#he's just so much fun to whump

[shootingstarpilot]

Hello from TheRedScreech! I'm writing a post-Melidaan/Tarre Vizsla travels into the future fic (Chapter 1 is here), and I'm wondering what your thoughts might be on a PTSD 14-yr-old Obi-Wan? He has returned to the Temple on Coruscant, and I'm thinking being surrounded by "Elders" is a biggie, nodding to your chapter about Obi-Wan and Dexxter and "There were no Besalisks on Melidaan". Quin and Friends will help him out a lot here and Obi-Wan can only be taken care of by non-Human healers like Vokara, but I'm also wondering what else might be prevalent at this point in his recovery?

Thank you! And I hope you're keeping well with all your life's big changes.

Hello Red!

This is 100% going to be explored a LOT more in the next fic in StS, so I'll probably end up coming back to this, but here are my initial thoughts (standard disclaimer that I am not a psychologist and have done exactly zero research):

Swinging between clinging and hostility. A fear that Qui-Gon/ [trusted adult] will abandon him again, and so he's- consciously or not- trying to get ahead of the game, trying to make them abandon him, because if he gets rid of them first then they can't leave him when he's not expecting it.

I've definitely already touched on this, but the way I see it, he'd have an extreme aversion to medical treatment in any sort of formal setting. He's just spent x amount of time (in my 'verse it's a year, but I genuinely have no idea how long it is in JA canon) in a very high-stress situation without the supplies to deal with injuries. Any injuries, he either tries to patch up himself, or just forgoes dealing with them altogether- after all, he can still stand, he can still move, he can still fight, so he's fine, he's fine, he doesn't need help. He's still operating under wartime scarcity rules.

Staying under things. Avoiding open spaces. In the same way that children who live in places where bombings via drone are common prefer cloudy skies because that means the drones can't fly, I think that Obi-Wan would have a similar reaction because of the constant threat of bombardments. Ducking under things when he's frightened. Sleeping under the bed or in the bathtub. Somewhere more enclosed, you know?

Again, something that I've already touched on: a reluctance to eat food that either isn't sealed or that he hasn't helped prepare himself. It could have been tampered with, it could be spoiled, and he can't tell--

Something else relating to his relationship with his surroundings: always needing something at his back. Not being able to sleep without someone keeping watch.

Also, I do like the thought that he keeps forgetting his lightsaber. He's just waged a whole war without it. I like the idea that he... kind of forgets that it's a weapon he can count on again, you know?

Wildly protective of his friends his age and younger kids, lashing out at adults around them-- even though the adults are people his friends trusts. Like lashing out at Master Tholme if he gets too close to Quinlan.

Oh, nearly forgot about this one-- keeping his hair short. Long hair can be grabbed. In my mind, all of the Young keep their hair cut short, even twenty years later. Long hair is a tactical disadvantage. In StS, Obi-Wan grew out his hair once he was knighted, trying to move past everything, trying to prove he's better- and then the war started up again, and old habits reasserted themselves. (Then, of course, Dooku happened...)

These are a few situation-specific ideas that I had, but there are, of course, plenty of ways you can explore other manifestations of symptoms of PTSD- insomnia/ nightmares, intrusive thoughts, apathy, depression, psychosomatic pain, an inability to enjoy situations you'd enjoyed pre-trauma...

I will be back with more ideas, but I hope these provide some fodder for you to start! Feel free to message me if you want to chat more about this, I do love putting Obi-Wan through the wringer >:) and best of luck with your fic!!

[tswwwit]

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to. 

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.” 

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask. 

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples." 

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?” 

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time. 

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent. 

 Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

 In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out - 

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time. 

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out.  "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it - 

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha  ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.” 

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best. 

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder. 

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted. 

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details. 

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain. 

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -  

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach. 

Alright. So. He got most of the traps. 

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention. 

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground. 

Then -�� because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing. 

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes. 

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience. 

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder. 

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow. 

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner. 

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument. 

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird. 

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face. 

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency. 

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.” 

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much. 

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention. 

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off. 

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder. 

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation. 

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper  elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it. 

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily. 

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise. 

Until his mind catches up with what he just said. 

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness. 

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.” 

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!” 

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say,  “I’ve done it before.” 

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.” 

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges -  Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels. 

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer - 

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes -  Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.” 

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick. 

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out. 

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it. 

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.” 

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face.  “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts. 

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him. 

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds, 

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.” 

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C���mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.” 

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents  - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close -  "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll - 

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal. 

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking -  “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. 

Crap, even his threat before was kind of - 

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

[riacte]

so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

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Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[brutal-nemesis]

ok siiince you asked for requests for demon boy castys… the tongue cut out + gag seemed like such an adorable situation for him <33

Giving you that and a little extra because I wanted More Whump 💕

←Previous - Castys & Terror AU Masterlist - Castys Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: manhandling, a lot of unsexy noncon touching, slight dehumanization, partial nudity

Castys wasn’t sure if he slept at all that night, but after what felt like an eternity, Neteri reappeared wearing different clothes under her white coat.

“Good morning, Castys!” She sat on one of the stools from last night and motioned for him to do the same. “Get up, I’ve got wonderful news to share!” 

Castys opened his mouth to retort, but he found he couldn’t form the words. His tongue was still…he looked away, swallowing, and sat up while remaining on the floor. 

“You’re going to have to start listening to me, you know. Because,” she broke out into an excited smile, “I get to keep you!” Upon seeing Castys’s glare, she just laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t be excited, but trust me,” she held up a finger, “you’ll be much better off in my hands than if you were sold as a pet to some bored aristocrat. I’m sure they’d beat that personality right out of you, and I don’t plan on doing anything of the sort. As long as you cooperate with my experiments, you’re free to be yourself. You can even hate me as much as you like!” Castys raised an eyebrow at her final statement. He’d see about that.

After rummaging in her bag for a moment, she pulled out a little silver medal and moved to crouch next to him on the ground. “Hold still now,” she ordered as she started to bring it towards his neck. Castys wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but after a moment, it clicked, and he decided he’d rather not listen, leaning back. Neteri just sighed. “You’re not off to a very good start.” Well, it’s not like he wanted to be.

Suddenly, Neteri changed tactics, shoving him down on his back and straddling his waist before he could try to sit up, pinning his arms down with a knee on each elbow. Castys cried out, the wounds on his back from the whip lighting up in pain, and that combined with her full weight on him kept him from moving. He bared his teeth as her hand came closer, daring her to get within range, but she just curled her other hand in his hair, yanking it back and keeping his head firmly in place. Great. He was once again powerless against this tiny lady, forced to keep still as she attached that dumb little tag to the collar and sealed the metal shut with the same spell that kept him from taking it off.

“There,” she said once it was on. She tapped the tag, cold against his throat. “Property of Neteri Crozien. Whether you like it or not. Now,” she grabbed his chin, “are you going to let me put some new restraints on you or should I call the guards to manhandle you? Your resistance is pointless and only delaying the inevitable, exactly like every other time. Just nod if you’re going to cooperate.”

Did he want to get manhandled again? Not particularly. He’d had more than enough of being grabbed and held still while chains were taken off and put on. And it’s not like he was resisting out of pride or something stupid, he just fought back when it was something he really didn’t want to happen. Which was most things in the past couple days, but, hey, if new restraints meant he got to leave this boring-ass cell, he was okay with it. Her grip on his hair had loosened enough to allow him a small nod, so he gave one, praying she’d get the fuck off of him now.

Neteri smiled brightly at his cooperation. “Great! Although,” she got off of him and stood, thinking, “maybe just stay laying down. I don’t really trust you not to try and run at the moment, so just roll on your stomach and I’ll take the chains off.” Castys sighed in annoyance but complied, gritting his teeth as his weight went from his injured back to his burned chest. The cold stone floor felt a little good on it, at least, but it was a small consolation as he watched Neteri walk back over with a key and a coil of rope. 

She squatted down and-fuck, that was a knee on his back, not her full weight but enough to make him gasp in pain. Paying him no mind, Neteri unlocked the manacles around his wrists, and he could barely enjoy the feeling of not having anything around them for a moment, just wishing she’d tie him up and get the fuck off of his back. It didn’t feel like she was going particularly slow as she pulled his arms behind him and wound the rope around his wrists, but the seconds still dragged by at an agonizing pace. 

Finally, she finished tying the knot and took her knee off of his back as she stood. “There we go!” Castys just groaned, rolling on his side. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I was hurting you.” Castys’s glare deepened, and he awkwardly used his bound hands to pull up the back of his shirt enough to expose the bandages wrapped around his torso. Neteri’s jaw dropped slightly, and she just stared at him for a second before worry took over her features.

“I…I’m so sorry I…I completely forgot. That you were hurt. I wouldn’t have done that if I remembered.” Her head hung slightly. “I’m really sorry, Castys.” Her apology seemed genuine, but how the fuck did she forget he got whipped and branded yesterday? She looked back at him again. “Let’s just hurry and get you to your new home so I can heal you up, okay?” Wait, new home? She was taking him somewhere else? At first the idea was scary, but then Castys remembered that he’d never particularly loved living in the castle, so whatever. It was probably just going to be a different prison cell, anyway.

With ridiculous difficulty and a lot of groaning in pain, he managed to sit up, using his elbows to help him do it since his hands were kind of useless. By the time that was done, Neteri was standing above him with…a chain? He was already tied up what the fu-no. No fucking way. He growled as her hands moved towards his neck, baring his teeth once more.

“Seriously, Castys? You said you weren’t a dog yesterday, but you sure are acting like one.” Yeah, sure, whatever, but since he couldn’t fucking talk, he was forced to resort to other means of protest. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure where the growling came from himself, and, yeah, it was a little animalistic, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get put on a leash. “This is happening either way, so just give it up already.” Her hand was moving closer, closer, the clasp at the end of the chain open, ready to-

Once again, instinct took over, and before he knew it, his teeth were buried in the flesh of her hand.

Neteri cried out, jerking her hand back and dropping the leash. “Lyte! Seriously?!” She winced as she dabbed the wounds with what smelled like the stingy liquid from yesterday and used her magic to close them up, during which Castys couldn’t help but smile smugly. Once she was done healing, she pulled on her leather gloves and grabbed a couple rolls of bandages from her bag. “I figured you were going to be difficult to keep in line, but this is just ridiculous.” Castys took pride in being ridiculous, so he’d take the compliment. What he didn’t want to take were the consequences of his actions, but he was a little bit helpless at the moment, so there wasn’t much he could do as Neteri shoved a wad of bandages in his mouth and tied a strip around his head to keep him from spitting it out.

“There. You’re just about the only person who’d need to be gagged when they can’t talk.” Castys just looked away, feeling his face grow hot as she clipped the leash to the collar. She gave it a tug, but he didn’t budge. Now he was just resisting out of spite. Neteri’s expression grew even more frustrated, and it looked like she was about to say something before she stopped herself and took a deep breath, calming herself down. She crouched down to look Castys in the eye.

“Look, I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, so I’m not going to punish you for biting me. We’ll just call it even.” She paused and held up a finger. “The gag stays until we reach our destination, though. Just for safety’s sake. But I’ll tell you something about my plans for you. If you come with me, you’ll have a tongue again by the end of tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

Castys could be stupid and stubborn and petty and shake his head and sit here and then end up getting dragged off to wherever, or he could just suck it the fuck up and get the ability to complain back. Complaining would be nice...After weighing his options he nodded, and Neteri broke into a smile. “Good. Let’s go, then.” She helped him stand, and she seemed to do her best not to pull on the leash as they walked along. Soon enough, they had reached the teleportation stone, and Castys…he couldn’t help but be a little excited to leave this stupid place. He knew he was a fucking prisoner now, but he was basically a prisoner in his old life, too, minus the chains and plus a comfy bed. 

At least he was going somewhere else.

The other palace was pretty cool, at least, the short glimpses he got before he was pulled into the lower levels, down halls and through doors until they arrived at his lame little prison cell. It did have a bed, though, so that was an upgrade. And a private bathroom?! Why did the prison cells in his family’s dungeon have to suck so much ass? He only spent two nights there, but still. If he was ever in charge of a dungeon, he would make sure it was at least a little comfy in case he got thrown in there.

Neteri clamped a manacle around his ankle, which was whatever, because that meant she untied his wrists and took that stupid leash off. And then, true to her word, she healed his wounds. The brand scarred, of course, which was…the symbol was kind of cool, but since it meant he was “property” or whatever he wasn’t too excited about it being on his chest for the rest of his life. At least shirts existed.

After that was done, Neteri instructed him to clean himself off and left him alone for a bit. He wandered into the bathroom, chain clinking with every step, and paused in front of the mirror. He looked pretty much the same as always, just a little more tired and blood-covered than usual. Oh, and the stupid collar around his neck. Neteri was fucking delusional, it didn’t look the slightest bit “cute” on him, it just looked…He didn’t want to see it anymore.

Once he was clean and dressed in some slightly comfier clothes, Castys tried out his new bed. It was nowhere near as nice as his old one, but it was way better than the floor, so he’d take it. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Neteri poked him in the face.

“I’m back, Castys, get up and take your shirt off.” Castys sat up, but didn’t take his shirt off, instead just crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. His wounds were healed, so what the hell did she need it off for? “Come on, I’m just going to examine you and take some measurements. Nothing painful, I promise.” Not painful, sure, but probably still not pleasant. Even so, he didn’t really have much choice but to listen, so he pulled off his shirt and stood, hoping this wouldn’t involve too much touching.

His hopes were in vain.

It started off fine, her measuring his height and a few other things with a strip of leather, but then she started running her hands all over him, poking at him, moving him this way and that. He couldn’t help but flinch every time since he hated being touched, and Neteri was clearly getting annoyed by it. His full-body recoil after she ran a hand down his spine was the final straw. Wordlessly, she clamped a manacle around one of his wrists before shoving him down onto the bed. He tried to stand back up, but she basically fucking tackled him, pinning him down on his back for the second time today. And, to top it all off, she managed to loop the chain around the top of the cot before cuffing his other wrist, leaving him pretty much helpless.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just kept still,” Neteri sighed, seeing his frustration. Well, it was a little fucking hard to be still when someone who��s basically a stranger is running their hands all over your bare skin. He considered trying to kick her, but she’d probably just chain him up more and keep going, and he’d rather this bullshit just be over with already.

Being chained down on his back somehow made this infinitely worse. There was nowhere to run, nothing he could do, Neteri looming over him as she put her hands all over him, touching his chest, his brand, squeezing his arms, grabbing his chin, pulling at his eyelids, gloves on now, hands in his mouth, poking at the stump of his tongue, feeling his teeth, gripping his hair to turn his head from side to side, his skin was crawling, crawling, his muscles tense, breaths coming short, fast, he just wanted her to get off stop touching him examining him taking notes reducing him down to just numbers just a body not a person not someone who got boundaries or personal space no just someone who gets touched and touched and touched-

“Castys! Hey, hey, just breathe.” Neteri was standing over him now, fiddling with the cuffs on his wrists, releasing him. Castys hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating, but he tried his best to calm down as he scrambled to the other end of the bed, as far away from her as he could get. Neteri watched him sadly. “I…I was making you uncomfortable, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, I just thought you were trying to be a nuisance.” No shit he was fucking uncomfortable, how the hell did she misread that?! At least she looked upset by this, but it was way too late for that. Castys still felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. 

Neteri reached out a hand in a misguided attempt to comfort him, but after seeing how Castys flinched and bared his teeth, she backed off. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. Well, I’ll go get you something to eat, and then I’ll leave you alone. Until tomorrow, and then you’ll have a tongue again and you can complain all you want and yell at me, okay?” Castys would rather never have to see her stupid face ever again, but that’s not how this was gonna work, so he just nodded silently, not relaxing until she’d left the room. 

He almost wanted to take a shower again, just to wash the feeling of her hands off, but it was starting to subside, so he just pulled his shirt back on and hid under the covers. What was that, exactly? He knew he didn’t like being touched, and he’d never let anyone do it remotely that much, so maybe being touched for so long in such an invasive way had been too overwhelming. Castys had thought he’d be a little tougher than this, since the thought of pain didn’t really scare him, but apparently being pinned down and touched was too much for him? Kind of…pathetic. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he could talk, protest, fight back a little bit with his words. Maybe he’d be okay once he could talk again.

He just hoped Neteri wasn’t lying about giving him his tongue back.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[whumpypepsigal]

guys, Guys, GUYS! i’ve another new whumplicious recommendation

tlou meets jurassic park meets aliens… i introduce you to the movie “65”. mills (sad-angsty-space-pilot) and koa are surrogate father-daughter who crash land in a vicious planet full of dinosaurs trying to kill them in every turn. my man mills goes through so much whump while protecting the child. did i mention it’s ADAM DRIVER? *screaming crying throwing up*

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 10

content warnings: mentions of murder, non-human whumpee with non-human injuries, dehumanization

prev chapter | masterlist

It wasn’t until hours later that someone tall walked in, his perfect posture and unreadable expression reeking of confidence. I immediately ducked my head down, but he didn’t glance at me, his platform boots coming to a stop in front of the queen.

“Kieran,” she acknowledged, not looking up at him.

“Lucia. Pleasure to see you again. Your status as a former ruler means that I am required to show a certain level of respect for you, but please know that will not protect you from the consequences of breaking the law. It will only protect me from spitting on your grave.”

I tried desperately to remember what Prince Ryan had told me about Keiran last night. Someone had their information wrong, because he’d just called the queen a former ruler when her family had had the crown for sixteen generations. We’d come here to overthrow Keiran—that meant he was a king, right? Of what country? We hadn’t driven far enough to have left Sathenn last night, had we? All of Sathenn was the territory of the royal family, forever, but Kieran was a king somewhere, right?

“Lucia, your charges against the kingdom are as follows,” the man—Kieran—continued. “The murder of seven people last night, the-” He abruptly cut himself off, and I glanced up to see his eyes fixed on me.

Fuck.

I leaned further forward, straining my wings in an effort to stay balanced, hoping desperately that he’d continue whatever he was doing before. It seemed to have the opposite effect. “You have wings.”

I swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir.” His boots had spikes on them. I couldn’t tell if they were just decoration or if they were strong enough to be used to hurt. Decorative spikes could still hurt, but it’d ruin them to be used like that. That might not stop him, though. With boots like that, he wouldn't even have to crouch down to draw my blood, it'd be so easy. If he kicked me, it would- well, it probably wouldn’t be good, exactly.

Kieran glanced between me and the queen. “Lucia, where the hell did you get an angel? I can’t- You know what? I don’t want to know.” He crouched in front of me. “Hey. Angel. What’s your name?”

“Onyx. …Sir.” I didn’t lift my head up, hoping it would disguise the way my voice shook.

Obviously, it didn’t work, because his voice was gentle the next time he talked. “Okay, Onyx, my name is Kieran. Can you tell me what happened to your wing?”

“... Pardon?”

“Your wing. The broken one.”

The broken one. Right. Right. “That wasn't from last night. It’s been broken as long as I can remember, sir. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It was broken as a preventative measure, so that I couldn’t fly.”

“So that you couldn’t- Jesus. Okay. That’s sadistic. You’re going to need medical care for that, and for- what happened to your arm?”

My arm was from last night, but it was difficult to remember what had actually happened. It was a sword, I thought, probably, because Prince Cardan had… fuck, what had happened? He’d resisted the handcuffs, right?

“Sometime today, Onyx.”

“My apologies, sir. It got scraped last night.”

“Right. Medical care. Is anyone else in here injured?”

“Ryan fucked up his arm,” Prince Cardan blurted out, and Prince Ryan turned to glare at him.

“You fucked up my arm. Are you snitching on me to Kieran to get back at me for not letting you kill him? Is that what this is, you little piece of-”

“No one is snitching on anyone,” Kieran said firmly. “For better or worse, no one is treating anyone without explicit consent. Ryan, would you like medical assistance?”

Prince Ryan spat at Kieran’s boots.

“Fine by me,” Kieran muttered. “Onyx, medical care?”

I glanced at Prince Ryan, on my left, and he sighed. “They won't be able to do anything about your wing, but you can go if your arm hurts.” He was annoyed, maybe with his brother and maybe with me, but he wouldn’t have said I could if he hadn’t meant it. I wouldn’t get in trouble for going.

“Untie the angel and help him to the infirmary, please,” Kieran told a guard. I wouldn’t get in trouble from the royal family for going, but I supposed that he had made no promises.

“Onyx,” Prince Ryan said quietly, and I glanced back at him. “Do what they tell you, yeah? Be nice and compliant for them. Don’t get hurt.” Don’t get punished, he meant. Do what they tell you and stay out of trouble.

I could do that. I knew how to do that.

Prince Cardan laughed. “It's an angel, Ry, not some priceless artifact. Does it matter?”

Prince Ryan didn't give an answer, and the guard didn't wait for one anyway, ushering me out the door.

~

taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added/removed): @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606

[whumpshaped]

i love. all powerful whumpers. i know i talk about this a lot but i just really absolutely love when a whumper controls every aspect of whumpee's life. not even as a human, but more as a god. a being so far above whumpee that they genuinely have no chance of fighting back.

maybe whumper literally created whumpee, and is now playing with them like a puppet. and whumpee is forced to bump into the invisible walls of their confined world over and over again, realising again and again that they can only ever go as far as whumper allows.

and maybe... sometimes... whumpee thinks they have outwitted whumper. they find a little loophole, a glitch in the matrix, a tear in the fabric of their artificial reality. they take the opportunity immediately, thinking they're about to be free... only to end up as a pawn in whumper's game yet again. the opening was put there on purpose, specifically for whumpee to find. and where it led was entirely controlled. and whumper enjoyed every second of this delightful little show of whumpee feeling some hope, only for it to be violently ripped away.

again.

[tormentum-ab-intra]

skeledog Leander WIP

the skull here is actually modeled closely after a deer skull, just compressed to fit a dog's overall face shape. also tried to make the eyes a little less wide-set than a deer's without making them completely front-facing like a dog's. here's the rest of the (still un-rendered) body:

i'm testing out the screen recorder i just downloaded so if that ends up working the way i want it to i'll have a timelapse of this piece when it's done :)

[necrotic-nephilim]

What do you think about the fab five polycule

(Dick x donna x wally x garth x roy)

i'll be SO honest i wish i had like. insightful interesting opinions on them but i've always been a Young Justice kid and sort of. breezed past consuming Fab Five Teen Titans content-

but of what i *do* know, from the few comics i've read with these characters is this is one of the best ships for Dick, honestly. it always deeply annoys me when fanon content breezes past the Titans as if they're just some distant teammates and not some of Dick's closest friends, if not a second family. *especially* the Fab Five. for most, if not all of them, it's the first time getting to actually connect with other teen heroes. so there's something fun about how sort of terrible they are at it, at first. they all care about each other a lot. but they're kind of chucked into the deep figuring out how to work with each other and get along with *very* different personalities, so it's fun to see where the conflict comes.

as a ship, i do really love it. the Titans are a family. like we call a lot of teams found families, but for the Fab Five, that shit is the truest. they depend on each other and trust each other. when Dick and Bruce are on outs and Bruce fires him, he goes to the Titans.

i also enjoy how, to an extent, all of them are outsiders of some kind. Donna is alone in a new world she's never experienced, the same as Garth. Roy is still new and awkward to living the rich life with Oliver. Wally doesn't connect to his parents well. and of course, Dick has lost his parents and only has Bruce, who isn't the most emotionally available. of course they're going to cling to each other, as the first people they can really develop connections too. they're very clingy with each other and i think that's both cute and *fun* to explore like, codependency issues with them. how protective they can be of each other, how they default to trusting each other over their mentors, etc. it's all very interesting for a polycule, especially since for most of them, it's their first real relationship. i'm a big fan of "none of us know what dating looks like bc we've had such strange childhoods so we don't understand the Rules very well. we're all just going to date each other bc why would i date only one of you. do teamups count as dates now." vibes with teenage polycules. and the Fab Five just. have that on lock. they each fulfill a different "niche" in the group. Garth is the softer, more emotional one you can go to if you're upset. Donna is the one for planning bright fun trips and making sure you don't wallow. Roy is protective and can pretend to be suave, but he shows affection through gift giving and grand gestures where words fail him. Wally can cheer any of them up with jokes and distractions. and of course Dick is the logical one who makes sure they all keep their heads on and don't drown in the responsibility.

overall i think it's a really cute ship and i do wish i just. knew more about them to be able to write them/read fic of it because i do love their dynamic. and i'm just a firm believer in the Titans being Dick's family, just as important to him as the Batfam. they're a disaster and for that you gotta love them.

[whumpy-wyrms]

yk i was having trouble writing tllr chapter 12 because Dew is sick with a fever in the beginning and i just,, idk felt uninspired or something because im not the biggest fan of sickfics or whatever

well now i’m sick with a fever and it’s helll so sorry Dew im gonna have to put you through this now my bad 👍👍 at least i am now inspired

if this post makes no sense it’s because my brain hurts and i’m tired 👍👍👍

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[familyofpaladins]

THERES A WHUMPAPEDIA WIKI????????

[whumpingisfun]

What oc is living rent free in your head right now?

We want pictures! We want rambles! We want chunks of scenes and favorite lines! This is a vent-about-your-blorbo free card! Go wild!

This oc uses he/him, they/them pronouns!

*ahem*

Meet Jewel-Prince Kayan!

He is a prince of Vesnia and is dedicated towards peace and the continuation of culture as one should when being a Jewel.

Being a Jewel is one of three tracks a Royal of Vesnian blood can go into, as the polyamorous royals have simply too many of Royal blood for an easy inheritance to the throne. The other two are Politic and Warrior.

Being a Jewel is hard grueling work, full of dedication, memorization and poise. It often requires scholarships and favor with others in the Vesnian nobility. Kayan is one of the youngest Jewels in generations, and is a rising star amongst the Vesnian courts.

Kayan has mastered the fine arts of tea ceremony, Vesnian poetry, and ribbon dancing. He is apprenticed to his great uncle the Sapphire of the Stars, learning his next mastery in the celestial spheres (a mixture of astrology and astronomy).

It is the duty of a Jewel’s sworn courts to protect them, and that they may remain whole and unshattered.

But Shattered Jewels bring shame to their courts and thus are hidden away. Forbidden from truly doing their called duties…

These are some of my favorite scenes from them from a few recent-ish rps. Kayan has such empathy for animals I cry so much over it.

(Fun fact: Vesnians do not eat meat that is not humanely culled, similar to Kosher and Halal dietary rules and restrictions)

And one day I will write a novel featuring poor Kayan in his canon story but for now, I content myself with RPs where I get to torment this poor Jewel.

[brutal-nemesis]

Yeehaw we gettin tagged by @whump-me​ (tyyyy) and posting 7 snippets from our writing (or wips but i am a wipless bastard atm 🤪) and i have decided to do some Silly Castys Moments (and also some Erebus stuff ig 🙄)

Warning for some gore probably it’s Nemi writing so yk but I’ll try to keep the really bad stuff outta here (there also some armputation and guy going crazy and starving to death over and over you know the drill)

1. Local silly guy does in fact regret it very much

“I don’t really want you, per se, but a certain…friend of yours.” Castys stiffened, and he heard a faint laugh. “I think you know who I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t. I’ve got a lot of friends, you know, and-” something slammed into the metal above him, cutting him off.

“Don’t play dumb with me; you know exactly who I’m talking about, and you’d better tell me where I can find him or I’ll make you regret it.”

“Please, do your worst. I already regret so many damn things so I don’t think another one on the pile will do much to me, to be honest,” Castys mused, wiggling against his bonds slightly.

2. The worst fmk in existence gets you stabbed

“Hey, guys, fuck, marry, kill for rice, pasta, and bread, go. I think for me, I gotta say fuck bread, marry rice, kill pasta. Don’t get me wrong, I love some noodles, some noods, but, like, man. Have you ever just, like, had some bread? Insane. I would fuck bread. I don’t wanna fuck anything, but boy I would fuck the bread. And rice, man, she’s so dependable, she’s always there for you. What I would want in a spouse if I wanted anything in a spouse. This game wasn’t really designed for me, and yet, here I am. So, c’mon, what’s it from you two? You’ve gotta have-Hey, Danny boy, got an opinion you’d like to share?” Castys smiled up at the man now standing in front of him.

Daniel rolled his eyes before putting his asshole face back on. “Just do something useful for once and hold this for me, vermin,” he said with a smile, lifting Castys’s shirt and gently sliding the knife he was holding into his abdomen. Castys just sighed, way too used to being stabbed to really care much about this.

3. Ripping your arm off but it’s a Phineas and Ferb reference (this one is probably the most gory of all the snippets fyi but it’s not too bad)

Sensing his chance, Castys grabbed the manacled wrist of his shredded arm with his good hand, bit down on the gag, and pulled. He couldn’t give up, couldn’t stop, not after enduring this much, he could feel his flesh tearing, sending out sparks of agony unlike anything he’d ever known, and he had to keep pulling, pulling and jerking and tearing and twisting and praying, praying that he could rip it off before he drowned again, which, hey, kind of a weird thing to want, not that he hadn’t had to amputate his own limbs before, but weird that it was happening again, and honestly, this hurt way more than the other times, but wasn’t that always the case-and fuck there was no way he was going to be able to just snap his bones like this, and he needed it to be completely severed, and there was no time, wedge it against the rocks and pull pull pull until there was a snap and a burst of unholy agony, so intense it almost smothered the relief, so fierce it made him forget he was drowning up until the moment his oxygen-starved brain lost consciousness.

4. Lmaoooo bitches trapped in a cell for like 200 years

Every three days. Thirst. Weakness. Dizziness. Death. Was it three days? Is that how long you could last without water? He tried to count, but the numbers got lost in the haze all too easily. There was no way to mark the stone, to keep track outside of his head, the blood wasn’t being washed off him anymore. He had nothing, nothing at all, just here and himself and the unyielding stone. The square of sunlight would move across the cell, the only motion to break the constancy of everything else. It was the same day repeated over and over and over and over and over and it was the same just the same nothing ever changed, ever, ever, it was the same-

Something wasn’t the same. The leather muzzle that had kept him silent for so long had been slowly rotting, and it finally fell off. For a moment he simply stared at it lying there on the ground, broken, dying, fading away. He opened his mouth for the first time in decades. And he screamed, because that thing got to rot away and disappear and he wouldn’t, he would always be here, hungry and thirsty and alone and trapped and alive and it wasn’t fair, not at all, and he screamed because it had been so long since he was able, he cried because it was all he could do.

5. Erebus’s iconic sit down protest ✨ (it does not accomplish anything in the end)

“You are coming with me. As of today you are my property, so you will do as I say. Resistance will only make things more difficult for you. So you will walk, or you will be dragged. Your choice.” Erebus initially felt a bolt of fear shoot through him, but looking down at her scrawny frame, he realized that she likely couldn’t carry out her threat.

Dragged? He’d like to see her try.

Erebus sat down on the ground and looked expectantly up at Neteri, one eyebrow raised. She huffed and narrowed her eyes. Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she tugged on the chain as hard as she could, but it did little more than make him lean forward. She sighed. “Okay, you have a point there.”

6. More Erebus and Neteri shenanigans because she’s right he’s being a drama queen

“You can’t just do that! That’s-you can’t just amputate my arm!”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d freak out.”

“Of-of course I’m freaking out! You want to cut off one of my limbs, for Drottkia’s sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but I’m going to give you a new one right away. So at the end of the day you’ll have the same number of arms you started with. It’s honestly not worth getting that worked up about.”

7. New phobia alert!! (warning for centipede on guy)

He felt it, it was on him, dozens of little legs pitter-pattering across his skin, crawling on him. “G-get it off. Neteri, please, please get it off.” It tickled the back of his neck, around the base of the section of skin she’d replaced. “What’s it doing Neteri plea-” she clamped a hand over his mouth, her thumb rubbing against his cheek as he whimpered.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay Erebus. I’m just seeing if it can connect to you, I promise I’ll take it off when I’m done.” Connect to him?! What-what did that mean-oh it had stopped crawling around it was just sitting there it was on his back what was it going to do to him what did connecting mean was it-Erebus felt a momentary pinch at the base of his neck, and suddenly his limbs starting moving, wriggling in the restraints all on their own. Neteri removed her hand from his mouth and looked down at him expectantly, her other hand still gripping his tightly even as his fingers twitched uncontrollably. “Are you doing that?”

“N-no I-I’m not moving I’m not doing that why are they doing that I can’t stop it is it doing that to me make it stop make it let go please-” Tears were streaming from Erebus’s eyes but he didn’t care he just wanted that thing off he wanted it gone he wanted control of his own body back he’d always had that even when he was tied up and strapped down he’d always had that-

And there we go hope that either a fun time on memory lane or at least made you laugh a little

Taggin uhhhh @galaxywhump @yet-another-heathen and @painsandconfusion (mainly because i know you will want to read the Castys content 💕)

[cupcakes-and-pain]

So here's the thing... shortly after we left off from Riley's story he had a mixup with a girl and long story short, he's in desperate need of a babysitter 😕 turns out they don't really teach the birds and bees to the pets in the state home and Eddie never thought he'd have to either.

***

"Ollie, You remember Collette? She's almost three now if can you believe it." Riley readjusts the toddler propped on his hip and shrugs the diaper bag higher with his opposite shoulder. It looks sort of heavy so Ollie takes it from him, knowing that Riley still gets sore from the incident in his past, and invites him in.

"H-hi Coco," he waves to the cherub faced girl, "it's okay, I don't think she'll remeber m-"

"Lollie!" Coco lisps, bouncing at her poppas side with excitement, "Poppa! Lollie!"

***

Rileys gotta go but he'll be back pretty soon, Charles won't mind right? It's a big enough house and he trusts Ollie with his most prized possession 🥰 what could POSSUBLY go wrong??

Yeah, haha, no clue if anything CAN go wrong. Nah, everything will be happy and peachy today :D (sarcastic) (it can and will go wrong) (Ollie is in danger) (I will hurt the boys) (no one can stop me)

- - -

Ollie’s heart melts when the little girl not only recognizes him, but is excited to see him! His small, polite smile widens into a joyful grin. He leads father and daughter into the living room.

Master Charles wasn’t there right then, having ran downstairs last minute to talk to his secretaries. Ollie knew the real reason. Although Master Charles definitely did not hate children, he wasn’t particularly fond. Especially babies and toddlers. Whenever Coco came over or Ollie went to see her, Master would fuss over the details and make sure he had enough stock to feed ten babies (while also consistently underestimating how many diapers she’ll need), despite Riley packing a diaper bag. But after trying to ensure that anything that Coco might need is provided for, Master Charles is quick to leave and interact with small human as little as possible.

But all of that was okay. Today would be fun! Ollie was responsible, he didn’t need Master or Riley to watch over him. He was a good babysitter! It was fine.

He took a couple deep breaths to soothe his never-ending anxiety, and set the bag down. After a few proper greetings and reminders were exchanged, Ollie took the toddler from him and waved goodbye to Riley.

Walking to the dining room, Ollie sat Coco down and pulled out some crayons Riley had mentioned. He didn’t have any paper besides a little notepad he knew was in the junk drawer, and even then he felt guilty about taking that. What if Master Charles needs it? What if Ollie was being greedy and annoying?

But no. No! It’d be fine. And even if it wasn’t, if this was the last straw… he could take it. He knew it wasn’t good to ever assume anything about how an owner would react, but he felt safe thinking that Charles wouldn’t toss him out for this. Hurt him, maybe. Strip him off all of his undeserved care and privileges, sure. But Ollie would be okay in the end.

He had to be careful at first to make sure Coco drew on the paper and not the table, but she seemed to get it. On the paper, not anything else.

“Oh, that’s very pretty, Coco!”

“Pitty? Pitty! Pitty, pitty.” Coco babbled to herself as she drew, unable to pronounce the “r” in pretty. Each time she stopped to show him, he smiled and assured her it was still pretty.

Of course, no art could ever compare in beauty and talent to his Master’s. His wonderful Master, who can only create art so marvelous it is worthy of being preserved in a museum for centuries. But Coco didn’t need to hear that right now. She was only three. It would be mean to compare her to the best artist there ever was.

After a while, her stomach growled and she pouted.

“Oh! Of course. I’ll got get us some snacks. Stay here, and remember! Only on the paper. Can you say paper?”

“Papey.”

Close enough. He patted her head and headed to the kitchen, humming to a song he heard Master play when he was in a very good mood .

Master Charles kept fruit in a bowl on the counter, and a bag of berries in the fridge. Those were free for Ollie to take, and so he pulled some out and started cutting them up for they’d be perfect for a little toddler. One can never be too safe. And he had to be very careful with knives, but it was okay. Everything was okay today, because Coco was here. Master didn’t like children very much, but he trusted Ollie. Ollie was very responsible. This will be fun! And Riley will be back soon.

Sighing, Ollie continued his cheerful humming and picked up the nearly cut slices and arranged them beautifully on the plate. His own art in a special way.

The delicate arrangements didn’t end up mattering, because he dropped the plate in shock when he turned around to where they were sitting earlier.

Coco was gone.

Panicking, he didn’t even clean up his mess. She was gone, completely gone. Master’s home was very open, so he could see all of the kitchen, dining room, entry way, living room, and down into the halls where the bedrooms and stuff were. He could even see into the bathroom and part of his room, since the doors were open.

And no little girl in sight.

Running down the hall, and threw every door open and called out for her, eyes scanning each room rapidly as he lightly searched and then moved on. His heart was beating out of his chest and his head was alight with terror. Where could she have gone so quickly? He feared that he had already missed her, that she was hiding much better than he gave her credit for and that he would be able to find her at all.

Riley would be furious, he trusted Ollie, his friend, to watch his daughter. And now she was gone. Never mind what Master will say. A baby loose in his house is asking for disaster.

Oh god, Ollie was in so much trouble.

It wasn’t until he got to four rooms in that he found her. The door was open just a crack, and he could hear his giggles and babbling coming from inside.

She was in his Master’s studio.

He rushed in, filled with relief that she was found, though it wasn’t without apprehension that it was the studio. But it’d be fine! It’d be-

“Lollie, papey!”

Ollie registered what he was looking at. She hadn’t drawn, she finger painted. And that wasn’t paper.

That was the canvas that held Master’s newest painting, which he had finished today and it was not at all dry yet. Especially not the newest addition: bright green baby handprints pressed and smeared onto the bottom of the picture.

As his terror rushed back with full force and gave way to cold, unyielding, undeniable terror, he didn’t even registered the little girl trying to ask if he thought it was pretty, much less his owner’s footsteps right behind him.

- - -

Oh dear! That’s not good!! 😈😈

Also, recreation featuring this picrew here (the artist said it was okay to edit as long as you don’t do anything “morally unjust”. I hope this is okay!)

[Image ID:

A picture of Ollie sitting or laying curled up. He’s bottom is not in the picture. Ollie has fair skin, green eyes, and light brown hair long enough to border on the edge of shaggy as it hangs past his ears and into his eyes. He looks towards the viewer with a worried yet resign expression. He is naked except for bloody bandages across his chest, around his neck, and around his arm. He also has some scrapes on his upper back and arm. His knees are bruised.

The background of the picture is mostly white, but they’re are shadows around him as is he’s lying on sheets or a bed of some kind that dips under his weight.

This picture is surrounded by a gold picture frame that was clearly not originally apart of the picture, as it’s drawn with less detail and zero shading.

At the bottom, slightly obscuring the bandages on his arms, there are two tiny bright green handprints. One has been smeared, as if the person doing it dragged their hand along the canvas instead of simply pressing down. There are also three stripes of the same green to the right of the handprints.

End of ID]