#everyone is the whumpee and everyone is the caretaker

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Okay, so this is really random: but I see a lot of like 'inexperienced' Whumpees who are the weakest/youngest out of the group

But like what if the youngest is the one everyone fears, I mean they're in the group for a reason

Picture this very specific scenario: The team is captured by Whumper and they are all taken to the same room, chained up to keep them from running or trying anything: and here comes Whumpee (a teenager that's like half the size of everyone in the room) with these insanely complicated locks, maybe they're wearing a straight jacket, with multiple guards while the rest of the team got one or two

Because if you think about it, younger people would have to work harder to prove their strength and 'worth' to the team. There has to be a reason for them to stay on the team

However my personal favorite of this trope is that the youngest is just so unpredictable; not only are they talented/wise beyond their years but you truly never know what they'll do next with all the talent they harbor

Maybe Whumper hates them because at least he can fall into this rythme with the rest of the team and learn their habits: but he physically can't do that for youngest because there is no routine or habit to fall back onto

Maybe they mastered a rare magic form at a young age, or were trained as a soldier

Then think of the CARETAKING OPPROTUNITIES?? A parental Caretaker that shows Whumpee what it's like to be a kid, who worry about they're little reckless living death wish 24/7, and give them a mom/dad that they deserve

I just love young, anti-hero, vigilante Whumpees who have seen so much and learned so many things at such a young age, to the point where they are constantly on the verge of villain because of their genuine desensitization to it all

Which causes everyone to be at least a little afraid of youngest, in some sense of the word

[suspensefulpen]

Realize

TW: Conditioned Whumpee, Kidnapping, Carewhumper, Stockholm Syndrome

Whumpee smiled as they got comfortable in their seat across from Caretaker. They almost felt they weren’t fancy enough for this.

Caretaker had it all. They were gorgeous, wealthy and everyone loved them. Whumpee felt as if they were a peasant that had been invited into a royal palace. Even the wine they had been provided with tasted royal.

It almost reminded them of their time with Whumper.

He had it all too. He had the same wealth and the same gorgeousness. But not everyone loved him like they loved Caretaker. Whumpee never understood why.

Whumper had always been nice to Whumpee. He never raised his voice, he never scolded them, he never yelled at them. Yet everyone treats him as if he was a bad guy. He never did anything wrong to Whumpee, and they could prove it.

But clearly that proof was not enough. Otherwise Whumpee would be sitting in Whumper’s mansion right now. Not Caretaker’s. It pained Whumpee that they may not ever be able to see him again.

“I miss Whumper.”

Caretaker instantly stopped smiling. They lowered their wine glass to rest on the table between the two of them. Their ringed pointer finger pressed against their temple as they stared.

“Whumpee do you realize the situation you were just in?” They asked.

Whumpee lowered their gaze to their own bare fidgeting hands in their lap. “I mean he didn’t do anything wrong. He just—”

“No.” Caretaker held their hand up. “No, no, no, you’re not about to say that to me.” They dropped their hand and leaned forward. “Do you not understand what was happening to you Whumpee?”

“It’s not that, I—”

“No, no. I don’t think you do. Do you realize that Whumper was hurting you? He kidnapped you and brainwashed you Whumpee! There is nothing ‘not wrong’ about that. Normal people don’t erase your identity and replace it with one they can completely and fully control. Normal people don’t hold people hostage just to ‘have a companion.’ Normal people don’t take other people from their loved ones for several years just to ‘take care’ of them. I don’t know what the hell he’s been saying to you all these years but you need to realize that he was hurting you. He did not care about you, he just wanted to hurt you and use you.”

Whumpee’s now watery gaze stayed glued to their moving hands as their voice wavered. “But he wasn’t hurting me—”

“Yes he was! And the sooner you realize that, the better.”

[foundfamilywhump]

see like the thing with 'carewhumpers' as a concept to me is it just like... i know this is prrrrobably not really how it's meant but something skeeves me out about the idea that kindness or caretaking mixed in with hurting someone can somehow meaningfully complicate or dilute the harm done to the point of making that character no longer a 'whumper' whereas someone doing the same 'bad' things but not ever being gentle or caring for them would just be a straight-out whumper. when like... that's how 90% of irl abuse dynamics work? so i just... don't really get the point, i guess. like to me it implies something about the 'care' provided somehow mitigating or combating the harm done that. i just do not personally appreciate or enjoy.

[honeycollectswhump]

more on grief. the symptoms.

the feeling overwhelming you at random times of the day, without warning. suddenly you are stuck crying and gasping for breath.

your stomach cramps every time you think about them. it makes you want to vomit. nothing really helps and it can kill your appetite.

you are constantly tired, no amount of sleep seems to be enough. you could sleep for a thousand years and maybe you wish you could.

no matter what you are doing and how happy you are, they are always on your mind. you ruminate and ruminate if there was anything you could have done differently. you think about all the things you should have done.

grief alienates and isolates you. it feels like people can’t understand, there is no right words to calm you down.

you will hate yourself for this but sometimes you feel so powerless you wish you would have never been put in this situation. even if that means never knowing that person. you don’t really mean it though you are just desperate.

you can grieve people that are still alive

your grief can project in other things and situations. your mood can drop quickly. you can overreact or be aggressive and abrasive. this alienates you further

people will tell you to distance yourself. you cannot.

feel free to torment your blorbos with this

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who, when rescued, doesn't want anything bad to happen to whumper.

Whumper who's in prison, on death row or being tortured by whumpees team.

Whumpee who keeps begging for people to be nice to whumper, to not torture them, to not kill them, to just leave them alone in a cell.

Whumpee who is so scared that they'll do anything even slightly bad and become like whumper, or become the living weapon whumper had wanted them to be, that they'd rather nothing happen to the person that had tortured them for months.

Because if something bad happened to whumper, it would be whumpees fault. And they couldn't live with that.

[pyrepostings]

Conditioned whumpee, whose caretaker is trying to convince xem it's ok to take off the collar now that whumper's gone.

Whumpee decides, in xeir head, that xey could explain to whumper if xey are recaptured that xey downgraded xeir collar because whumper wasn't there to give orders. See, xey still wore a collar, it's just made out of leather instead of gold. See, xey didn't think for a moment xey could be free.

And this way, Caretaker can be satisfied about aer "progress" in the meantime.

[paingoes]

Rubies

Ungrateful

(Content: living weapon whumpee, illness, self loathing, conditioning, past abuse, implied child abuse, caretaker new master?)

He was starting to even out. Delta no longer felt the need to sleep all day, nor did he feel like he might lapse back into sickness. Apollo and Kitty gave him the space he needed, but he still saw them often enough. Their conversations were very limited. Delta still had trouble forcing himself to speak, so scared of triggering the wrong reaction. But so far they had been nothing but patient. This too felt strange and new.

When all their exchanges had been through a screen, it had been much easier to manage. They existed to him mostly in concept alone. Even when they’d sent videos, they still felt fictitious. He had understood them more as characters from a book than he did as real people. 

That same attitude was not sustainable in a three dimensional space. Those two were flesh and blood. Even with the new collar, Delta’s idle mode powers were higher than they had been in years. As ever, it was concerned with forms. It felt out the shape of the space around him with small pulses throughout the day. He could feel their hearts beating in their chest, the minutiae of their movements. 

Real people presented complications that fictional ones did not. A very, very old voice in his head already dictated how he was meant to feel about them.

They risked everything for you and you didn’t even say thank you. All you’ve done is hide out in your room and ignore them when they speak to you. You are ungrateful. You are disrespectful. It is an unacceptable way to act around your superiors. You should be on your knees. You should be begging for forgiveness for what you’ve done.

He did not know whose voice it was, but it sounded ancient. It sounded like it had come all the way from genesis. He wondered whether it had been there all along. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to make it out clearly before. Right now, without work to distract him, it had grown impossibly loud.

Ungrateful, venomous thing. Did you forget what you are? Did you forget who you belong to? Don’t you dare try to speak. You are an object. I don’t ever want to see you acting like that again. You are not a person. Get down. You do not exist for any reason but to serve your superiors’ needs. You will speak when you are spoken to and nothing more. You will obey their orders and do nothing else. If you forget your place, I will happily remind you of it.

Delta pulled the pillow over his head. The barrage was more or less continuous. Something about being in a new environment must have triggered it. He had already internalized most of what the voice said a long time ago. He knew that. But the constant reminders of his own ingratitude still made him feel awful. He knew it wasn’t right for him to be hiding out like this. He was scared and he was exhausted, but it wasn’t an excuse. He’d been trained better than that. He exhaled, rising up from the bed. He’d put it off long enough.

He found Apollo first. He’d been standing in the side room right by the kitchen. It had been his mother’s studio at one point, now it was just a space with good lighting and a usable surface. He’d been trying to clean it out when Delta walked in.

“Oh! Hi!” Apollo was pleasantly surprised to see him emerge from his room. The soft fabric of his poncho swayed around him when he moved. Little glimpses of golden jewelry were just visible in between the curls of his red hair. He gazed warmly at Delta, his eyes betraying nothing.

This was so fucking difficult. The easygoing way they acted around him only made him feel worse about his own indiscretions. It would have been better if they were angry; he’d have known what to do with that. The procedure was mostly the same, though.

Delta knelt down on the floor in front of him, ignoring the protest from his ribs. He bowed his head, stealing only a small glance upwards. Apollo’s expression was marked with concern. That was fine. It didn’t deter him.

“Thank you.” Delta’s voice was soft, but it was still the clearest Apollo had ever heard him speak aloud. “I didn’t say it yet. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Less was more. He wasn’t going to start rambling, even if he thought he was capable of it. He’d only say more if Apollo wanted him to, if he gave him permission to. Otherwise, he hoped his body language would speak for itself. 

Apollo looked really, really upset. He crossed the distance between them. Delta cringed back at the rapid movement, sure he was about to be hurt. But Apollo knelt down, pretty abruptly interrupting what Delta had been trying to convey. He reflexively flinched as Apollo took his shoulders, shaking him gently, “It’s okay. Of course. You don’t have to do that. I’m glad you’re okay, alright? But you don’t have to. It’s not like that.”

Delta stared back at him unblinkingly. Apollo seemed to gather himself, releasing his grip. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have touched you. You can stand up though. Don’t mention it.”

He offered a hand for Delta to rise. Though confused and self-conscious, he accepted. 

===========

He tried again with Kitty. She didn’t return to the house until later in the night. Delta waited until Apollo had gone to bed, not wanting to upset him any further. Kitty was collapsed against the couch as if she’d been running around all day. Her ears perked up as Delta approached.

“Hey! You’re awake!” She smiled cheerfully, kind of goofily. 

Delta wrung his hands, more nervous on this attempt than he had been for the previous. He knelt. The carpet of the living room was much softer than the hardwood of the study. Kitty tilted her head in confusion.

“Thank you for saving me.” His voice sank a little as the shame seeped into his words, “I’ve been acting ungrateful. I’m so sorry. Thank you.”

“Aw. It’s no problem, bud.” Kitty frowned a little as she leaned forward. “Do you wanna sit on the couch?”

Delta hesitated. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been allowed furniture in general; he’d had his own room. It was specifically that he was not allowed on furniture with other people. It gave the wrong idea; he was never supposed to be at their level.

“No, miss,” he responded. It was too much for one night.

“Okay.” Kitty shrugged. “Floor time, then.”

She slid down onto the carpet with him. He blinked in surprise. Very casually, she switched on the screen on the far wall, untangling her controller from beneath it.

“You wanna play?” She asked.

“Um. No, miss.” He shook his head.

“K.” She said. 

He watched as the screen came to life. Kitty’s tail swished from side to side as she focused in. It was a hypnotic movement. Hesitant and careful, in anticipation of being reprimanded for it, Delta unfolded himself into a more comfortable position. Kitty did not object.

He pulled his knees up to his chest. After a few minutes had passed, he’d gotten absorbed in the bright colors and motion of the game, almost forgetting where he was. He was kind of susceptible to things like that. He blinked back to reality, stealing a sidelong glance at Kitty. She was just as engrossed, not half as tense.

“Do you want me to stay here?” He asked. Like she might’ve forgotten he was there, like it wouldn’t go well once she noticed. 

“Do you want to?” Her voice was a bit hopeful, in ways he did not pick up on and was not yet capable of understanding.

He nodded mutely as he leaned back against the couch. He watched her play in silence, slowly adjusting to the presence of another body beside him. 

…….

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

[acer-whumpstuff]

Robot whumpee needs to evacuate an area

But they’re not finished charging yet

[meadowsofmay]

it's really interesting how vax is the caretaker in his relationship with the sister — he, objectively, one of the most beaten up characters both by the fault of his own recklessness and the unfortunate roll of the dice. and yet, the moment he gets up and regains senses he goes to check on vex, braids her hair and watches her, following her very step.

all the while spending nights at her door and for a long time not allowing himself a comfort of keyleth's presence after the most traumatic events. i am on the episode 61 and i genuinely want to make everybody see how much he struggles all the while understanding why he doesn't do so himself being so closed off and having "and i walk away" as his default way out of the situations when emotional vulnerability is required.

[whumpluv]

whumpee who constantly apologizes, who makes self-deprecating digs at themself and plays them off as a joke, who constantly asks if they're being annoying or bothering people ... and who doesn't have a whumper they can blame this on.

it's easier to explain away being tortured or abused. but what if whumpee's trauma comes from years of people subtly signaling to them that they were annoying, a burden, not worth listening to? whumpee who talked about their passions with loved ones and got nothing but disinterested "uh-huhs" and glazed over eyes. whumpees whose friends would immediately change the topic as soon as whumpee managed to get a word in. whumpee who spent years being excluded and mistreated by everyone around them in a way that's hard to explain because they technically weren't actually saying anything mean to them.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #16

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: heavy drinking

“You did what?”

Iris stared at Kit. When Kit offered to talk to David, she expected… well she wasn’t sure what she expected. Not this.

“He didn’t want help, so I promised I would if he changed his mind,” he repeated.

“I heard you,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “But did you have to make a promise promise? You can’t refuse that.”

“I know,” said Kit, an edge to his voice. 

“I get that you want to help, but I’m concerned. You can’t just promise things all the time. You’ll be compelled.”

“I know,” he bit out.

Iris stood from her chair, and Kit shrank back.

“I’m sorry. Please,” he whimpered.

She paused.

“It won’t interfere with our deal,” he begged, “Please.”

What was he afraid of?

“I just wished you’d talk to me first. That’s all.”

“Yes, Mistress. I won’t do it again.”

___________________

Iris sat back down, and Kit tried to steady his breathing. He gulped down air, and tried to ground himself with his palms on the floor.

Iris was still watching him from the corner of her eye, and he curled inwards.

“Why do you sit on the floor?” she asked, picking up another form. “It’s not like there’s an absence of chairs.”

Kit looked away. He didn’t want to say ‘because I got used to it’ or ‘because I’m a smaller target’ or ‘because I’m scared of you’ but these were all true things, and he could not lie.

“Kit?” He half expected her to compel him with his name with how angry she was with him before.

He worked the words in his mouth before answering. “It’s... easier.”

He could feel Iris’s eyes on him.

“Okay.”

She turned back to her paperwork, and Kit felt the weight of fear ease up on his shoulders.

They fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the scratch of pen on paper and the clinking of the glass inkwell.

She moved on from forms to the stack of mail on her desk; tearing open envelopes and pulling out letters.

Iris frowned, scanning the first bundle of paper before tossing it aside. The next one got the same treatment, and the next after that.

“Toss these in the fireplace, would you?”

Kit nodded, getting to his feet. He gathered the papers and put them on the arranged wood in the unlit hearth.

“What were they?” he dared to ask.

“Proposals. Courtship offers.”

“Oh.”

“Most likely my aunt’s work,” she said, picking up an unopened letter and tossing it aside.

“Can’t you tell her to stop?”

“She wouldn’t.”

Kit hummed in sympathy. 

A knock sounded on the office door, and Kit rose to open it.

The door swung open before he could, and unfortunately it was Aunt Nicole.

“Speak of the devil,” muttered Iris under her breath.

Nicole walked into the room, past Kit. “Would you mind, dear?” she asked over her shoulder, smiling.

“Hm?”

“She wants you to step out for a minute, Kit.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He left, gently closing the door behind him.

Kit leaned against the wall, next to Brennan. The knight raised a brow, but said nothing.

___________________

“You shouldn’t be spending time alone with that disgusting creature,” said Nicole with a slight scowl.

“There’s no need to be crass, Aunt Nicole. Kit bathes every morning.” Iris didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork.

“You know what I mean. I hear he eats dirt.”

“Rumors,” dismissed Iris. “You know how they spread.”

“Exactly. Spending time alone with a man you aren’t courting is not helping your case.”

Iris put down her pen. “My case? You may want to rephrase that.”

Nicole looked taken aback.

“That’s no way to talk to your aunt.”

“And that’s no way to talk to your queen.”

Iris stood, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She pulled more courtship letters from the pile on her desk.

“This-” she said, waving the papers, “needs to stop.”

Nicole wrung her hands. “I’m only trying to look out for you. If your mother-”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Iris. “You aren’t my mother, and you don’t get to offer my hand to every man in sight.”

She tossed the remaining letters in the fireplace. 

“I know what you really want, Nicky. And you aren’t going to get it.”

Nicole stood stunned at her hard work getting tossed like the trash it was.

“I’m not getting married. Not now, not ever. Understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, terse. She turned on her heel, and stalked out.

___________________

Kit’s ear twitched as he listened in on Nicole and Iris. 

She was so angry with Nicole, and what did her aunt really want if not just a marriage?

“Are you really able to hear what they’re saying?” asked Brennan.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Mistress is very upset.”

Nicole slammed the door open and swiftly strode away.

They watched her round the corner.

“You don’t say,” said Brennan dryly. Kit snorted.

“Kit, come here,” called Iris.

He waved to a farewell Brennan as he obeyed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously making his way inside.

“I will be,” she said, staring down into the unlit fireplace. It was stuffed with letters. “Burn these. And fetch me some wine. A bottle, not a glass.”

“Yes, mistress.”

With an easy flick of his wrist, the letters caught a flame and began to burn. Iris stood watching them, a muted expression on her face, and Kit left to get the wine.

___________________

The wine cellar was just off of the kitchen, and Kit scanned the racks of bottles.

He grabbed two at random, and hoped Iris would like one of them.

She was still standing at the fireplace, the fire casting her in orange light like an autumn oak in sunshine.

Kit set one bottle on her desk and opened the other. He joined her by the fire and passed it over.

She drank straight from the bottle, a long swig that made him uncomfortable.

He was no stranger to drinking, but she was upset, and surely getting drunk in her office would not reflect well on her. Iris cared a lot about appearances, and having them cast aside so easily concerned him.

“Would you rather drink in your room?” he asked gently, and she shrugged.

“What’s the point? The kitchen staff saw you take the bottles anyway.” She took another drink.

“You’re wearing heels,” he tried again, “and this hall is carpeted.”

She took off her shoes and tossed them behind her. “There. Fixed.”

Kit said nothing.

Iris sighed. “We’ll go when the letters are ash, alright? You win.”

___________________

Kit put her heels and dress away as Iris sulked on the couch. 

She was starting on her second bottle, and drunk.

He pulled a nightgown from her dresser.

“Here you are,” he offered, and she tugged it on, pulling her bra off and out from underneath and tossing it away.

“Thanks. You can go.”

Kit didn’t leave, sitting on the floor next to the couch. She needed company, and not just because she was drinking so much.

“Today was awful,” she said aloud. “I think I really fucked up.”

He caught on to her train of thought. “Nicole deserved it.”

“No, I mean,” she sighed. “I told her I wasn’t ever getting married.”

“Good.”

“No! It’s not good! Why would I say that? Especially to her!” 

Iris took another long drink.

“You’re going to have a hangover,” he warned. 

“Couldn’t you just magic it away?” she waved, gesturing with the bottle.

Kit hummed. “I suppose.”

Silence fell as Iris put her feet up on the coffee table.

“I don’t want to get married,” she admitted.

“Then don’t.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“They could be,” he said. “You’re the queen.”

“That’s the problem. I need to marry well, and have lots of children, but not too many,  because I’m the queen. For the good of the country.”

“What about for the good of you?”

Iris went quiet. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who when rescued gets handcuffed for their own safety. Sure, the people around them are simply trying to protect them, but they don’t know that.

[paingoes]

Rubies

Stars

okay back to early recovery period. conceptually this is like the weirdest thing ive ever written for this series youre just gonna have to roll with it.

(Content: past abuse, past captivity, conditioning, blood, bad caretaking, consent issues?, wound care)

It was the dead of night. Delta was not trying to be sneaky. It was just such a habit. He was starting to wonder how he ever functioned at all aboard the Thorn — all his day was spent working, all his night was spent online or drifting around the ship in conspiracy. When did he even sleep? He guessed he’d fainted regularly enough to count it as rest. He guessed he was making up for it now. The ship’s artificial day cycles had ruined his circadian rhythm in a major way. He figured he’d adjust again soon. But right now, he was wide awake. 

He slipped out of the bedroom. He still hated how loud the doorknob was, but it wasn’t such a big deal if he knew nobody was on the other side of it. And there wasn’t. Apollo slept upstairs in his parents’ bedroom. Kitty slept up there too, whenever she stayed the night. The downstairs was empty. He paced it aimlessly, entirely silently. There was so much less space than there had been on the Thorn. He could’ve gotten lost on that ship for hours if he let himself. He missed the familiarity of it, if nothing else.

The front door to the house opened. He jumped back in shock, falling back against the fridge. No one else had come in for as long as he had been there. Nobody had said anything about the possibility. The danger stood there eminently in the opening.

The figure in the doorway was tall and shadowy, wrapped up in a long cloak. Little threads of silver hair peeked out from beneath the hood. Bright, bright silver eyes shone out from its shade. 

Delta sparked involuntarily. He didn’t have the suppress the natural instinct to defend himself anymore — and the new collar was so allowing. It made it so that the powers came out often, often too soon. He still shrank back against the fridge. He’d so rarely had to fight anyone head on; he didn’t want to.

The figure closed the door politely behind them, then slowly approached Delta, moving in a wide arc around him. The sparks became more frequent. They titled their head, then raised their hands in the simple “?” shape.

“Oh,” Delta blushed, the recognition slamming into him, “I’m sorry.”

Lun, their name was. Apollo’s brother. Delta remembered so little about the night of the Centurion, but the memories of the bat had remained. Memories of the axe. Lun, who everyone said did all the real work. Delta hadn’t seen them since leaving the Galatea base. But he’d been living in their house.

“I’m…sorry…” Delta repeated, ashamed of his own reaction. It was awful. 

Maybe they’d been right to restrict his powers the way they did. He remembered how brutally Simon had beaten him when he misfired, the way his teachers had whipped him raw the first time he’d operated without permission. Maybe they had a point? He was so quick to jump to it when there wasn’t anyone restraining him. They all drained out of him now, dampened as his mood dropped. He sank to his knees on the floor.

Lun didn’t move. Delta stole a quick glance at their face, which revealed nothing at all, still half hidden. He hesitated before speaking again, but ultimately forced himself. He bowed his head. It was easier not to look.

“Um,” he winced at how unsteady his voice had become, “Thank you. For the rescue. I didn’t get to say it yet, but I’m…very grateful. To you especially.”

Lun had been the first one Delta had seen — and the only one to actually get inside of the airship. They’d taken on all the risk. They’d physically broken the chain that was binding him to the throne. That night, Lun had been up in those rafters for a long time. Delta wondered faintly what else they might have seen while there.

When he looked up again, Lun was gone. There was no sign they had even been there, no clear direction in which they had left.

Delta remained kneeling on the floor. A very deep instinct told him not to rise without permission. He wondered if Lun had kept him there on purpose. He didn’t know. Apollo and Kitty had been lenient with him, but he wasn’t so presumptuous as to expect that from any of the others. He was beholden to them just as much. He’d do as they asked. 

It would be easier if they did ask, though. What had happened just now was too ambiguous. He rose cautiously and retreated back to his room. If there was a misunderstanding, if he wasn’t allowed to, he would apologize profusely, easily. He would not need to force himself. He meant it. But nothing else happened that night.

=========

“Lun said they saw you last night?” Apollo asked casually as he made breakfast.

Delta lingered nervously in the doorway, half-hidden by the wall. He wasn’t domesticated, not comfortable enough to eat in front of people. He usually retreated to his room to do it. Apollo glanced up at him in the ensuing silence — he knew he was checking to see if he was still there.

Delta returned a small nod. He’d almost forgotten about it, or chalked it up to some strange dream. Lun still hadn’t reappeared. Delta glanced briefly to the space where they had stood.

“They’re asleep in the attic. Cold-blooded, y’know. They like the heat.” Apollo smiled faintly. There was such clear affection in his voice when he spoke about his younger brother. 

Delta cringed, remembering how close he had gotten to hurting them. He wondered if Lun had said anything about that. It seemed like not. 

“I hope they didn’t scare you. I would’ve told you if I’d known they were coming. That must have been very surprising if you weren’t expecting it.” Apollo offered the fruit bowl to him. Delta emerged from the wall enough to take it, then took a few steps back into the hiding place.

“Thank you,” Delta whispered, “Can I…”

“Yeah, you can go.” Apollo waved his hand. Delta slipped out of sight.

=========

He felt the same sleeplessness the same night.   There were stars against the back of his eyes. He didn’t know how it was possible to feel homesickness; he couldn’t have possibly imagined. Not that he’d ever seriously entertained the possibility of escape until days before it actually happened. He had expected to be killed upon release; he still did not know if that was off the table, whether Levon was just keeping him on ice. The thought kept him up. 

He sat up slowly. There was faint light coming from beneath the door; the soft kitchen lights were always on. He liked that about the new house. It reminded him there was a world outside of his room. He rose up from the bed, crossing the threshold silently. He cracked the door open. 

There was movement behind it. He froze, immediately. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be up. He peered faintly through the gap.

Kitty was sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair half covering her face. A shadow hovered beside her, one hand on her chest, the other resting on the nape of her neck. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. A faint stream of blood trickled down onto her clavicle. 

Delta jumped as her gaze suddenly fell upon him. He quickly shut the door, too loudly. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to leave his room. He wasn’t supposed to see. He backed up into the bed, nearly tripping on it.

“Delta?” Kitty called faintly from behind the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were up. You can come out. It’s okay.”

He clicked his nails anxiously together, still too scared to move. 

“Babe?” She called again. 

He cracked the door open again. She was sitting upright on the couch. Her eyes were soft with concern. She beckoned him. Behind her, Lun stared. Their mouth was stained red. 

Delta cautiously emerged, mostly against his wishes. He wasn’t yet at a point where he’d be comfortable ignoring orders, especially not with her. He stood in the empty space between his bedroom and the living room. The trained tension was visible in his body. Forced attention. He lowered his eyes respectfully.

“You met Lun, right?” Kitty asked. “They’re friendly. They were just feeding. We weren’t…doing anything.”

He glanced up to see Lun waving shyly from behind her. They wiped at their mouth self-consciously. Kitty dabbed a towel at her neck, removing most of the blood. 

“Do you wanna sit?” She offered, endlessly patient. Again, he found it very hard to deny her. He sat down on the floor besides the coffee table. Kitty pulled the towel from her neck, attempting casualness.

“Can’t sleep?” She asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you a nocturnal species? We both are, naturally. But we’re usually on Galatea’s schedule now.” 

She tilted her head to Lun when she said it. Delta bit his lip. He didn’t even know what species he was — even if he did, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t working on any set planetary schedule. He was on spaceship time.

“…I was in deep space, miss,” he told her as much. 

“Oh! Spaceship time!” She looked kind of excited at the prospect, then immediately concerned. “Wait, how long?”

“…Year and a half?” Delta estimated. He hadn’t been keeping a record when it started and there was a lot of fogginess in between. Maybe two years. He wasn’t sure.

“Um. Doesn’t that make your head kinda…” She tapped her own skull. “Fucky?”

Yes. Space madness was a well documented phenomenon. He assumed he’d been spared the worst of it though, already uniquely adapted to living in isolation and under extreme pressure. Truthfully, part of him missed the stars. It was strange to be earthbound again. 

He nodded, though. His head was fucky, undoubtably. Kitty was frowning at him.

“You haven’t left the house at all since you got here,” she noticed. “You wanna come out in the garden?”

She opened up the back door to the house, leading him out past the porch and onto the grass. It was a cool night. She slid her jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders. He noticed there was still a bit of blood on the hood. 

Lun drifted in front of them among the flowers. Their silver hair almost glowed in the dark. It was their garden, apparently. Even thought they’d been away, the plants still bloomed with the seasons. 

Delta knelt down on the grass. Kitty plopped down beside him, laying flat on her back. The stars were bright — not as bright as they had been up close, but bright none the less. He identified the constellations, finally able to pinpoint with some certainty where they were in the galaxy. Mostly, he was just glad to see them again. The night wind coursed gently through his hair and against his skin.

He jumped as Lun appeared at his side. They’d been in his blind spot. Lun was shorter than Apollo, which was still tall. Delta was still kneeling. It put him into a bad headspace.

Lun pulled their arm out from within their cloak, revealing a handful of pale white flowers. They extended it out to Delta. He blinked in confusion. They extended it out a little more.

“Oh.” Delta blushed, caught off-guard by the abrupt sweetness. “…Thank you.”

Lun nodded, drifting back among the foliage. Kitty was grinning widely. Delta traced the flower petals with his finger, deep in thought. 

=======

Kitty had disappeared for the day, going off to visit Iza before the pilot was sent away. Apollo had to run out to restock on supplies. It was the first time Delta had been left alone in the house. He idled in the living room. It was very hard to resist the impulse to clean without either of them calling him away from it. He did it almost mindlessly; it had become such a habit. He didn’t want to feel useless.

The air shifted a little. Delta jumped as Lun appeared at the base of the stairs. All dressed in black, they stood out uncannily against the warm colors of the room. He’d never seen them out during the day. All the curtains were drawn.

Delta backed up a bit, still nervous. Lun stared curiously with their head cocked to the side. They looked around, visibly surprised at how empty the space was. Their gaze turned back onto Delta. They raised their hand to the side of their head and folded the fingers down. Nyah. 

“Um. She went out.“ It was immensely strange for Delta to be the one speaking most in any exchange. Lun was exceptionally quiet. If Delta hadn’t heard them speak briefly on the airship, he would have assumed they were fully mute.

They looked disappointed. The hand slid down to their neck, clutching it. It seemed like such a protective gesture, like they were embarrassed by the need. Delta’s brow furrowed.

“…Do you…need to feed…?” So strange. The voice in his head reprimanded him, demanding he not speak unless spoken to, but he found that demand less appropriate now. Lun nodded shyly.

He still wanted to be helpful. He knew that he owed Lun everything. And he was more than a little intrigued by the way Kitty had looked so dazed upon the couch when he’d first glimpsed them. He was curious. 

“…I can do it,” Delta offered. Lun raised an eyebrow, but he thought he could read hopefulness into their expression.

Taking initiative he didn’t know he had, Delta knelt down in front of the couch. Lun followed silently and cautiously. There wasn’t any eagerness in their body language — all hesitation. It was strange to see it on someone else. Delta tilted his head to the side, brushing his long hair away from his neck. He looked at Lun through the side of his eyes. They sat down on the couch.

Delta still flinched when Lun’s hand came by the side of his head, trying to hold him still. The other pressed down against his shoulder. The collar was thin enough that most of his neck remained bare. Lun tapped a nail nervously against Delta’s cheek, seemingly involuntarily. They opened their mouth.

Delta only felt a second of regret as the fangs revealed themself. The anticipation was always the worst of it. As they sank in, pain replaced the fear. He could handle pain. He sat still and silent, well accustomed to taking it without complaint. 

Blood usually left his body through his mouth, his nose, sometimes his eyes if it was a bad day. The sudden rapture from his neck was a new experience. It was colder, somehow. He felt dizzy.

The front door opened up. Lun pulled back immediately, painfully. More blood came out. Delta reeled. Caught. Totally caught. He felt ashamed before he even registered the reaction. He knew, intuitively, that he had done something wrong. He’d known it when he offered.

“What - I just - I leave for five minutes and you-?“ Apollo sputtered. He dropped the bags onto the floor, moving rapidly to the center of the room. “What are you doing?”

Delta flinched, lowering his head. It was the first time he had ever heard Apollo angry. Blood dripped from his neck snd onto the carpet as he moved into a bow. Sorry. Sorry. The words didn’t make it past his lips.

Apollo seemed to not register it. All his attention had turned to Lun. When he spoke again, it was quieter, but holding the same amount of heat. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He said. 

Delta stayed frozen in place as Lun rose up off the couch, following their brother into the other room. 

=========

“Why. Why would you ever-“ Apollo couldn’t even finish the sentence. “He doesn’t know how to say no to people. You can’t ask him for something like that.”

Lun hovered at Apollo’s side. Their eyes were wide, but the pupils were dilated all the way in the daylight.

“I didn’t ask.” Their voice was haunting singsong. “He offered.”

“He offered?” Apollo looked at them in disbelief. They nodded.

“That doesn’t mean you do it. He said I could hurt him too. That doesn’t mean I did it. Lun-“ He took a deep breath. “He thinks he deserves it. You understand that, right? You’ve seen the way he acts. He can’t make that kind of informed decision.”

“He offered,” Lun insisted.

“He’s injured. He doesn’t even have the blood to spare. You know I’m right.” Apollo shot back. Lun wrapped their cloak tighter around themself.

“You don’t need to yell.” They said softly. Apollo paused for a second, regaining his cool. He shook his head.

“Sorry. Shit. He’s probably-“ Apollo hurried back into the living room.

=========

“Hey.” Apollo bent down besides Delta, who hadn’t moved at all since they departed. He cupped his face in his hands gently. “Hey. I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m sorry for yelling. You’re okay. I wasn’t mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

Delta leaned into the touch, visibly miserable. Apollo felt a sharp pang of guilt. He’d obviously scared him pretty bad. 

“I’ll patch you up, okay?” Apollo offered, eyeing the wound on his neck. Lun’s marks were typically very clean, but they could still get infected. Besides, blood was still leaking out of the punctures. He helped Delta to stand and led him into the kitchen, sitting him up on one of the stools. He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket — he always carried them, just in case.

Delta tilted his head to the side again, letting Apollo clean the site of the wound. Some of it had already gotten onto his shirt — he made a note to get him new clothes soon, anyway. He was still borrowing all of theirs. 

“Hold it here,” Apollo placed the towel against his neck. 

“Yes, sir.” Delta applied pressure where he’d been asked. Apollo winced.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. Lun isn’t starving. They would’ve been fine. Move the towel, please.” He rubbed the disinfectant over the wound. It was cold. Delta shivered.

“I wanted to,” He said weakly.

“You’re still healing, Delta.” He knew he was lecturing, but he couldn’t help it. “You don’t need any more pain right now. Don’t volunteer for it. Not while you’re like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Delta repeated. 

Apollo applied the bandage over the bite mark, smoothing it out carefully against the skin. Delta righted his head, letting his hair cover it back up. Apollo moved to the bags he’d left by the door. He retrieved a pack of juice boxes from inside; he’d gotten them specifically because Lun had come by. He passed one to Delta, hoping to reduce some of the dizziness. 

But he was surprised by how lucid Delta appeared. He’d calmed down significantly after Apollo had said he wasn’t mad. He didn’t seem to be under any particular duress. 

Lun returned from the other room, skulking a little. They pulled up a stool on the opposite end, taking one of the juice boxes for themself. Delta studied the granite of the counter quietly.  Not speaking, but not afraid either. 

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whumptober day one :]

(this is my first time participating in this so lmk if I tag or label things wrong lmao)

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

cws: none, I don't think!

“Let’s sit you down, okay?” Whumpee blinks hard, trying to reorient themself as they get pushed into a sitting position.

“This is stupid,” they mutter. “I’m fine. Really. You’re being dramatic.”

“Mm. I actually don’t think you’re being dramatic enough. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Whumpee drags their eyes up, trying to focus on the hand that was in front of their face. Six, they think, but there aren't that many fingers on Caretaker’s hand, so they let their head drop again. “I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

[tidalwhump]

Untitled Bloodbag Story - The Attempt

Previous , Masterlist

Taglist: @deluxewhump , @whumpycries , @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @whump-on-a-log , @pigeonwhumps , @annablogsposts , @d-cs , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @inkstainsonmyhands12 , @zillastar13

Warnings: Aftermath of consensual drugging, broken bones, attempted escape, mentions of previous abuse and potential future abuse.

Casper slept, his mind filled with drug haze dreams. Some were of his time at the vampire lair, some were of him flying or swimming, and some were of his old life, causing pangs of pain to expand in his chest.

He was surrounded by water, he was floating, down, down, but he could still breathe. He took a deep breath, the water smelt like salt and got darker as he sank. Casper started to swim up towards the surface, the light filtering through getting brighter as he approached. Instead of breaking the surface, he hit a clear wall, the surface of the water blocking him out. He slammed against it, but it was no use, he was stuck. 

He looked around, and down, at the water. There was nothing but the deep blue sea around him, so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. He spun around, hands pressing against the top of his boundary, looking for anything, something. But alas, he was alone.

Then he saw something in the distance. He swam towards it as fast as he could and when he got there, he saw it was a door. A door to the outside, to above the water. It rippled like the waves, but he could touch it, it was solid. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Casper looked around frantically for a way out. He pounded against the door as hard as he could and screamed out for something, anything, to save him.

— — — — —

Casper wandered the flat like a ghost, feet dragging as he walked. He couldn’t tell what time it was, only that he had finally slept off the effects of the drug cocktail and was back to his normal, pain ridden self. Every part of his body hurt, every ache different from the next. Some were a dull ache, some were sharp pains, some were shooting. Some of the pains only hurt when he moved, some were constant, but all varied in degrees and kinds of hurt.

When he stopped his wandering, he found himself at the bottom of the staircase. He felt trapped, suffocated. Casper looked up to the door at the top of the stairs, and thought about his boredom. Before he’d even realised it, he was climbing the stairs to the top.

He tried the door handle, and to no surprise, it was locked from the outside. His mind flashed back to the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding into place, and he sighed. Casper turned to walk back down the stairs, but he only got a few steps down before something in him snapped.

He ran back up to the top of the stairs and started to pound on the door with both arms, ignoring the pain that shot up his broken arm as he slammed it against the door.

“Let me out! Let me out you bastard!” He screamed.

Listening closely, there was no response, only a silence throughout the house. In a rage he kicked the door, then started pounding on it again.

“Let me out goddammit! You can’t keep me down here forever! Fuck!” He kicked the door again.

Frustrated, but unwilling to just give up and be a prisoner down here, he sat down on the stairs a few steps down from the door, leaving enough room so it could open, waiting for Zola to come down so he could try and make a break for it.

He wanted out.

— —

The deadbolt slid out of place and Casper perked up, crouching on the stairs, ready to pounce. As the door slowly started to open he got ready, and when it was open he ran for it, pushing past Zola and trying to squeeze out between him and the doorframe.

Zola turned as he approached and stuck his arm out, grabbing him around the waist, picking him up under one arm and starting to descend down the stairs, closing the door behind them. Casper started kicking and screaming, wiggling in the vampire’s grip that crushed his ribs and made it hard to breathe, trying to escape.

“Let me go!” He wheezed.

When they got down the stairs Zola walked up to the couch in the living area and grabbed Casper, throwing him down on the cushions, then he put his hands on his hips, looking down disapprovingly at the boy.

“What was that?” Zola asked.

“You can’t keep me here! You have to let me go!” Casper shouted in between pants.

“And you’ll do what? Go back out there?” He pointed. “To a world full of vampires who know your scent like the back of their hands?”

“You can’t just keep me prisoner here! You can’t just do this!”

Zola leaned in, voice stern. “They know your scent! One trip out and you’re done for! That’s it! Besides, aren’t you the one that was worried about what they’ll do to you once they find you?”

Casper swallowed, looking up at Zola.

“I’ll — I’ll leave! I’ll flee the city and never come back! Move to the Muskokas, stay in my family’s cottage! And — and, I’ll find a job, buy a house there someday!”

Zola shook his head. “You think you can get out of the city fast enough? One night, one night is all it takes, and you’re a dead man, and I can’t save you.”

Casper bit his lip, trying to think of something to say.

“Well, not a dead man,” Zola corrected, “but a heavily abused, barely alive bloodbag.”

“You don’t know that.” Casper said quietly.

“What was that?” Zola asked, putting his hand up to his ear and leaning closer.

“You don’t know that.” Casper said slightly louder, voice wavering.

Zola raised his eyebrows pointedly. “I do know that. And you know it too.”

Casper went silent. He couldn’t deny what Zola was saying, Casper knew firsthand what he was talking about. Casper also knew what the vampires told him they would do to him. He sighed.

“So what am I supposed to do? Just stay here forever?” Casper sat up, resting his head in his hands.

Zola sat on the couch beside him. “Not forever, but awhile. Who knows, maybe one day I can hide you away somewhere far, far away. Europe or something. But for now, while you heal and learn to trust me, you’re staying here.” Zola put a hand on Casper’s back.

Casper lifted his head and looked at Zola. “How can I learn to trust you when you’re keeping me locked in your basement? How can I heal when you broke my fucking arm?”

“It’s for your safety, trust me. And that — that was an accident.”

Casper scoffed. “An accident, sure. How can a creature that’s centuries old not know how to control their strength?”

Zola went silent.

Casper let out a big sigh. “Why are you keeping me down here anyways? What’s so dangerous about upstairs?”

“It’s to keep you safe, no one can know you’re here. If they knew, I don’t know that I’d be enough to stop a hoard of vampires breaking into my house. Besides, their leaders are very powerful, you know this.”

He nodded, he did know this. “What am I supposed to do down here?”

“Heal,” Zola said. “You need to heal.”

“Healing is not an activity.”

“I can bring you some books from my personal library, if you tell me what you’d like. What did you do for hobbies? Before…” Zola trailed off.

“Pottery, ceramics.”

“Really?”

Casper nodded.

“Okay, well I can go to town tomorrow to get some supplies. Until then,” he stood, “I’ll get you some books, I assume you read?”

The boy nodded again. “Yes, I do.”

Zola started towards the stairs. “I’ll grab some books, and bring down some food later.”

Casper stayed on the couch, and just before he reached the stairs he turned back towards Casper.

“Do you… feel better now? I know this isn’t ideal, but we’ll make it work.”

“I… think I just need to digest this for a bit, if ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 8

YOU CHOSE: OPEN THE DOORS- CONTINUE WITH CHASE.

Your decisions allow buried memories to resurface. This is overwhelming for your character, and his mind suffers from the weight of it all.

cws: flashbacks, dehumanization, non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, electric shock, force feeding, eye trauma, mentions of a seizure, sick whumpee, mentions of hypnosis. lmk if i should add more!

. . .

Screaming, screaming, screaming.

Chase's head feels like it could explode. Too many sounds, too many colors, too many voices and commands and knives and soft touches and- and-

Pseudo hushes him, raking fingers through the puppet's hair. "Pink, dolly, take a deep breath."

But Pink isn't there. Chase falls into the hands of his monster, and finds himself in a new place. Somewhere deep inside his head.

. . .

Cellar.

"Please, p- please!! I can't do it, please!"

"Shhh. It's just a pop quiz, Pink. You'll do just fine."

Chase's arms are chained behind him, with ankles cuffed to both legs of the chair. Hot tears pour down his cheeks, soaking into clothes that are already soaked with blood. He shivers, freezing in the cellar air, terrified of what he sees in front of him.

Just a few feet away, Pseudo holds a stun gun. He sits in a foldable chair, relaxed and comfortable in his position of power here. He owns Pink, and that's a wonderful feeling.

"Tell me your name," he says.

"Pink!" Chase doesn't hesitate in saying it. He may as well be saying please. "It's Pink, Pink, I'm P- Pink!"

"Good," Pseudo praises. "Now tell me your age."

"T- twenty seven..!"

"Mhm. And how about-" Pseudo covers his eyes with his free hand, "the color of my eyes?"

"Brown!"

"Very good!"

Pseudo returns to his original position, with both hands placed leisurely on the stun gun.

"Now, last question, dolly. If you get it right, I'll put this away, hm?"

Chase nods, eager and afraid in the same shaking breath.

"What time is it?"

The puppet freezes. There are no clocks and no windows to tell the time in here. He wasn't told when they got down here, and he wouldn't know how much has passed. It all feels like an eternity of pain and blood.

He trembles, searching his mind for answers. What time was breakfast? How long did it take to clean the kitchen? When was lunch? How long did washing the sheets take? It isn't dinner time yet, is it??

"N- nn-" Chase begins to panic. His breath halts in his chest and he has to shake the terror off himself, like a puppy emerging from falling into a swimming pool.

"Can I have a h- hint??"

Pseudo sighhhhhss, lulling his head to the left, the right, the left, up straight again..

"Mmm.... it was about 4:30 when we came down here."

"A- and how long have we been down here??"

Pseudo chuckles at him, his stupid doll. "That's not a hint, dolly, that's just the answer."

A breath escapes the puppet's mouth. "R- right," he says, defeated. "Okay..."

Think, think, think.

He rocks back and forth, clawing at his mind to provide the answer. How long has it been? How long does it feel like? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?????

"Um, u- um..."

"Come now, Pink. We don't have all evening."

A soft sob bubbles out from his neck. There's no way he's getting this right.

"Is- i- is it... i- is it um.... s- six- no, no, seven, is it seven?"

"Let's see.."

Pseudo pulls his phone out from his pocket, and flips it open.

He stares at the clock, and Chase stares at his monster. Pseudo lets the tension hang in the air, drinking in the sounds of his puppet's pounding heart.

"Is it seven??? I- hh??"

The monster shuts the phone with a click, and places it back inside his pocket.

"Six fifty- three."

He raises the gun, pointing at Chase's shoulder.

"N- no, no!! No!! I was so close, please!! Please Pseudo!! Plea--!"

Chase's words are cut short. He wails, tensing and then falling limp as the pain takes over his entire body.

. . .

Kitchen.

"Open up."

Chase's mouth stays glued shut. Each hand curls a fist into his sweatpants, a desperate attempt at keeping them down. Any minute now, he swears, he's going to take that stupid spoon and shove it down Pseudo's throat.

In his reply, Chase only shakes his head.

"Oh, come now, don't be difficult. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

When he speaks, Chase keeps his teeth clamped together. "I'll eat if I can feed myself."

"Nooo, you'll eat if I tell you to. Now open up.."

He presents the spoon to Chase's mouth, gently tapping the food against his bottom lip. The puppet finally accepts, opens his jaw, and spits it in the monster's face.

For a moment, they only look at eachother. Chase knows what he did is bad. He knows he'll be punished, but he doesn't care. He's going to be hurt anyway, right?

Still, this hurt could've been avoided.

Pseudo's hand comes around to slap the toy hard across the face. It's enough to almost send him reeling out of the chair, gripping onto the table and stomping the floor as not to go flying to the ground. Before he can bring his own hands to cup the sting across his cheek, Pseudo grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks him to the floor.

Chase yelps, losing his breath as Pseudo climbs on top to straddle him. He hunches over the doll like an animal, a feral spark running around inside his pupils. Chase feels so small beneath him, like a worm under a bird's claw, ready to be swallowed whole.

The spoon comes to meet Chase's lower eyelid, still hot from the food that was so rudely spat back out. Pseudo presses the spoon down, ever so slightly, and Chase feels his eye shift in its socket.

"Do you need to learn your table manners again, pet?"

The puppet's hands clamp around his monster's wrist. "Get off!!"

Pseudo does not relent. He presses the spoon down further, causing the puppet to start seeing double, triple, a black spot where his eye contacts the top of the socket.

"You should answer me, you know. I could do some terrible things to you."

He presses further, and Chase digs his nails into Pseudo's skin. He feels as though his eye could pop right out of his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

"That isn't an answer."

More pressure. More pain. Chase feels air in places he shouldn't.

"Ah! No!!! Nono I don't, I don't, I'm sorry!"

"You don't what, Pink? Show me you understand."

"I--!" Pink digs his nails deeper into his monster's wrist. "I don't-- I don't need to learn table manners, I'm sorry! Nh- please!"

"Good," Pseudo croons, and slowly, slowly, releases the pressure on his puppet's eye. He lets a few moments pass before reaching a hand to caress Pink's face, thumb stroking gentle across the cheekbone that was hit. The doll shrinks away, closing his eyes.

"I want you to prove it, now, Pink. Otherwise..." the spoon draws a line, following the curve of Chase's eye socket. He speaks soft, higher pitched, like talking to a child. A puppy, a worm under his claw. "Do you understand?"

"Y- yes, Pseudo.."

"Good.."

Pseudo moves off, and Chase climbs back in his chair. He holds his eye and stinging cheek in his hand before Pseudo swats it away, reminding him table manners include no hands above the waist.

Pseudo sets himself down, too, and presents the food to Chase's mouth once more.

"Open up."

Chase opens his mouth. Food is placed inside, but he doesn't chew.

"....Eat."

The puppet obeys, avoiding his monster's eyes throughout the rest of the meal.

. . .

Home.

The house is happy.

Chase cradles his daughter on the couch, running soft hands through waving blond hair. A cartoon drones on in the background, capturing the little girl's attention completely.

She giggles at the characters, and Chase's heart swells with love.

"They're silly," she comments, turning her head to her father. A wide smile takes her face over, with one missing tooth to top it off.

"Yeah, they are silly, aren't they?"

He smiles down at her, and plants a kiss on her forehead. A small hand reaches up to tap the end of his nose.

Chase smiles wider. He is so full of love he can barely stand it.

. . .

Somewhere in Denmark.

Somewhere far away. Somewhere, where old love and safety and sanity aren't a guarantee. Somewhere deep inside his head, Chase is pulled up, up into reality.

He feels like he's trapped underwater, and Pseudo is the one to drag him out. Up, up, up, through swamps and moss and dirt, through water that's thick as clotted blood. His eyes droop, his bones fall limp, Chase cannot breathe with the pressure in his chest. The water tastes of soap, and a sourness that makes his teeth chatter.

He wants to sink again, into memories good and bad. Wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere, somewhere, somewhere deep inside his head.

Chase groans, a migraine holding him hostage. The lights are too bright, even behind closed eyelids. His blanket is so warm. Is he comfortable? Too tired to tell.

He opens his lazy eyes, seeing his small attic room surround him. He feels sick. Horrible. Tears wet his eyes but he doesn't remember why.

Beside him, Pseudo watches him rest. The puppet startles when he sees his monster, and he tries desperately to sit up. He can only claw the sheets.

Pseudo tilts his head as the puppet shoves himself into the wall. The blanket provides a shield of false protection, and he holds on as if life depends on it.

"You had some scary nightmares, huh?"

Chase only stares.

"Mh. Well, you slept for a while. You even had a seizure."

The puppet's brows furrow. "Really?" he croaks.

"Mhm. Does your head hurt?"

Chase nods. Pseudo reaches out his hand, slow and steady. Even so, the puppet shrinks away, closing his eyes as if expecting to be slapped or clawed or scratched.

But the monster is gentle, brushing away pink hair to feel the doll's forehead. The coolness of his hand is comforting. Chase can't help but relax a little in his touch.

"You still have a fever..." Pseudo runs his hand over the puppet's hair, petting softly. "... Are you hungry?"

"No.."

"Liar."

"I don't wanna eat."

"It'll make you feel better."

"Will it?"

Pseudo gives a soft smile. He helps the doll sit up, gently hushing him as he whimpers and whines about his head swimming, his muscles hurting, ow, Pseudo, please-

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Pink.."

On the end table, a bowl of warm soup waits to be eaten. The monster takes a spoonful, blows, and presents it to Chase's hesitant mouth.

"Come now... eat. You'll feel better."

The puppet frowns, and accepts. Bite after bite, it feels warm and heavy in his stomach, warm and heavy and delicious. Pseudo was right. He does feel better.

They wash it down with cool water, and Chase breathes a sigh of relief at the taste. He may still feel sick and afraid, but he's not thirsty, not hungry, and not cold, and that's more than enough right now.

Pseudo pushes the empty dishes aside, and returns his hands to playing with Pink's hair. The puppet sinks into the feeling, sleepiness pulling down his weight. He feels comfortable. Sick, but comfortable.

"You've been anxious lately," Pseudo says gently. "You're trying to get back into a headspace that's not good for you."

Chase opens his eyes.

"I hate to see you suffer like that, Pink. It breaks my heart."

"I don't wanna be your toy.."

Pseudo sighs, stroking the doll's cheek with his thumb. Sweet thing.

"I need to run to the store again. I forgot my sugar."

"I- I can't, I don't wanna-"

"No, shhh. You're staying in bed."

Chase relaxes again, falling victim to the gentle touches of his monster.

"Can I trust you to rest?"

The puppet nods. He's too sick to get up anyway. Everything hurts, especially his head.

"Good doll.. I'll be back soon."

He plants one gentle kiss on Chase's forehead, and leaves him to rest alone.

. . .

As the minutes pass, the puppet finds himself unable to sleep. His head hurts, his body aches, oh, God, he feels horrible. He almost wishes Pseudo hypnotized him before he left.

While he lays there, Chase begins to wonder. He heard the door close, but no keys, and no starting car. It's no secret that Pseudo can travel long distances without transport, as part of his magic allows him to do so. Could he have left the car keys?

"No, no, don't think like that," Chase says allowed. He runs his hands over his face, and tries to get comfortable again. But the thought plagues him.

Did he leave the car keys?

Even if he won't escape, he could still check, right? Then at least he knows, and he can get some sleep. Yes, yes, he'll just check and see..

Chase drags himself up, groaning as a dizziness swirls the entire room around. A chill takes over him as well, and he reaches for the smaller blanket on the bed to wrap around his shoulders. God, he feels like shit.

Eventually he makes his way out of his room, leaning against walls and railings as not to go tumbling to the ground. Walking is a chore, and his feet ache with every step. Pins and needles climb up his legs like leeches, and he finds himself in pain with every. Single. Step.

Down the stairs, into the living room.

The car keys hang on the wall by door.

Chase freezes. He can only stare.