don't want to...
But the only thing they could manage to provide was silence.
Silence that Rival didn't seem content with.
"Uh, sorry for the scene back there. There's no spill here, I, uh... I needed to make a distraction."
"Yeah, thank you." Whumpee eyed the bathroom stalls.
"Listen, I, uh... I dunno how to..." Rival suddenly stumbled in their words, gaze unusually avoidant. "Whatever, I'll just say it. A few weeks ago, I saw this guy hang around the building when I was leaving and didn't really think much of it. I had to wait for my ride for a bit, and I saw that he left right when you exited, and pretty much trailed you until you turned the corner. Didn't think much of it, 'cause y'know, coincidences are a thing. But then the same thing kept happening and it didn't sit right with me somehow, and now... what was he doing there?"
Someone had noticed. Someone reached out to wipe away at the painted facade, even if it was the person that they expected the least.
No. No, no, no. Whumpee resisted the urge to shake their head. The more people they involved in this, the more they would regret it, they were sure of it. If the police did not want to help them, how could anyone else intervene and put themselves in harm's way, let alone someone whose much brighter future stood ahead of them?
"Hell if I know."
It's not that Whumpee didn't want to show gratitude - but they hoped that if they were dismissive towards Rival's concerns, maybe they'd be left alone. Rival had no patience for disrespect.
And as expected, the subtle sympathy and understanding that Rival had accumulated in their otherwise perpetually smug face seemed to wane and they placed their hands on their hips, annoyance creeping in their expression.
But it disappeared.
"Is that why you got all weird when you saw him in the audience?"
Rival summoned their confrontational side, and Whumpee felt their own anger redden their cheeks.
"You're delusional." They growled defensively. "It's none of your business."
"Fine. If you say so." A defeated response.
Feeling instant regret for their own animosity, Whumpee slumped their shoulders as they watched the only person who had shown concern for their well-being for the past few weeks leave the locker room, showing no regards for how the door slammed behind them. On the other side on the room, two people stared at the aftermath of the interaction with curious surprise, only to resume their quiet conversation as if nothing had happened.
Whumpee headed for one of the toilet stalls.
Sorry Rival, they thought to themselves as they entered and locked the door behind them, feeling a sudden wave of guilt, regret, fear and weakness overwhelm their entire being, their tear ducts stinging with pressure and their throat going dry with all the sighs they had to stifle to stop themselves from plummeting into a full-on breakdown.
The whumper had trusted and cared for the whumpee for a very long time, making sure to comfort and help them at every step of the way- which is why they saw red when the whumpee ended up being a traitor, they made sure to hurt the whumpee to make up for all the time the whumper had wasted on them.
Reluctant caretaker who’s only reluctant because whumpee and their ordeal is unearthing trauma caretaker has tried very hard to bury, and they're not ready or willing to deal with it.
any prompts for a whumpee who tends to suppress their negative emotions + act happy and pretend they're fine For The Sake Of Their Teammates, please?
Sure thing!
- Literally any of these dialogue options!
- Smiling until their cheeks hurt all day and then crying themself to sleep at night. Never bothering to wake anyone for comfort if they jolt awake from nightmares
- Forcing a smile even while they’re in excruciating pain. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m good,” they promise the medic. “Help the others first.”
- Their attempt to laugh off the others’ concern for them devolves into an ugly coughing fit that shows just how sick/injured they are
- Whumpee trying to assure them that they’re fine even as they’re literally collapsing to the ground, shaking and pale, and their teammates are swarming around them
- Forcing themself to have the strength to comfort one of the others who’s hurting – blinking back their tears and saying all of the comforting things they wish someone would say to them
- Even when they’re obviously injured, the team automatically assumes they’re okay to wait for treatment because that’s what they’ve always convinced them. The whumpee lets them think that, trying to struggle through it until they finally pass out from exhaustion
- The facade finally crumbling when they’re in the hospital with their closest friend at their side. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” they sob out. “I’m not fine, I’m not – I hate this, I’m sorry for being so weak, I don’t mean to, I tried so hard but I’m tired. I’m just so tired. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending.”
OMG omg is it too soon to ask for a part 2 to the last Drabble you wrote?? (Sibling caretaker and whumpee) the cliffhanger was crazy
LOL definitely not too soon friend. I wanted to write a second part anyway, but I wanted to make sure people liked the first part before I did. Enjoy! (Also I'm not good at tagging people but here @tettlod!)
Part 1
-----------*-***-*-----------
A New Pet Part 2
Whumper’s fingers twisted sweetly but securely into my hair as I clung to the trashcan pressed against my chest. Any stray strands were caught before they could drop into my face. “It’s alright, Caretaker, don’t try to fight it. I should have known this surprise would be too much. Trauma isn’t something to mess with. I’m sorry.”
Another wave of nausea rushed over me as I made eye contact with my younger sibling. Their eyes darted away from mine the instant they met, but not before I could see the recognition behind them.
“You kidnapped Whumpee.” My voice ground from my throat. All I could do was keep the disgust out of my tone. This was dangerous ground. The way Whumper’s fist tightened in my hair was evidence enough.
“I rescued them. Caretaker, Whumpee isn’t human anymore. Your parents took that from them. Do you think it was bad during your childhood?” Whumper released my hair, their hand dragged down my face instead and curled under my chin to force my gaze on them. “I asked them, Caretaker. I asked them what it was like after you left. Before I broke them of their bad habits, I needed to understand them. You taught me that.”
A shiver ran down my spine as Whumper shifted to sit on the floor beside me. Their chest pressed against my back, and one hand rubbed my still churning stomach. Their free hand dipped into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My lock screen was me and Whumper holding my two rescue cats. “A feral animal is only dangerous when it feels it is in danger. If an animal has been hurt by its owners, it will bite you when you try to show it love.
“When you left, your family hurt Whumpee. Look at the scars on their skin. There’s a surprising beauty in the savage pattern. I hope one day you’ll show me yours. They’re older and cleaner, aren’t they? Whumpee told me how the beatings changed. Rough, more often. They took away their food. Locked them in the tiny closet where I found them. They’re dead, by the way. Your parents? It was quick. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
The world around me spun as Whumper lifted me to my feet. “You don’t need to be afraid of Whumpee either. I can feel you shaking. It’s okay. I’m here. Their training isn’t fully complete yet, but I promise I would never put you in a situation where you were in danger. You mean too much to me.” Whumper’s steady support was the only thing keeping me upright as we walked to the elegant cage. “I was lost without you, Caretaker. Before I found you, my business was on the brink of failure. My old pet had to be put down, and the new one refused to take my training. The mansion was drowning in chaos, and the staff was uncoordinated.”
“I gave you advice.” The ringing in my ears was getting worse. “I taught you new consequences for your rescue pet’s bad behavior.”
“A breakthrough!” Whumper’s grip disappeared as they danced around me. The cage rang as I gripped it desperately, trying to stay upright. Whumper didn’t even notice as they ran their hands over a shelf of black boxes. “The other rehabilitators were shocked when I showed them what you taught me. Your technique is now used worldwide to help people with disobedient or stressed pets.”
My heart pounded in my chest. Whumper was insane. This was beyond just one kidnapping. I’ve been a personal assistant to a high-ranking member of a human trafficking ring. Not only that, my name had been spread worldwide.
Whumper wasn’t stupid. They might have been turning their back on me for a moment, but when I looked everywhere they moved, their eyes followed me in the reflections around the room. If they decided they didn’t like my response, I could be the next person in a cage. I had to keep them talking until I could compose myself. A whole childhood of hiding emotions and pain was about to come in handy. Add on the past years of practice I had managing people and learning to connect, and there was a chance both Whumpee and I could make it out of this alive.
“How did you find my parents? They were off the grid. I couldn’t even find them.” It wasn’t a strong start but, it was enough to get Whumper talking.
They rambled as I fully took in Whumpee’s state. Some of their wounds were open and bleeding lightly. They didn’t move except for a small shiver against the cold air in the room. If I didn’t know them, I would have said they were completely empty where they knelt. Dissociating or somehow absent from the terrible conversation surrounding them.
It was a lie. They were there. They were fighting.
I could see the tension leaving Whumper’s shoulders as they talked and moved around the clean, newly renovated basement, seemingly pleased with my continued questions. They gathered boxes onto a cart and set up a medical table in the corner of the room. It took them nearly 15 minutes before they seemed satisfied with their preparations and moved back to the cage.
The cage door opened. Whumper was cautious, failing to hide the knife in their hand as they allowed me to pass into the cage. “I meant it when I said I wanted us to train our new pet together. This is a new start for all of us, and there’s no one I trust more to handle this. Do you want to greet them?”
Silence but the sound of my footsteps took control of the room. As I walked into the cage, listening carefully for the sound of hinges closing behind me, Whumpee deepened their kneeling position until their head touched the floor, tilted slightly where their neck was exposed. A thin scar barely touching their neck and leading down their collarbones stole my breath away.
The scar was the sister to the one on my own shoulder. A three-year-old scar that reminded me every day of when I finally had enough. Father had been drunk. Mother was gone. Father threw his bottle at Whumpee, cutting them. I jumped between them. He didn’t like it. Whumpee simply stood there as he used the glass shards to carve deep into my shoulder. When he finished, Whumpee yelled at me for not stopping him before they got hurt. That it was my fault.
We argued. I left.
Now was my chance to make up for that. First, I had to buy myself time to prepare.
I didn’t have to make my voice cold as I spoke to Whumpee for the first time in three years. “Look at me.”
Whumpee didn’t move. My hand wrapped around the back of their neck, scruffing them like a cat as best I could while pressing my thumb into their matching scar. “I said, look at me.”
Their face stayed blank, but I could see hope build behind Whumpee’s eyes as they followed my order. They heard the truth in my words as I spoke, “You’re safe now, Whumpee. We’re going to take good care of you.” I would always take care of my sibling, and they knew it. It was just like before. Once I could take control, I would get them to safety, no matter the cost.
“Whumper,” I asked, “Those were medical supplies you were setting up, right? I hate to ask you to leave our new pet so soon, but I would appreciate it if I could have a moment alone with them. Would you help me get them on the table? I’ll be done by the time their wounds are bandaged.”
A grin broke out on Whumper’s face as they joined us in the cage. Whumpee tried to flinch away, but I kept my grip sturdy on their neck. I had to take control.
“You’re sure, Caretaker? This must be a lot for you at once. I don’t want you to overwhelm yourself. Some of their wounds are deep.” Whumper questioned as they helped me. They honestly seemed to be worried about my PTSD.
I pulled the neck of my shirt aside, showing Whumper the scar on my shoulder that now gave me courage. “I have plenty of experience caring for injuries. I need a moment to figure out what I want from our pet. I’m sure you have ideas, but I’m new to this. Some time to process would be great, and then we can start writing up a plan for the future.”
Whumpee whimpered as Whumper chained them to the medical table they had set up. A tear rolled down Whumper’s cheek as they looked down on my younger sibling. “You really are amazing, you know that Caretaker. To think, I was worried you would run from me.”
Blood smeared across my cheek as Whumper brushed my hair out of my face. They leaned in slowly and kissed my forehead. “I’ll be waiting for you upstairs. There are cameras in here. If you need anything, anything at all, just call. I’ll be here.” They walked away, closing and locking the door behind them.
the juxtaposition of being in a place so public and so private all at once; the only people who aren't transient are the staff, and staff can be bought off.
the anonymity — no one knows who you are, as a triumph. no one knows who you are, as a fear.
beds dressed up in crisp white sheets — and all the ways you can ruin them. blood, sweat, tears, and bile, just to name a few.
the tense dance of staving off a staff member at the door so they can't see further into the room. you don't want them to see the bloody sheets, the mess of bandages, the restrained whumpee, for them to stay long enough to really look at you.
the walls of your hotel room being a bitter reminder of all the fun you could be having, of the vacation you came here for, but here you are: sick or injured or otherwise indisposed. (alternatively, you're chronically ill and this is an unfortunately regular occurrence, and while your loved ones carry on without you, you're stuck cursing yourself and sobbing into over-starched sheets.)
the haze of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings — trying to piece together the remnants of a night you can't fully recall over waffles that taste the same as the ones from the last hotel you went to, and the one before.
being so previously miserable and starved of comforts that a ragged, streetside motel feels like a Four Seasons. the room smells vaguely of smoke and sweat, the mattress is lumpy, there's stains in the carpet, but God, anything is better than where you were before.
standing aimlessly in the shower and letting the hot water run over your exhausted body in a way you can't do at home, with soaps that make you smell like a different person, that take you away from being you, just for a moment.
all the dark corners and crevices in a parking garage that are just out of the camera's view, perfect for an ambush.
all the ways the metal doors of an elevator can close on one scene and open to another — a pair with one resistant and angry opens on them now disturbingly quiet, someone staggering in but losing consciousness before they can step out, the adrenaline wearing off as the doors close, an arm moving to expose a bloody stain that wasn't visible before, resolve breaking once you're alone and you can't stifle your sobs enough by the time you reach your floor.
realizing something is horrifically wrong with where you're staying — but you don't have a choice. you didn't pick this place, there's nowhere else, it was the only option you could afford. every time you leave your room, your skin prickles with fear, but your room doesn't feel that much safer either. every minute ticks by agonizingly slow as your paranoia gets the better of you...
When A is woken up in the middle of the night and at first they’re not sure why. They rub their eyes and look around blearily; all looks in order. But damn they’re hot. And as soon as that thought appears, they realize with a start it’s coming from next to them - and they look down in horror at B, laying curled into their side. B is absolutely radiating heat - so much so that A is sweaty just from being pressed against them, though no where near as drenched as B. B is shaking and whimpering pathetically, and looks pale even in the low light of the moon, white dark red spots high on their cheeks. A realizes they must not have been feeling well for a while and not mentioned anything, because with a fever like this there’s no way B didn’t go to bed feeling terribly unwell. And A hadn’t noticed.
A tries to wake B up gently, knowing they need to take their temperature and get them some water and meds, but after a few gentle hair strokes and rubbing of B’s arm, they realize B isn’t rousing at all. And if anything their face seems more pained and frightened than it had a minute ago. A starts getting frantic, shaking B harder and calling their name in a panic. They see B’s eyes flutter beneath the lids briefly, then stop as their head dropped even more towards the bed. A’s stomach drops when they realize their aren’t able to rouse B at all. Uh oh.
Caretaker looks at whumpee's pale face, their finally chest moving up and down in a steady and slowed rhythm. They hyperventilated only minutes ago, the pain too much to bear. But the exhaustion and pain caught up and whumpee collapsed into caretaker's arms, limp... almost like a doll.
They know whumpee isn't sleeping, despite the almost peaceful image betraying them of the severeness of the situation.
They know they need to get whumpee to a safer space as soon as possible, but right now, they can't risk it.
Caretaker knows it's risky, but they still speak to whumpee's unconscious body in front of them, hoping they don't hear the proclamations of utter fear and love for them. Whumpee's a light sleeper, so caretaker would never dare to do this if they slept.
Brushing a strand of hair away, they swallow hard and sigh. "As much as I light the thought of you getting some rest.. I really need you to wake up again."
