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piscespixiewastaken · 2 years

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Despair and Desperation

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STORY BELOW CUT

content warnings: eye trauma, nightmares, implied child abuse, sexual innuendos, violence, mentions of blood, panic attacks, kidnapping

Artemis’s cry cut through Foaly’s consciousness. The tremor in the Mud Boy’s voice only accentuated by the mic on his throat. Spiro’s leering face could be seen through the iris cam as he grabbed a sharp implement from a nearby table and rushed at the boy. There was a scream for help before Spiro raised the blade above Artemis’s head. Foaly could do nothing but watch in horror as the blade struck and the scream for help became a scream of pain.

Foaly jumped awake, chest heaving as his mind processed where he was. A dream, he realized. It was only a dream. But no matter how much he assured himself, it didn’t make the dream less terrifying.

His wife, Caballine stirred next to him.

“Foaly, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer, just trying to get his breathing back under control, to clear his head from the horrid scream. Because no matter how much he assured himself, that scream had been real. He had seen Spiro stab Artemis in a fit of rage. The screams and the way all feed, visual and auditory, suddenly cut off had been haunting Foaly’s nightmares ever since.

Caballine sat up and rubbed her husband’s shoulders. “You did everything you could, dear. It’s not your fault.”

Foaly took a shuddering breath. “I could have. I could have snuck him help. Something. He’s dead because we couldn’t help him.” Even if the Mud Boy had been annoying and arrogant and a general pain in the ass, he’d been improving. He didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He didn’t deserve to die.

Caballine said nothing as she hugged Foaly close. It was a long time before either of them got back to sleep.

Spiro stared out at the skyline of Chicago. He had needed this. A break from the office, from the workplace drama that was inevitable in such a large corporation. So instead of spending his weekend in the penthouse, he’d taken the day with Blunt and gone out on Lake Michigan in a yacht. Well, not just with Blunt. A few local mafia members, including one Carla Frazzetti and her boss, also sat on the boat, enjoying the first sunny days of summer on the deck.

He raised a glass of water in greeting as one of the mafia bosses approached his chair. The rotund man laughed as he plopped a deck chair beside Spiro.

“This is the life, ain’t it?” the man stated. Marco Giuliano was not a man to hold back from life’s pleasures, immoral or otherwise. Something Spiro could respect despite his inability to partake in the more drink-oriented ones. Hence his glass of water instead of the martini that Marco held in his beefy hands.

“It is indeed. Now if only we could get away to Cuba or a proper coastline,” Spiro commented, smiling.

Marco laughed again. “If only, if only. Say, where is that little brat I keep hearing you have tucked away in your penthouse. I thought you might have brought him out. I could use some fun.”

Spiro tried not to let a sour look cross his face. He would need to keep a tighter check on the lips of his security and tech staff.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to there. We did have a new technician start up last month, young, fresh out of school. Maybe he’s the one you’re thinking of?”

Marco looked puzzled. “Could have sworn I heard different. But eh, work gossip is still gossip. This mean things are going well for you?”

Spiro’s smile returned with ease. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to stick it to Phonetix once they see what we release next.”

Marco grinned. “Well, just don’t be causing too much trouble. My buddy’s got connections there.”

Spiro took the hint. “Nothing that’ll put them under. Just something to show they have some upgrading to do if they want to stay in business.”

Marco nodded. “Excellent. Keep up the work for us, Jonny boy.”

He strolled away, glass still in hand as he grabbed the waist of an escort standing by the deck railing. At least Spiro thought it was her waist. He didn’t dwell on the thought. Carla however had some very choice words to say as she walked up beside him.

“Pig,” she muttered. Spiro raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Didn’t think you were the judgmental type.”

She shrugged. “I had been looking at that one.”

Spiro glanced back at Marco and the young woman on his arm. “Ah, well, there’s plenty that’s been paid for.”

“And he’ll take them all at once if he could. Hence, he’s a pig.”

Spiro shrugged this time. “Fair enough. Need something?”

Carla did not sit down next to him. “I heard what you told Marco.” Her voice lowered so that only Spiro could hear her. “You kept him alive?”

Spiro nearly scoffed. “You expect me to kill a child in cold blood? When he’s much more profitable to me alive?”

“Profitable?” Carla’s voice betrayed a morbid curiosity.

“Of course! With a brain like his, I’ll be making bank on every patent possible. And if he ends up running out of use, his family has plenty of enemies who’d love a swing at him. Sell him off, profit regardless. I’ve already set up a way to destroy any evidence of his kidnapping as well. Nothing could point to him being under my possession.”

“He seemed rather stubborn and strong-willed by your description. It sounds like that’s changed,” Carla noted, her curiosity still piqued.

Spiro’s smile turned nasty, and for a brief moment, Carla felt a sense of pity for the Fowl boy. “Oh, it’s changed all right. He’s become an obedient little bitch, if you catch my meaning.”

Carla did catch his meaning. And her brief moment of pity for the young teen solidified. “I see,” she replied quietly.

Across the harbor in the tall, gleaming tower Spiro owned, a 14-year-old boy sat in the medical suite with the nurse. Two hulking guards stood outside, one of them with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

Chips watched as Pex’s knuckles turned white and thin bits of blood slowly dripped to the floor from his fists. He was angry. No, beyond angry, though Chips didn’t think he knew the right word for it. Whatever it was, it was bad and it was big. He heard the kid whimper from behind the door and then suddenly cry out. Pex immediately rushed to open the door. Chips peeked inside.

Artemis was shaking on the bed, clutching his head where his empty eye socket sat. Bloodstained wrappings lay around him from when the nurse changed the bandages on his eye and throat. Miss Scorzi made shushing noises to soothe the boy as he hunched forward. Chips heard a growl beside him as Pex stepped forward.

“What’d you do to him?” he demanded. Artemis flinched, looking up at the two men.

Miss Scorzi frowned at the significantly larger man now standing in her doorway. “Do not disturb my patient, Pex. He’s under enough stress already, and more sudden noises will only make this harder for both of us.

Pex wasn’t dissuaded. “Why’d he make that noise?”

Miss Scorzi stared the man down before sighing. “The bandage stuck to the wound a bit more than I expected, and it pulled at the skin. He’s fine, for now.”

Chips watched Pex look at Artemis and then back at the nurse. He growled again, this time in a different tone.

“I just… It was… It’s the same noise he made after Boss…” Pex stuttered. Chips felt like his body wanted to move down and inside of himself. It took him several minutes to realize that this feeling was sadness.

Miss Scorzi had a look on her face that seemed to match what Chips was feeling. She also looked back at the teenager on her medical bed. “I know. I wish the boss would do things differently. If Doctor Julio hadn’t been visiting that day….”

Artemis tensed, his breathing speeding up as his face went pale. Well, more pale than it was. Miss Scorzi rushed over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” she said, gentle and firm. Chips also moved forward and placed a hand on the boy’s head.

Artemis slowly began to breathe more normally again. Chips was relieved. He didn’t know how to handle panic, especially with Pex here. He knew Pex would panic first anyways.

“You’re safe right now, kid.” Chips found his voice was so quiet, he almost couldn’t hear it. He realized he was angry too. “He can’t get you here.”

Artemis nodded. Miss Scorzi gave Chips a grateful look before gently rubbing the boy’s arm. “Let’s finish getting you patched up, okay? Then these two will take you back to your room. Spiro will be out for most of the day, and I’ll see if one of the other staff members can stall him before he comes to see you. Okay?”

It wouldn’t be much. Chips really hoped Boss came back in a good mood. He thought back to what Pex had mentioned a few months before. And he realized something. Chips realized he didn’t like Boss holding the kid here either. He had thought after a year, things would calm down. But they hadn’t. They’d gotten bad, real bad. Maybe someone needed to do something about that. He just didn’t know who.

Taglist: @artemis-fowl-angst

#artemis fowl #tw: child abuse #tw: blood #tw: eye injury #tw: kidnapping #whump #jon spiro #i’ve never written something like this before and oof #is this my thing now?#do I write whump now??#jon says no fairies au

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whumpasaurus101 · 8 months

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#me atm #i took out my laptop to write #but now i cant bc #brain just says no HUIKDJHD #I LITERALY HAVE IT WRITTEN OUT #ALL I HAVE TO DO IS TYPE IT #BUT APPRENTLY BRAIN SAYS NO #anywho #HUIKJDHDHKDJ #my memes #meme #writing meme #whump meme #writeblr #whump community

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wisteria-whump · 2 months

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wait im thinking about a whumpee who kept a journal throughout like their entire life (or at least since before whatever trauma they've endured) so their friends post-rescue either find the journals and read them or whumpee even offers them to their friends as a way of showing what they were like before or articulating their feelings without having to say anything out loud..,,... and there's just such a difference between before, during, and after.....,,,,,,

#i tried for a while to be a consistent journaler #and like a year and a half ago it just clicked and now i can do it #highly recommend #the handwriting progression alone is worth it #whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump writing #whump idea #whump blog #whump scenario #tw whump #whump tw

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3-2-whump · 5 months

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TW: Rape/Noncon, intimate whumper, obsessed whumper, domestic violence

Imagine this with me: an angry, jealousy-fueled noncon between whumper & whumpee. Clothes-ripping, hair-pulling, being bodily slammed into hard surfaces, no love nor lube, etc.

Imagine me, trying to decide who’s crying during this angry, jealousy-fueled noncon. I could go for the easy choice -because whumpee almost always looks good crying- but then, my partner said something about crying being an emotional outlet, which got my brain turning. If crying is an outlet for humans to let out emotions (any emotions), what if both of them were crying?

So now imagine with me: an angry, jealousy-fueled noncon between whumper & whumpee where both of them are crying.

Whumper is crying something like “What do they have that I don’t? Why am I not enough for you?!”

Whumpee is crying because “No, stop, it hurts, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

#anyone else see my vision?#cool now how do I write that?#viridian thoughts #whump stuff #whump prompts #whumper #intimate whumper #whumpee #whumper x whumpee #nsfwhump #tw rap3 #tw noncon #tw domestic violence #god I hope I didn’t miss any tags

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boxboysandotherwhump · 3 months

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I polished an old piece of mine, trying to get into creating stuff again :3

#whump art #my art #digital art #whump #I finally found a solution for the first act of this story (which was stopping me to get started)#and now I'll try to slowly get back into writing and creating #in the hopes of being able to share this story with others #but I have sooooo much to do and a lot of brain fog these days so who knows if I will be able to write #but re-vamping this drawing of mine was a ton of fun non the less <3

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fallenwhumpee · 9 months

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There's not enough leader whumpees. They desperately try to stay strong because people depend on them. They are distant because they are an authority figure. They don't get the attention they need because they seem like they're holding themselves and the team together just fine. They never stop, so the others can. They do everything to keep their people safe. Just. Leader whumpees.

#leader whumpee #leader whump #whump #trying to write leader whump but also craving some to read #it would be nice if i didnt read the tag from the very beginning a few times now #...i rambled a bit #< -- i think I'll use that if I do this again

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whump-queen · 6 months

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Do you have any OC’s or Whump scenarios that came along via spite? I know for me I get a lot of inspiration by eating traditional media where they imply something bad did/or is gonna happen, but then they cut right before it!! And I’m like “well I guess I’ll do it myself!!”

Is this pretty much the basis of fanfic yes yes it is but are there any specific instances you remember or want to mention?

Okok you want like specific instances??

How about when there’s a pretty servant boy but he never gets hit/hurt onscreen??

I’ve written a lot of servant whump and I really wish more media would explore the ~full potential~

Like, you’re telling me they never punish this guy??

They never just throw him down and beat the bloody shit out of him for fun?? For things that weren’t even his fault??

like.. He’s meant to take it. It’s literally what he’s there for.

You can beat him to the ground cuz it’s fun. Play mind games with your affection. Set him up to fail and then punish him anyway. Anything goes!

Don’t tell me you don’t wanna slap a pretty servant boy across the face with a couple rings on and hear him apologizing to you~

Leave a few nice bloody marks on his pretty face~ It’ll help him remember what he did.

You’re doing him a favor, really. helping him remember his place~

#how I feel about pretty servant boys in media that don’t get abused horribly like I want them to 🥺🥺😭😢😞😭#servant whump #akias asks #I want him crying and apologizing while I grind his face into the floor with my shoe 🥰🥰#read my seven series if u want the servant whump content it is Good Shit I am biased but TRUSSTTT #akia.txt #beatdown #my belovedddd #answered asks #sevencore #whump scenario #whump writing #whump prompt #unintentionally drove past my exs apartment building today on the way home from work >>:///:#0 stars to that shit #I do not like #you know what I DO like tho?!!?!?!??#pretty boy in a tight little suit getting yanked forward by their tie 💖💖#boom CLAP the SOUND in my HEART the BEAT goes ON and ON and ON n ONYEAH #cool brain has reset now nice #thank usuuuuuu sososo much for the ask!!!!!!#eeee!!!

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brutal-nemesis · 5 days

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big question!! dude can we please see a scene in the AU where castys has his tongue cut off and he has to deal with that? like man, the shock and the pain and the fuckin grief? and neteri just being herself ofc

anyway the latest erebus chapter was heartbreaking you’re so good at being awful to these lads (i can’t stop reading)

Thank you I try,,,,,

Okay strap in fellas I think this is banger as hell I had a great time and let me know if you have any other requests for the AU!

Ingredients: shockingly, tongue gets cut off! some suffocation as well

Castys wasn’t great at sitting in chairs normally, something his parents had always reprimanded him for, but, hey, they’d never taken it as far as to fucking tie him to one, and Castys was grateful. This shit was uncomfortable. Like, yeah, the rough ropes around his wrists and ankles were tight and itchy, but also the position just sucked. Not that he’d rather be standing or something-

“You must be Castys!” The door had swung open, and now this little lady with a white coat on was walking up to him.

“Yes, I’m Castys,” he said flatly as she scurried behind him before coming back without her bag. And then she just…stared at him. Castys wasn’t sure what she was looking at, since there really wasn’t much to see, just, like, him. Eventually her eyes wandered up to his, and she jumped in place a bit.

“Oh, right, I’m Neteri.” She stuck her hand out like she expected him to shake it.

“You know I’m tied up, right?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious that she was blushing, but Castys was pretty sure she was. She ended up awkwardly grabbing his right hand and shaking it a bit. “I, um, I’ll be preparing you for this afternoon. Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Well, you’re not tied to a chair so I think you’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, but I’m just…I think I’m going to do something I’m not supposed to do.”

Castys raised an eyebrow. “Let me go because I’m funny?”

Neteri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so clearly she did think he was funny. “No, you’re staying put, sorry bud. But I think I’m going to keep you. You’re kind of perfect.” She tried to cup his cheek in her hand, but Castys leaned away, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His mouth was really dry all of a sudden, he wasn’t perfect, he was a fuck-up, a useless heir, that had been his goal, he wasn’t good at anything he was supposed to be good at, he wasn’t well-mannered or polite, he had a huge fucking scar on his face and a lopsided smile because of it, he was filthy and vulgar and didn’t have any interest in getting married he was absolutely anything but perfect. So why the hell did she want him?

“It’s not important right now. You’ve got a big day ahead of you!” She clapped her hands, dismissing the subject entirely. He wanted to press her further, but after seeing the lovely object she pulled out of her pocket, everything else was forgotten.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it, Castys? I thought you were tied to a chair!” Great, now it was his turn to feel his face grow hot, because, yeah, what the fuck was he gonna do?

Normally, he doubted he’d immediately recognize it for what it was, but today, right now, after just being told this lady wanted to keep him, it was instantly clear. And Neteri was right, he was only able to squirm uselessly and lean away as she wrapped the collar around his neck without much trouble. His first swallow after she’d sealed it shut felt horrible, and he absolutely did not want to get used to it.

“See, it’s not so bad. It looks cute on you!” She ruffled his hair, which only made Castys more uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be cute. I’m not a fucking dog.” He wasn’t sure whether the collar was part of Neteri’s weird desires or just to humiliate him, but either way he hated it.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not a prince anymore, and you’re the property of the Xernan Empire, and this is a good reminder of that,” Neteri said as she walked around behind him, probably to her bag. Castys rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he wasn’t a prince, since it was his favorite new development in all of this. Unless…unless it wasn’t just a reminder for him, but for everyone else, too…He really, really hoped there wasn’t going to be some sort of public display, but given how Neteri’d said he had a “big day” ahead…fuck, that was probably the case, huh?

“Now, I’m going to…oh, I might get in so much trouble for this,” Neteri muttered as she stared at the floor, standing in front of him once again. She had leather gloves on, which would have been nice earlier when she was touching him, and she was holding…a pair of shears? He didn’t think she’d put on gloves if she was just going to cut his hair, and given that she thought she might get in trouble for it, it seemed like she was going to…maim him somehow. Castys curled his hands into fists as Neteri slapped her cheeks with her palms, still talking to herself. “No, I’m going to do this. I deserve it. It’s not that far off from what the emperor wants. Okay,” she held the shears up and gave Castys a concerningly bright smile. “Any last words?”

For once, Castys didn’t take the opportunity to speak.

Instead, he locked his jaw shut tight, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, lips pressed together, walls of protection around his tongue.

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Neteri cocked her head, watching him. “Nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes?” Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed. “You figured it out, didn’t you, Castys? What I’m going to do to you.”

He didn’t bother nodding.

Neteri stepped up to him, her knee on the chair in between his legs, leaning over him, her face right above his as he craned back to avoid her. “You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, Castys.” The cold metal of the shears rested on his cheek. “So open your mouth.”

If there’s one thing Castys was good at, it was disobeying orders.

After a few moments of neither of them moving, Neteri pinched Castys’s nose shut with her free hand, not saying a word. Fine, he could play that game. Hold on as the pressure in his chest built, as his head started to spin, as his vision started to darken, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just give in to the inevitable and take a breath. He could do it quick, a little gasp, fast enough that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Okay, three, two…

The exhale was shaky, but it was fine, just a quick inhale as he snapped his mouth shut-

His teeth scraped against metal, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Neteri stared at him with a detached coldness as she rotated the shears, forcing his jaw open wide, wide enough for her to stick her hand in and grab his tongue, pulling it out despite his attempts to pull it back, turning the shears to the side now, opening them up, the cold blades-

Snip.

Castys’s mouth was hot it was burning he was choking the smell of blood was so strong he was suffocating on it her hand was still in his mouth her fingers pressed against his wound magic piercing through his jaw he’d scream if he had the air and then that was it her hand was gone he lurched forward coughing and spitting blood and saliva all down the front of the threadbare shirt he’d been given and once he saw the discarded little piece of pink flesh on the floor he couldn’t look at anything else he couldn’t believe that was it it was gone it wasn’t in his mouth his mouth was empty there was only the blood still dripping out and when Neteri laid a hand on his back he wanted to growl at her not to touch him but he couldn’t he couldn’t say anything anymore he was quiet nothing to say no thoughts or opinions of his own just how his parents had wanted him-

“It’s alright, Castys, just breathe. It was a little more difficult than it needed to be, but you did it.” And why did it need to be at all? “Just two more things left today and then you can rest. And then hopefully…” Her hand slid up, resting on the back of his neck, on that awful collar, and Castys wanted to scream. He never, ever wanted to belong to her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Castys was dragged out and whipped and branded and left out on display, brought back and patched up by Neteri and given soup that he couldn’t taste, and when the door slammed shut behind her, he finally allowed himself to cry.

His back and chest hurt, of course, the wounds aggravated no matter how he moved or what position he laid in, but he could deal with it. It was nothing compared to what he’d lost, the little pocket of empty space inside his mouth.

Words were all he’d ever have to really fight back, complaining when he was forced to do things he didn’t want to, scaring off all the suitors his parents picked out, jokes keeping him calm when he was scared or upset, even when he couldn’t do anything he could still say something, make sure everyone knew how he felt, and now he was more helpless than ever before and he couldn’t say a single fucking thing.

He didn’t even know where he was going to end up, either sold off to some asshole or left in Neteri’s clutches, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to be treated like a person. The collar made it pretty clear. He was less than human now, a pet, a lab rat, property, something that didn’t need to have thoughts or opinions anymore.

He’d rather be a prince after all.

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

#i wrote something #whump-in-the-closet #thanks troy this was super fun!#castys & terror au #castys #neteri #whump #tongue whump #the best part about writing this was i just copy pasted some of neteri's dialogue and actions from e&t ch2 lmao #i missed writing her tho fuck :(#i know it's my own fault but still (┬┬﹏┬┬) my girl #and then castys is easy as fuck to write yippee #by the time wick asked me about him getting his hair cut i had already written the beginning of this #and i didnt really know how to work it in 😔 so just know that if he had longer hair and it got cut it would have made him very happy #and probably lulled him into a bit of a false sense of security #castys deserves a collar at all times tbh he is a feral animal and i need to pull him around by the neck #plus he looks soooo good with one on especially if it's red (it's black here tho 😔)#god neteri being threatening to him is so sexy #and then no more tongue HAH HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT MISTER STUPID COMEBACKS #NOBODY WANTS TO LISTEN TO YOU #just be a good little test subject from now on (he won't)

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echo-goes-mmm · 4 months

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Ambrose and Elliot #28

Masterpost

Warnings: strangulation

He couldn’t move. His old master straddled his lap, looking right at him, and he couldn’t move.

How was he here?

He opened his mouth to scream for Ambrose to help him, for anyone, but nothing came out. Master smiled that horrible smile, and wrapped his cold hands around his neck.

He began to squeeze, tearing the breath from him. Elliot wheezed, gasping for air. He pulled at Master’s hands, prying at his fingers, but he only tightened his grip like a vice.

Master leaned down. “You’re never going to get away from me,” he whispered into his ear. “Did you really think you could?”

Blood ran down Master’s wrists as Elliot frantically clawed at his hands and arms.

His strength was fading fast. He weakly tried to hit Master, but he dodged it with ease, laughing.

His vision went black.

___________________

Elliot woke up with a gasp. He shot up, his head and heart pounding. He was alone.

There was no weight pinning him down, no pressure on his throat. He gulped down the cool night air.

It was only a dream. It was only a dream.

He pushed his sweaty bangs up his forehead. His chest heaved, and his legs were tangled in the covers.

He pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tight, and tried not to sob.

The stuffed bear Ambrose had given him lay on the floor. It must have fallen while Elliot thrashed in his sleep.

Elliot leaned over to pick up the bear. He smoothed over its fur. “Sorry,” he told it.

The bear’s black button eyes looked back at him, and he felt a bit silly for apologizing to a toy.

He shivered, sweat cooling on his skin.

It was a chilly night. Elliot put the bear back on his bed, and pulled a blanket over his shoulders.

His socked feet didn’t make a sound as he crossed over the wooden floor.

Elliot took the fire poker from the stand and prodded the glowing embers in his fireplace. He pushed in some more logs with the poker, and went back to bed.

___________________

He couldn’t get back to sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear Master’s laugh and feel his cold hands on his throat.

The logs hadn’t caught yet, and it seemed like an omen for how the rest of night would go if he stayed here.

He threw off the covers again, and grabbed his bear.

Ambrose wouldn’t be mad, right? He said he loved Elliot. Whatever that really meant.

He shuffled out of his room and went upstairs. He didn’t bother knocking on the outer door.

He closed it quietly. The fading scent of incense still hung in the air. Master Ambrose must have been up late, or perhaps the night was younger than he thought.

Elliot knocked on the bedroom door before turning the handle.

Ambrose half sat up, leaning back on his elbow.

“Ellie?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Um, can I sleep with you tonight?” Elliot fidgeted with the stuffed bear.

Ambrose yawned. “Yeah, ‘course you can.”

Elliot crawled into bed, and Ambrose shuffled aside to make room.

“You okay?” murmured Master Ambrose, pulling the covers over both of them.

“Yeah. Just had a bad dream.”

“Mmm.” Ambrose’s eyes fluttered, clearly half asleep. Elliot snuggled into him, bear still in his arms.

It was nice and warm under the blankets, and Elliot knew Ambrose wouldn’t let his old master strangle him.

Ambrose’s faint flowers-and-bergamot perfume was soothing, and it was easy to fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.

___________________

Elliot woke up late in the morning. He looked around, and was surprised to see Ambrose propped up against the headboard, book in hand.

“Morning,” said Master Ambrose. He turned a page.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I think I’ll need to go to the bank in Lakeview soon.”

“Lakeview?” Elliot sat up. He didn’t know where that was.

“Mhm. I need to make a deposit and arrange some payments.” Ambrose put the book aside and stretched.

“I’ll be gone for a couple days. You can either come with me, or stay here, whichever you prefer.”

Ambrose hopped out of bed and began to dig through his dresser. “I’m going to take a bath,” he said, pulling out a set of clothes.

Elliot watched him go into the bathroom.

He didn’t want to travel all the way to Lakeview, but the idea of being left alone for two days made his skin crawl. Anyone could walk in.

Anyone, like his old master. Elliot shuddered.

Lakeview it was.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

#I cant believe it took me this long to give Ellie nightmares #like cmon. staple of the genre.#'do you even write whump bro'?#also ive slightly retconned Ambrose. he wears perfume now #my writing #whump #ambrose and elliot #slavery whump

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peachy-panic · 10 months

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This Could Be The Moment

This is it. The chapter I’ve been fist-fighting for weeks. This was one of those moments that was in my brain since the original conception of Do No Harm, so naturally there’s a lot of internal pressure to get it right. I hope I’ve done it some justice for y’all.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, ongoing sleep deprivation, nightmares, PTSD, the most fucked up of headspaces, whumpee fearing caretaker, noncon kissing, nudity, two survivors of trauma navigating some messy, messy waters

Jaime wakes in a cold sweat.

His first instinct is, as always, to look toward the bedroom door. Where moments ago there was a vivid silhouette against a backlit hallway, lurching toward his bed, there is now only a closed door. The house beyond it is still and silent, and Jaime is alone. As always, the only looming monster in the vicinity is his own imagination.

He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It’s routine by now, but even after so much repetition, the physical toll never seems to lessen. The bed sheets beneath him are soaked through, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps. Jaime sits up, peeling the soiled nightshirt from his body and tossing it into the laundry basket.

He rolls out of bed, knowing there is no point in trying to steal a few more hours. Some nights, he gets lucky enough that the exhaustion wins out over the lingering anxiety and knocks him out. But most nights, his only solace is a hot shower while he waits for the sheets to dry. It doesn’t do much to quash the crawling sensation under his skin, but it’s a few less minutes spent tossing on a mattress and watching the slow approach of daylight through the curtain.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he drags himself silently to the bathroom. He cranks the faucet to the hottest setting and forces his body under the flames.

As the water runs through his hair and scorches lines down his back, Jaime finds himself swaying. Crumbling. He doesn’t cry easily these days, but he feels the burn of frustration building behind his eyes. How long can he sustain this? How long can he wait out what feels like the inevitable?

It feels so much like those first few terrifying weeks at the training facility, where sleep was a commodity earned through acts of submission. The deprivation was torture then, and it’s torture now. This house is nothing like the cold, cement walls of that prison, and Sebastian is nothing like Handler Smith, but the fear is the same. He can’t seem to separate the feelings in his head.

At least in the facility, and even with the Keepers from his past, Jaime had learned what to expect. And he never had to wait long to find out for sure.

In the daylight, things with Sebastian have begun to crawl, slowly, toward a better place. The two of them have found routine in the small things: morning runs around the neighborhood, cooking sessions in the evenings, movie binging on the weekends. It is, objectively, the best living situation Jaime has had in years, and beyond what he could hope to have again. He recognizes this as fact. But Jaime can’t control his subconscious mind. He can’t help what comes at night.

The nightmares about Sebastian—about Sebastian touching him, hurting him—haven’t stopped. They haven’t even slowed down. If anything they’ve increased, and a vicious cycle has ramped into a hurricane: the more nightmares he has, the less sleep he gets, and the more difficult it becomes to discern reality from fiction. The nightmares get worse. The sleep becomes more sparse.

Even after a good day, Sebastian (or the shadowed version of him that exists in Jaime’s worst fears) finds him in sleep. The warm eyes that Jaime has come to recognize in the light get replaced by a cold leer, the gentle touches turned rough and demanding. The ghosts of those memories follow him into the daytime, whispering in his ear that everything Jaime so desperately wants to believe is a lie.

It’s the anticipation that suffocates him. The not knowing, but the suspecting. The when, not the if. Even when Sebastian has done everything he can to make Jaime feel safe, the guess work that goes into trying to brace for the moment when the rug gets ripped out from under him bleeds him dry of all his energy. No one has ever signed his contract with pure intentions. All kindness comes at a price.

Every day, Jaime stares at the black and white “rules” posted on the refrigerator door, listing out a dozen iterations of promises not to hurt him. Every day he watches Sebastian from the corner of his eye—when they’re in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car—and wonders if this will be the moment it happens. The moment he finally reaches out, lets his skin make contact, lets his hand linger the way it always begins in his nightmares. Jaime knows, sure as anything, that he won’t fight him when it happens. Even if his position as a Companion allowed him the space for resistance, Sebastian has been so good to him. And Jaime has done more for less deserving men.

This is the thought that plants the seed of an idea—one Jaime has never entertained. He has never been the one to initiate sex, and he wonders: if it’s going to happen anyway, would it be better under the illusion that the choice is his? He doesn’t know how he would go about it, if he ever gathered the courage to try. The thought floods him with nausea that he can’t seem to shake, but so does the waiting. Sometimes he just wonders if it would be easier to get the first time over with.

Then, at least, he will know.

He takes as much time in the shower as he can allow himself, but eventually the thought of wasting water forces him to shut off the faucet too early. He shivers in the sudden absence of the spray, but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the temperature. In a daze, he wraps himself up in one of the soft towels that Sebastian bought specifically for him. He makes his way back toward his room, but a light from the end of the hallway freezes him in place.

Sebastian is awake.

He doesn’t know what compels him to walk toward the living room, but he feels his legs moving beneath him, operating several steps ahead of his mind. He sees Sebastian before Sebastian sees him. He is on the couch, hunkered over the computer that rests on his crossed legs, and Jaime’s heart begins to race, because there it is again: that small voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispering, This could be the moment. Something has to give.

He tries to fight against it, to swallow it down, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this. He could turn and pad back to the relative safety of the bedroom that Sebastian has never once entered without Jaime’s explicit permission and sweat it out until daybreak like always. But then Sebastian looks up, noticing him for the first time, and the voice in Jaime’s head gets louder and louder.

This could be the moment.

“Oh. Hey there.” Sebastian smiles at him.

Something has to give.

Jaime’s fingers tighten briefly around the towel at his waist, and before he can process his next move, the idea crystallizes into a plan.

****

Sebastian scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, but it only seems to dry them out further. He’s been staring at his computer screen for the better part of the last two hours, and that’s on top of the work day behind him. Not that he’s complaining. The work he’s doing now is entirely voluntary, and he doesn’t regret taking it on for a second.

Aria had helped set him up. It involved a secure VPN, some protective softwares that, ironically, look like they might infect his laptop with a virus at any given moment, and a long vetting process; though Sebastian suspects it might have been a little more rigorous if their need wasn’t so urgent.

There are less than fifty doctors and registered nurses in the database who take on Companion cases across the US, and now Sebastian is one of them. It’s a fairly new system, and thankfully a growing one, slow as it might be. Mostly, the cases are a matter of remote visits: giving medical advice, diagnosing where they can, and—at the discretion of each provider—writing prescriptions. Always in the name of the unmarked person helping them. By design, it’s nearly impossible for a Companion to seek assistance or gain any amount of freedom without depending on someone on the outside.

He was surprised to find out that there were others like him; people who have purchased a contract with the intention of helping someone for as long as they can. There are others—fewer, rarer—who are like Ezra. People who have somehow broken free of the system altogether and exist under the radar. The details of those cases are always lock-and-key. Sebastian doesn’t ask, and no one seems eager to tell. Probably safer for everyone that way.

Sebastian’s patients tonight have been fairly simple ones. He was able to provide antibiotics to a young woman with an ongoing infection, sleeping pills to a man with debilitating sleep anxiety, and advice to someone else on managing their chronic pain. For the first time since graduating with his medical degree, Sebastian feels useful.

And still, it never feels like enough.

When he pulls his hands away from his face, he nearly launches out of his skin. Jaime is standing in the mouth of the hallway, hair dripping and wrapped in a towel. Sebastian hadn’t even heard the shower running through the music in his headphones.

He settles himself with a hand over his heart and smiles up at him. “Oh. Hey there.” He starts to take his earbuds out, but he is interrupted by the world abruptly shifting on its axis.

It takes a few seconds after the towel hits the floor to process what happened. What is actively happening. And then he still doesn’t understand.

Because what. The fuck.

Jaime is standing—naked—in his living room, still as a statue, with a towel pooled at his feet. Sebastian is fairly certain Jaime isn’t even aware of the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Calling upon every conceivable ounce of composure he can muster, he removes his headphones the rest of the way and sits forward, setting his open laptop on the coffee table. He unfolds his legs and stands, each movement pronounced and broadcast.

“Hey.” His own voice sounds far away, and far more calm than he feels. He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on Jaime’s, refusing to dip away for even a second. “Let’s just… Why don’t we just talk? Okay? Let’s… here.” Acting on the instinct to cover him up, Sebastian reaches for the zipper on his hoodie.

Across the room, Jaime’s breath hitches. His eyes pinch shut for just a second, fists clenching at his sides.

“Hey. No, no, it’s okay. I’m—” Sebastian pulls the zipper down as quickly as he can, only jamming it twice on the cloth. As soon as it’s free, he extends his arm, not daring to take a step closer, and shakes it in his direction. “It’s for you.”

But Jaime doesn’t move to take it. His pale chest heaves with breaths that are coming too fast and too short, and the glassy look in his eyes tells him that Jaime might not be all the way with him. He needs to tread lightly.

Sebastian takes a cautious step forward. “Jaime?” His eyes snap to him, wide and wet. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” When he’s within arm’s reach, Sebastian holds his sweatshirt out again, and Jaime’s gaze falls to it for a moment, before flashing back to him. He still doesn’t take it.

Sebastian is about to reiterate his assurance that Jaime is okay, that he is safe and that he is not in trouble, but before he can speak—

Jaime—

He—

Jaime’s mouth is on his.

Their lips only touch for half a second before Sebastian jerks back, but the brief contact sends a shockwave of horror through his body. It’s so much happening at once: the heat of naked skin through his clothes, wet hair dripping onto his chest, the tremble in the arms draped around his neck, but Sebastian can’t afford to panic right now. They can’t both be falling apart at once.

With all the deliberate gentleness he can manage, he reaches up and wraps his hands around Jaime’s wrists, pulling his arms from around him. They stand painfully still for several long seconds, Jaime’s arms suspended between them. The whites of his eyes jump as he searches Sebastian’s expression, utter terror written all over his own. Slowly, Sebastian lowers his grip, releasing Jaime’s hands at his sides.

“No,” the word stutters out of him. “Jaime, I… No.” He needs to find the words to elaborate, to tell him he’s not in trouble and that Sebastian’s rejection isn’t meant as a chastisement, but before he can formulate them, Jaime sinks to his knees, and a fresh pit opens in Sebastian’s chest.

“Please,” Jaime says—the first he has spoken since coming into the living room. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, I… it’s fine. We can do it. I… I want to.”

Unable to tolerate towering over him right now, Sebastian sinks down to one knee, then the other. Carefully, he takes the sweatshirt in his hand and drapes it over Jaime’s shoulders. “Jaime,” he says finally, “you’re crying.”

In a desperate, childlike gesture, Jaime swipes at the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t have to be sorry. But it’s very clear to me that you don’t want this.”

“I can,” Jaime insists, fixing his wide, brown eyes on him. “I can learn to want it. With you. Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I…” Sebastian’s mind is speeding past him in circles, unable to land on a singular thought except the resounding question of How the fuck did we get here? Because genuinely, Sebastian had thought things were getting better. He thought things were, if not ideal, at least okay. But this… This is the furthest thing from okay.

“Did I…?” Sebastian clears his throat and starts again. “Can you tell me—did I do something? To make you think that I wanted this?”

He remembers the stilted half-conversations they had once upon a time. In the clinic, when Jaime was brought in for testing after each contract. Sebastian knows what happened to him with past Keepers. His tests may have come back negative, but Jaime had confirmed in the only way he could that he had been sexually abused. He had hoped that Jaime knew he never had to fear that from him. He realizes now how selfish that assumption was.

Jaime’s gaze breaks away momentarily. “No, but I…”

“What?” he prompts gently. “If I did something, I want to know. I’m not going to be upset with you. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The inquisition seems to press him further into himself. He curls over, retracting into a ball before he can reach out. The notches on his spine protrude through the shirt in a trembling arch. His fingers are twisted through his hair, pulling so tightly at his roots that Sebastian has to restrain himself from tugging his hands away. Then the noise. At first it sounds like he’s choking; a desperate, clunky gasp for air where there is none. And then the sobs erupt, almost completely silent but heavy enough that his entire body convulses with the force.

And Sebastian is absolutely fucked. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like it wants to escape, his fingertips have gone numb, and the spot where their lips had briefly touched buzzes with the intensity of a fresh wound. But he can’t fall apart right now. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian places a palm over one shoulder blade, and when he is not shaken off, he begins to rub a slow, steady circle.

“Jaime,” he tries as soon as he is sure his voice will withstand it. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel okay, but you are safe. I can promise you that. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you while I am here.”

It goes on for as long as it takes Jaime’s body to exhaust itself to silence. Over the next several minutes, the sobs whither to raspy pulls for breath, and then eventually soft sniffling. Sebastian doesn’t remove his hand. When he has gone nearly silent, Sebastian makes a decision.

“Can you sit up?” he asks softly. “Please? Can you just… look at me for a minute?”

Jaime obeys the request a little too quickly. When their eyes meet, Sebastian takes a deep breath, willing his own tears to stay where they are.

“I want to talk about this,” he says. “We absolutely should talk about this. But before we do anything else… Do you maybe want to put some clothes on? We can just… we can take a minute.” God knows he could use one himself. “If you want to keep talking after that, I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll stay up and talk, for as long as you want. If you would rather go to sleep, that’s okay too. I’ll still be here for you in the morning. It’s your call. Sound okay?”

Jaime hesitates, then nods.

“Okay.” Sebastian picks up the towel between their knees and extends it to him, already turning away. Once Jaime takes it, Sebastian shuffles around awkwardly on his knees until his back is to him. “I’ll wait out here. I won’t look. Just… take your time.”

Sebastian listens to the brief silence of his hesitation, then the quiet rustle of cloth and clicking of joints behind him. He counts the soft pad of footsteps retreating down the bedroom hallway and waits for the door to latch shut before he breaks. He pulls his knees out from under him and puts his head between them, taking slow, even breaths.

Slowly, his heartbeat recedes to a sustainable pace, but his mind buzzes with the prospect of the conversation ahead of him, and his lips still burn from a kiss that never should have happened.

***

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump @the-whumpers-grimm @thebirdsofgay @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort @termsnconditions-apply @cyborg0109 @whumplr-reader @pinkraindropsfell @whatwhumpcomments

#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #whump #whumplr #whump writing #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#this is the very chapter that inspired my now famous writing advice list #you know the one #i think i've finally wrestled it into submission tho #maybe #anyway hope you enjoy

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liauditore · 9 months

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biomechanical horrors <3 <3 <3

Part One

Tango's alive.

We don't know how and we don't care.

He was... Half of him was covered in that stuff. Sculk. He's been down there for months, it should've eaten him alive by now, according to everything we know.. His survival could mean endless things for the scientific community but I don't even care to think about that right now.

When.. When I saw him in that thing's mouth the cockpit, limp and curled up in his seat, I'd feared it was confirmation of what we had all been expecting..

I hate to admit it but I.. didn't want to look any longer. If it was just me back there, Tango would've really been a goner...

Skizz.. has never been one for logical thinking. It drives me insane but it might've saved our friend. That moron has a heart too good for this world. I hadn't thought it possible that human hands could shatter Decked Out's windshield like that... maybe she was worn from her time in the Deep Dark?

Either way, he's.. stable, according to the medics. Breathing. He woke for a bit earlier and was just kind of.. standing there, staring at something off in the distance. I put him back in bed and told him to try and rest.

Morning. We'll look for answers in the morning.

RETRIEVED FROM SITE

PILOT Tango Tek - Unconscious. Sculk-infested. Currently receiving care. Missed you, buddy.

PILOT SUIT, TEK Variety, mark07 - Tango's pilot suit that he designed himself. Covered in sculk. We're trying our best to clean it but the stuff's stubborn as hell... Might be good to just discard it. Surely Tango wouldn't be too mad?

SCULK SAMPLES - that thing was covered in sculk and shriekers alike... it's like it was... pulsing... like it had a heartbeat...

DECKED OUT - she's beyond help, I'm afraid.

Tango's gone again.

He clawed my face in when I tried to hold him down. It'll heal, but... I just... I didn't expect that from him, I guess. He took the suit too, barrelled through a dozen nurses and security guards to get to it.

That thing, it... it heaved itself to the surface on its arms. You could hear it from the centre of town. The ground beneath it screeched. It looked like it was in pain.

It dragged itself all the way to the edge of the shopping district. We had no idea what to do, it shouldn't be able to move without a pilot or power. It shouldn't have teeth either.

It sat there for half an hour. Its jaw unhinged and slacked onto the pavement. I remember the first time I watched a whale beach itself. It was a lot like that but... this thing felt like it knew what it wanted from us.

Eventually it just got up and left like nothing happened.

I think Tango's in it again.

#my art #my writing #cw horror #whump #tangotek #YAHHHHHHH #cw body horror #biomechnical horror #no plans for a part 3 right now btw so uh ✌️#for anyone curious: sculk do a funny and turned the mech into some sort of biomechanical warden hybid horror show #its also done something funny to tango's brain so thats why he's kinda feral #<-- not that just being trapped in the deep dark for months alone wouldn't make u feral already #does this count as creepypasta lol #POVs are kinda foggy on purpose but they're supposed to be ZITS. I imagined it being zed writing most of part one and impulse writing pt2 #but tbh i didn't really pay too much attention to that so it could be either or. or someone entirely random.

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wisteria-whump · 1 month

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whumper forcing whumpee awake by putting them in dangerous situations so their only choices are wake up or be irreparably injured

#slightly inspired by the fact that i got up earlier than i normally do this morning #but it was only cause i dreamt that i got my room assignment for next year and i didnt get the dorm i wanted #so i bolted up out of bed thinking the dream was real and checked on it #i did not get my room assignment #im not supposed to get it until like a month from now #but at least i got out of bed on time #whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump writing #whump idea #whump blog #whump scenario #tw whump #whump tw

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mearchy · 2 months

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I used to read a lot of really really dark sad whump fics pretty much exclusively. Characters getting absolutely mentally and physically annihilated in the worst, most soul-crushing circumstances possible. Lots of hurt no comfort. Lots of apocalypses. Over the past five or six years, I’ve turned to reading mostly stories about characters getting dogs and having adventures with them, or growing old together, or escaping bad circumstances against all odds. Fix-it AUs. Slice-of-life fics. I’m not necessarily a happier person. I think I just value those stories more than I did. Something something the dystopia is here something something wisdom comes with age. Dykwim

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smolmakerel · 10 months

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Everyone absolutely puts Sam and Tara through the ringer with their trauma. Like, yeah, I still eat that content up, but I need to see some more posts about them being absolute menaces in general.

I have 2 siblings and they're pains in my ass. We could fist fight and then not speak for an hour, and then one of them comes to me like, "hey, wanna go to McDonald's" and I'd drive us there while we blast the music.

Sam and Tara, before all that shit with their family happened, most likely had some chaotic sister moments. They grew up as sisters (obviously) and know everything about each other. This leads to the Natural Sibling Chaos (tm).

Sam and Tara, watching their mom yell at them about the concerning amount of windows they broke:

Tara, trying not to laugh:

Sam: What?

Tara silently mocks Christina's angry mom face to Sam. Sam is trying not to laugh now because why the hell is Christina making that face.

Also in the future when Sam comes back and they have Trauma and Body Counts under their belts, they get more chaotic.

Tara: I have a solution to take care of our new Ghostface problem.

Sam, relieved: Gracias a Dios, what is it?

Tara: It involves fire.

Sam, slowly getting worried: Ok...

Tara: And the bomb I learned how to make at 3 am last night.

Sam: You made a WHAT?

#tara carpenter #sam carpenter #carpenter sisters #listen #i'm on my grind with making Sam and Tara absolute menaces #I love their depressed traumatized era #but I need them to switch it up #Sam: I'm having a bad time right now.#Tara: I'm having a bad time right now! 🥶🤪💥#Tara definitely would open Sam's door and stand there for a minute before leaving while leaving the door open #Sam absolutely chases Tara around the table to get her to do the dishes #Tara: Look Sam it's you!#Sam watching her sister point at a trash can: Um excuse me? I'm at LEAST a recycling bin.#scream #scream 2022 #scream vi #I be flip-flopping on whether I want these 2 to suffer or not lol #But that's how it be when you write whump as well as crack fanfiction

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smolghostbot · 6 months

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Patchwork Melody - Spring

It's finally here... the first meeting story for these two blorbos. This is Chapter 1 of a 4 chapter story, so it ends on a biiit of a cliffhanger, just a heads-up. Dashes denote a POV change.

Part 2 here!

Word Count: 7k (!!!)

CWs: accidental dehumanization (Typical for this kind of story), kidnapping, accidental ableism, allusions to history of abuse, POV depiction of PTSD flashback and panic attack which are improperly handled. The worst of this lives in Part 4.

Tag List (Hopefully this isn't too presumptuous): @gt-daboss

=====

Part 1

The small figure runs, ducking behind the flower box they were digging through moments prior. Just run, just run, it already saw you!, they think, as they push every muscle past its limits in a dramatic last stand. They hear a soft voice from far above as they try desperately to flee. The ground behind them starts to rumble as they realize with fear that they've run right into a corner. Turning around with terror on their face, they cower behind their backpack, trying desperately to use their most prized belonging as a shield, if it meant they would live another day. Glancing past the bag, they stare up at the red eyes peering down at them, awaiting their doom, or worse, their captivity.

It was a sleepy Saturday morning as Melody walked out of her apartment. Normally, they wouldn't dream of being awake this early, but another round of insomnia decided that six in the morning was the perfect time to wake up and start the day. She had the day off work, and decided to go for a walk to wake up a bit after throwing on an old t-shirt and some jeans. While they'd love to go back to sleep, they'd already gotten in enough hot water for missing work, and couldn't afford to ruin their sleep schedule again. Literally, because an apartment with a front porch in this part of town doesn't pay for itself. After locking the door and putting her keys in her bag, Melody couldn't help but notice that the jingling noise didn't stop, just got softer.

Melody looked curiously over at the source of the noise, something within the flowerbed next to her door. What she saw was some sort of tiny creature with a mop of silver-gray hair that had a lone purple streak, large pointed ears that each seemed as long as its head, and what appeared to be a blue backpack. This strange thing seemed to be rooting around in the dirt as if looking for something.

Mel immediately felt a mix of excitement and curiosity. If she wasn't just having some sort of insomnia-induced hallucination, this was clearly some sort of elf, or other type of fae, based on its short size and ears. The backpack probably indicates sentience… could she talk to it? Learn from it?

But also… whatever this thing was, it was one of the cutest things she had ever seen. As Mel leaned in closer, the tiny creature's ears twitched, and it seemed to notice her with a look of dawning fear as it began to run away.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be afraid, I don't want to hurt you, just know what you are," said the human. At least, the terrified sprite thought the being was a human. It had the height and weird rounded ears, but its eyes were a bright red, and its hair seemed to be a greenish… blueish… a color that human hair is not, at least as far as they knew.

Even aside from their hair and eyes, the human was definitely an odd-looking one, being rather tall and lanky, even by the standards of humans. They were wearing a simple gray shirt, with some sort of figure on the shirt that the sprite couldn't recognize, and a denim jacket with matching pants. Their face, staring in wonder, was somewhat pale, with a light dusting of freckles that matched the sprite's own. It was outlined by a fairly chiseled jaw, but was otherwise soft in features. Round glasses were perched on their nose, creating an odd distortion on the giant creature's eyes from the sprite’s perspective. The human was staring them dead in the eyes and leaning down even closer, before they spoke again, their slightly deep voice a soft whisper, as if afraid to hurt the sprite's ears.

"Hello? I'm guessing you're either ignoring me or can't understand me. I promise I mean you no harm, little cutie. I just want to get a closer look at you real quick... I'll let you go on your way in just a moment…"

Having cornered the tiny creature, Melody bent down to lift the adorable tiny thing. Her first observation was just how small it was, probably no bigger than a few inches. Held within her loose fist, the tiny thing's squirming legs didn't even reach her pinky finger. Her comparatively massive red eyes, the result of her decorative contacts, gazed at the tiny creature with fascination, watching it flail about in her hand with a raw curiosity. Despite putting almost no pressure into her grip, afraid of hurting this small creature, she couldn't even feel the struggles of the little thing. Now that it was closer and (slightly) more still, she was able to get a more detailed look at its features. Its skin had a grayish pallor that Melody wasn't sure was natural for whatever it was. Its eyes were a vibrant purple, offset by the duller purple of the bags under them. Purple eyes would help the theory that it has magic… maybe. Aside from the backpack, which she now noticed was denim, it seemed to be wearing a loose-fitting brown cloak or tunic of some sort, with one shoulder exposed, and a small green scarf around its neck, both made out of some kind of fine fabric. Definitely not silk, but not any fabric she recognized. The scarf was a bit odd, given the spring weather, but maybe its body is supposed to be as cold as it felt in her hand. Something cold-blooded? Layers would make sense, then.

The creature's squirming slowed down, as it seemed to realize the futility of its motions. Its long ears drooped down in a clear display of sadness, and its vibrant purple eyes closed. Melody attempted once more to communicate with this tiny thing in her hand.

"Are you done, little cutie? No more thrashing around? If I let go, do you promise to not try to, like, jump or anything? You would probably hurt yourself falling from this height."

The sprite hung their head low. Upon being asked to not resist by this massive human, they nodded their head slowly in compliance. It's true, they would survive a fall from this height onto maybe a carpet, or the grass, but a drop this tall on pavement would surely leave them seriously injured… at best. And seriously injured is not the state to be in this close to a human.

The human's face lit up at the nod, and the excitement in their voice was clear as they began rapid-firing questions. "Wait, you can understand me? What are you? A fairy? An elf? Who are you? May I know your name? Where are you from? Are there more of you? Do you know magic? Why were you in my flower bed?"

The sprite couldn't keep up with the questions, and simply stared wide-eyed at their captor as if trying to process every question at once. As this human became more passionate in their questioning, their grip absent-mindedly tightened on the sprite in their hand.

Mel continued asking questions, this was her chance! Their whole life has been waiting for the moment something supernatural would finally happen, and now some kind of fae literally shows up at their doorstep. They were so excited, in fact, that they forgot about their grip until the tiny creature in their hand suddenly moved. Its ears perked up in alertness as it twitched its spine in pain. Its face contorted into what appeared to be a yell or scream, yet no sound came out. Immediately, Mel panicked and loosened her grip on the strange creature, letting it rest in her open palm.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me see!" Mel immediately noticed the creature clutching its arm in what was clear pain. A terrible chill ran down her spine, worried that she accidentally hurt the small thing, and fearing how much worse she could have done if she didn't notice.

"I… I'm so sorry, let me take you inside and we can talk there, I can see what I can do for your arm, and get you some food and water too if you need them," The human said, as if the creature she held in her palm had any choice at the moment. The human wasted no time before turning around and carrying her new find back inside.

Part 2

The young sprite had never been in this particular apartment, but immediately wished they had known about it on stealthier terms. The place was packed, plants decorating most surfaces as well as the bookcases close to the two windows. Further away, another bookcase was present, this one adorned with plants that seemed to need less sun, as well as rocks, jars of mysterious dried plants, and a few tiny bottles filled with interesting colored substances. Combined with the many thick books for cover, this place would be a prime Borrowing house.

When they were finally released from their captor's hands, they found themself roughly placed in a plastic container on a tabletop, the sides of which were easily twice as tall as the sprite. After giving a cautionary check, the plastic was indeed too smooth to climb. As the scared sprite went to dig through their bag for a hook or something, the human lifted their backpack away, placing it on the table outside of the container.

"Nope, nope, you can get this back once you answer some questions and we look at that arm of yours. I don't want you running off and getting yourself hurt, my apartment is absolutely not safe for something so small. I promise it's just for a moment," the human stated matter-of-factly. As she turned and walked towards the kitchen to retrieve her first-aid kit, she continued her barrage of questions. "So, what are you, little cutie?"

After bringing the first aid kit over, unsure what to really do for a tiny magical(?) creature, Mel noticed the lack of response. It definitely nodded yes to their question before... probably. But judging by its lack of response now, maybe it was a mistake? A simple motion of a struggling thing, taken out of context. She had to make sure. "You... can understand me, right? Nod yes and take... two steps sideways if you can understand me."

The creature stared at her, tilting its head in confusion. As it tilted its head, Melody couldn't help but notice how cute it was. Its oversized ears seemed to move slower than the rest of its head, reminding her of the floppy ears of a dog or a kitten, despite their pointed shape. When the creature did exactly as asked, Melody's eyes went wide with excitement, now having definite proof that it, no, HE understands her. He? Probably, it definitely looks masculine. She made a mental note that male pronouns would do unless the little thing corrects her. She couldn't make out an age exactly, but he seemed on the younger end. Maybe a teenager? His head and ears made it hard to tell, being so much bigger than a human's would be at the same scale. Melody gave another shot at speaking with the small creature. "Okay, so once again... what are you? Please tell me?"

Melody noticed the creature trying to do some sort of hand motions, but couldn't understand. Was he trying to cast magic? Is that a thing he can do? Melody watched with curiosity to see if anything would happen, only to be disappointed as nothing changed.

There was a quiet, awkward moment between them, as the tiny thing's ears drooped sadly again. Eventually, she spoke again, slightly confused. "Uh… was that supposed to do something? Whatever, that's fine, you don't have to say anything. I've got all day, little cutie. I'm not going to go anywhere until you talk."

Unfortunately for Melody, her determination to find out more about this strange little being lost out to her impatience within about three minutes. Their head laying on the table, they began to beg, their voice sounding desperate.

"Come onnnn, just say something. Anything. Give me any kind of answer. Pleeeeease?"

The sprite remained silent, appearing lost in thought.

Could this human be reasoned with? As they went to motion to their bag, the human continued speaking.

"Please? I just want to understand you, I can't help you otherwise."

After another moment, the sprite's giant captor stood up and walked away. They instantly became terrified. Was the human getting something to punish them for their silence? Were they finally dropping the nice facade?

Eventually, the human came back to the table with a large book. Placing it down gently, so as not to scare the tiny creature with a loud thump, they began to flip through the book.

"Okay… pointed ears say an elf, but your ears aren't really very… elven. Maybe you're a mousefolk? But you have no tail… or if you do, it's a tiny one hidden under that little robe of yours… I did find you outside of my house, and your outfit looks a bit ragged… uh, no offense, of course. Maybe you're a brownie? I have some milk in the fridge, would that get you to talk?"

They could only look at the human with a confused look. What was she going on about?

"... No wings, so you probably aren't a fairy… unless you lost your wings. Did you ever have wings, little thing?"

The confused sprite only shook their head in a slow "no".

"OK… well, I probably… uh… should have gone for something more professional than a D&D guidebook… I think I still have my old college textbooks around here somewhere… gods knows those things are way too expensive to chuck…"

The human left, and took several more books off the shelf after a few minutes of looking around. She flipped through each book, taking what felt like forever, muttering to herself as she went.

"We're miles from the nearest forest… you clearly aren't invisible… Definitely don't look human… Those clothes don't look at all suitable for living in water… it's… maybe technically nighttime? But you weren't leaving a gift… unless… you were actually planting seeds! Is this backpack full of seeds?"

The small sprite instantly went into a panic as the human looked over to their backpack, frantically shaking their head in a no, and praying that the human didn't try to dig into the bag. They already had to fix it up after… the last human they met. Luckily, this human seems to have had no plans on that and continued digging through the books, becoming more frustrated over time.

Eventually, they seem to have hit their limit, and threw their head back in agitation before speaking in a more aggressive tone than they had previously. "Ugh! Why won't you just say anything!?"

Melody noticed a knocking noise on the plastic container her little "guest" was in, and saw the mysterious little thing clearly trying to get her attention. As she looked over at him, she saw him frantically motioning with his hands over his neck, in an X shape. His mouth was moving, speaking in an exaggerated way, as if to make it easier for her to see that no sound was coming out of his mouth. He clearly looked scared, probably threatened by her voice raising. Her eyes lit up in both realization and embarrassment.

"Oh my gods. You aren't just being silent to be difficult… you can't actually speak, can you?" As he nodded a yes, Mel lowered her head into her hands in shame.

"Shit, I'm such a dick. That's what your little hand motions were, oh my gods you were signing! My dumb ass was sitting here thinking you were trying to cast spells or something, ugh, I'm such an idiot! Maybe not everything about this situation is silly and fantastical, Mel, maybe he's just mute and you're being insensitive like always."

Their head raised and their face shifted into a goofy expression as they began to cheer with a clearly sarcastic voice, "Yeah Mel, yeah, woo, get upset at a mute guy for not speaking, like a COMPLETE ASSHOLE, hell yeah, casual ableism, woo!!"

The human hung her head in embarrassment again before continuing to berate herself, putting her head in her hands.

"Ugh… I swear, I didn't know, if I had known I would never… I'm not some, like, prick, I swear. Oh my gods, I'm so stupid. Way to make a first impression, at least I know you can't hex me or whatever because I would be so cursed right now for sure."

If the sprite could communicate at the moment, and wasn't still terrified of this human, they would have had some strong words about how kidnapping was also not a good first impression. However, they had no intent on insulting their captor, despite the clear look of regret already on the human's face. They remained still, waiting for the human to compose herself.

Part 3

After a bit too much self-flagellation, Melody tried to think logically about the situation. "OK, so I don't actually know sign language, if that wasn't obvious. Can you write?"

After getting an enthusiastic nod and a point at their little backpack, Melody thought she understood.

"You can write, and have something to write with in your little bag?"

After getting a slow and cautious nod in response, the human gently placed the backpack inside of the plastic container and waited to see what happened. The small creature instantly pointed to a lighter part of their backpack intently.

"What are you pointing at?" As they looked closer to the tiny backpack, they noticed what appeared to be a different fabric sewn on, with some kind of… unusual symbols written on. The little thing pointed repeatedly to himself, and then the writing.

Her disappointment was obvious as she spoke her next words. "That's… your name… isn't it?"

The small creature seemed to be somewhere between excited and nervous as they hesitantly nodded, obviously seeing the lack of recognition on Mel's face.

"I…" They sigh before continuing, "I have no idea what that says, little cutie."

Melody picked up one of their books and pointed to an arbitrary passage of text, making sure the little one could see it. "Can you… read these words? Any of them?"

The tiny being's large ears drooped in disappointment and he shook his head sadly, as Melody's own expression mirrored his. This was about to make things much more complicated.

"Okay, well, I can't just keep calling you 'little cutie'... even though you totally are, you need some kind of name. Maybe I can try to guess? What about… Gilbert? Linus? Stop me if any of these are close to your name... Derwin?"

. . .

The completely blank response they got from the little being said everything Mel needed to know.

"Yeah, you're right, this is stupid. This would be so much easier if I could just read your little backpack patch…"

The human's face seemed to light up as they said that, to the confusion of the sprite.

"Wait a second… that sounds cute… what about Patch? Just- Just as a nickname. Until we can figure out a better way to communicate. If you like it, of course."

At this unexpected politeness, the sprite nodded their head enthusiastically. Truthfully, the name didn't sound that bad… especially compared to Derwin. And though there's no real magic behind them, names do have a certain power when it comes to empathy, something that they hoped would work on this human. They remember how the last human they encountered refused to call them anything other than… they didn't exactly get named.

"Perfect! Well then, it's nice to formally meet you, Patch. I guess I never introduced myself, it's… probably safe to do that. You tried to tell me your name, after all. You may refer to me as Melody, or Mel," the human stated, in a slightly odd manner, as she gave as much of a curtsy as possible while sitting in a chair wearing a t-shirt.

Melody went to hold out their hand, before awkwardly withdrawing and brushing it through their hair, as if they were about to give a handshake but realized the complication there. They continued talking as if nothing happened.

"Okay Patch, so I can't read your writing, but you can nod. We can… we can work with this. Can I ask you questions and you can nod yes or no?"

The small sprite nodded in approval, happy but anxious to finally be communicating, and Mel began asking simple questions.

"So… do you have magic?" At this, Patch hesitated before shaking his no sadly.

"Okay, just checking. Are there others of your kind?" Yes.

“Can they, um… can they speak?” Yes

"Is it the same language I’m speaking?" Yes.

"Do they live near here?" Mel asked, before being met with a nervous look on Patch's face. Not wanting to offend, Melody quickly continued on. "That's fair, I'm sure you're supposed to be secretive, right?" Yes.

"Okay… can you say if you live near here?" Mel asked, to a nervous nod yes. "Oh, okay! I guess you could say we're kinda like neighbors then! Um, alright, if I can ask another question, how did you get here? Like… this area?"

After being met with an unamused glance at the open-ended question, Melody decided to restate it. "Did you get here through some kind of, I don't know, portal or wormhole or… or spaceship? I just can’t believe I’ve never seen any of your kind before." Patch's head tilted again in confusion, clearly not comprehending what the human was saying.

"Okay, we'll go back to that. Actually, wait, scratch that, we need to go back a lot. Are you hungry?"

Patch's response was skeptical as they anxiously nodded yes. "Don't be so nervous. Do you like, um… I haven't been to the store in a bit… I have…" Melody paused as she tapped her chin, thinking. "Some leftover Chinese food? Some pretzels? A few apples…"

Melody noticed the sprite's ears perked up as she said apples.

"Apples are good?" She asked, to confirm what she had noticed. As Patch nodded his head slowly, Melody excitedly continued, happy to have figured out a way to help the little sprite. "Perfect! I'll be right back. I'll bring some food and water, and then we can look at that arm of yours."

After a few stressful moments, Patch saw the human return with a small green apple and a knife, which they eyed nervously. Something that sharp in the hands of a human… Patch shuddered as their mind flashed back… and in a panic, they suddenly became well aware of the fact that they were trapped inside of an enclosed space, with a human walking closer brandishing a weapon bigger than they were. They desperately tried to scamper up the side of the container with a renewed fervor, but with only one good arm, the effort was hopeless. Melody noticed the movement as she spoke.

"Woah there, Patch, calm down. I'm just going to cut it first and then give it to you, okay? Just be patient for a moment."

They watched as the human somewhat clumsily sliced the apple, clearly trying to avoid cutting herself. Eventually, about a third of the apple was sliced, and gently placed next to Patch.

"Here you go, Patch. Eat up, and I'll, uh, find a way to get you some water real quick."

Melody was only gone for a moment, as she found a water bottle cap and filled it with water. When she returned, the apple slice was well over halfway gone, leaving only the peel, which the little being had apparently eaten around. Melody could only chuckle to herself at how quickly Patch had eaten that much. "Woah, you were hungry, weren't you, Patch?"

Melody noticed Patch's face and ears turn a bit red, as he rubbed behind one of his big ears sheepishly.

"Do you… want more?"

The little being, still looking bashful, shook his head no, and patted his stomach. Melody placed the cap inside of the plastic container and watched as Patch quickly drank the entire thing. Clearly this creature needed to eat and drink a lot more than his size suggested… unless he was particularly hungry. Looking closer, Melody could see that Patch's skin had already dramatically changed color, being more of a human-esque warm skin tone than the gray tint it was before. Was… was he malnourished? Should she insist he eat more, or was devouring that apple slice already "eating more"?

Deciding to trust the tiny creature's judgment, Melody began to cut another slice of the apple for herself, not wanting to waste the rest of it. After holding out the slice to Patch as a final offer, and receiving another head shake as a response, Melody took a bite of the apple slice, and looked over at Patch, only to see him staring at her.

Patch knew they should have looked away, but couldn't help but watch as Melody took a massive bite out of the apple slice. The sprite tried not to think about the fact that the bites the human took were each roughly as big as they were. While they almost believed (almost) that the human meant them no harm, they still couldn't help but panic at being reminded that they were sitting in what was technically a food container and watching the human eat. They wouldn't… right?

Memories immediately flooded back of them, the last human to have taken Patch like this, and how they would threaten the sprite. Shivering in fear, the sprite looked away, closing their eyes tightly and hoping to get rid of the memory, so they could focus on the present.

Part 4

"Okay, now that we've got you some food and water, let's look at that arm, and see what's wrong. I'm going to take you out of this container, but you have to promise me that you won't leave this table, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

Patch nodded, but instantly regretted it as Melody's hand quickly reached down to scoop them up and place them down on the desk. While it was only for a moment, the sight of the human's hand flying towards them at such a fast speed caused them to flinch and recoil in fear.

“Okay, hopefully that was… a bit gentler, wouldn’t want to hurt your arm again,” Mel said, unaware of how much Patch was thrown about during that small trip, even with Mel consciously trying to be gentler than before. “So, I’m far from a doctor, but I get the feeling you wouldn’t want me to bring you to an actual doctor, or like… I dunno, a vet or something.” Melody immediately noticed Patch’s face grew worried as she quickly added on to her thought, “Not- Not to imply that you’re an animal, just they’re better with small things like mice, and you’re… anyways, let’s… just take a look at that shoulder. Can you, um, roll up your sleeve or something?”

Hesitantly, Patch did as they were asked, and rolled up their ill-fitting sleeve as far as possible, revealing a red and swollen shoulder. They saw the human wince as she saw it. "Okay… that looks like a sprain… at best. Obviously it hurts to put pressure on it, but can you move it?"

Thinking how to answer, Patch moved their arm a little, and then winced in pain, causing Melody to gasp slightly. "Oh no no, don't move it if it hurts! But that's something, that means it probably isn't completely broken… okay… maybe we should wrap that up? Like in a sling or something. Um… let me check my phone real quick, I'm sure I could figure out how to cut some of this tape up into a little sling for your shoulder. I'm so sorry again if I caused that, I wasn't thinking and I just…" Melody said, her thoughts trailing off as she started to research what to do about this tiny injured arm, leaving Patch to plan their next move.

Finally free from the container, and with their giant captor distracted, Patch instantly decided to make a break for their backpack. Quickly digging through the front pocket, they pull out their trusty rope hook before slinging the large pack over their good shoulder. Without hesitation, they immediately latch the hook to the table's edge. It's a loose fit, but they only need to get about halfway down before the fall is safe, from the looks of it. Wrapping their legs around the rope to make up for the sprained arm, they begin to descend. It's slower than they would normally go, but the ground is so close, and there's enough clutter that they can easily find a hiding spot as long as-

"Hey! What are you- no! You promised!" Melody cried, as she reached out to grab the little runaway, cupping him in her hands.

"Are you mad? That drop could have killed you! And trying to climb with some kind of broken arm, what were you thinking, Patch?"

After she deposited him back on the table, Melody let out a sigh. Her red eyes focused intently on Patch, as if trying to read his mind. "Why are you trying to get away from me that badly? Don't you get that I'm just trying to help you?"

I'm just trying to help you…

…

I'm just trying to help you…

"... so please, just come onto my hand. I'll take care of you, little guy. I promise."

Hungry, lost, and desperate, they find themself nodding, staring into the deep blue eyes of the figure in front of them, their smile wide. Maybe this human is telling the truth, maybe not all humans are bad… maybe the elders were wrong after all, they think to themself.

As they reach out and touch the hand, it is as if they strike a pact with a demon. They hear that all-too-familiar laughter as everything around them darkens. Memories flood back, stinging their soul like ice cold flames. Their whole body is filled with phantom senses as the combined physical and mental impact of the last two years of their life hits them like a tidal wave. Heat, cold, pressure, pain, sights, sounds, smells, taste. Too bright, too dark, too loud, too quiet, too much, too little. They try to scream, for anybody to help, human, sprite, spirit, anybody.

But as always, no sound comes from them.

…

"Uh… Patch? Are you… okay?"

Mel's scolding tone softened as the little thing in front of her began to tear up, staring off at something. She took in his appearance, trying to figure out what was wrong. He looks… like he's breathing faster, maybe, and seems to be gripping his little backpack as if his life depends on it. Did she scare him? What did she say? Unsure what to do, Melody brought a finger gently to Patch's face, to wipe away the tears.

"Hey, little guy, I'm… it's okay, I'm not mad or anything, I…"

Melody's finger suddenly filled with pain, as she pulled it away in shock.

"OW! What the hell, Patch! Did you just bite me!? What's wrong with you!? Is that how you treat somebody trying to comfort you? You just bite them? What are you, a raccoon!? We both know you're better than that."

Mel had never been the best at reading faces, especially when the face was half an inch tall, but the emotion on Patch's face as she yelled seemed to be one of fear. He was staring at her, almost through her, his bright purple eyes completely dilated like a deer in headlights. His ears were pulled back, almost flat against the sides of his head, and Mel could tell his breathing had gotten even heavier and more uneven.

"Well? I know you can understand me, Patch, don't pretend like you can't. Why the hell did you just bite me!?"

Melody wasn't sure what kind of answer they expected, but Patch curling into a fetal position and sobbing was definitely not it. As the tiny person silently cried on her table, Melody could only whisper one thing to herself.

"Oh, fuck."

Part 5

Patch woke up from their slumber, and found themself half-covered by… soft paper of some kind. The kind usually found in human's kitchens. They didn't remember when they fell asleep, the last thing they remembered was… panic. Ah. As their mind began to wake up, they realized they must have fainted or something.

As they regained their bearings, they noticed Melody, sitting all the way across the room on a chair facing them, but clearly invested in a book. As the sprite sat up and pushed the makeshift blanket aside, the human's eyes darted up from the book.

"Uh… hey. I'm… if you're awake, I'm going to come closer, okay? Just back to where I was sitting before. I can't really see you that clearly from this far away, and I'd like to hear what you have to say. Or… see it, I guess."

After a moment, the human got up, and carried the chair back to where it was before. The human seemed… uncharacteristically anxious. What were they doing?

"I… don't know what I said, or did, to make you respond that way, but I clearly upset you. Badly. I'm sorry."

Patch was thrown for a complete loop at the tonal whiplash of how she was acting compared to her attitude before. What happened while they were unconscious?

When Patch began sobbing, Melody instantly knew that she messed up. Badly. That wasn't the response of somebody snapping back in rebellious defiance, that was somebody lashing out in terror. In her fascination with the strange person on her table, she completely overlooked that she was probably, like, thirty times his size. If they were in that situation, they would probably be absolutely terrified, especially if something that much bigger started yelling and shouting. And it was so obvious to them in hindsight that he was having a panic attack. Melody cursed herself for not realizing sooner. Imagine having a panic attack and then you see a car barrelling towards you, no wonder he -literally- snapped at me, she thought, cursing her lack of social skills again.

She continued to watch the poor thing, not wanting to say or do anything, for fear of upsetting him further. After what felt like an agonizing amount of time, he seemed to stop crying, but Mel noticed that he had also gone still. They looked closely, suddenly afraid of the worst, but he seemed to simply be asleep. Unsure what to do, they ripped off a small piece of a paper towel and carefully laid it over his sleeping body, being careful to avoid it touching his face. They picked up one of the more detailed books, as they figured now may be the time to look for more answers as to what this little fellow is.

"So… it's been about a half hour since you fell asleep. I don't know if you measure time the same way, so that may not be helpful, sorry. Are you feeling okay?"

Still baffled, Patch gave a hesitant nod yes. The human seemed nervous, as if thinking carefully of what to say. "I… must be pretty scary to you, huh?"

Patch didn't respond, unsure if this was a trick or not.

"You don't have to say it, that's fair. You're probably worried that I'll be upset. You don't seem to believe me that I won't hurt you. Has…" She stopped to think, trying to figure out how to word this gently, "I'm not the first human who's met you, am I?"

Unsure where this was going, Patch softly shook their head in a "no". Melody sighed before continuing. "And they… weren't very nice to you, were they?"

Her red eyes stared deeply at Patch, as if attempting to glare into his very soul. Patch tried their best to avoid eye contact, but it was clear what the answer was.

"I'm… sorry. For whatever that person did. You didn't deserve it, whatever it was. I know that means, like, fuck-all coming from me, though." The human sighed again before continuing their speech.

"You know, I… I'm not very good at this. At any of it. The whole emotional support thing. Not just because you're a little… whatever you are. I've always been the worst at upsetting people without meaning it. I honestly, swear to the gods, only brought you here to help you. You were injured, and I caused it. Or at least some of it. But… I probably let my excitement get ahead of me. I know, I put you in a literal plastic container like an asshole, but I was just… worried. I didn't want you running away with your arm injured. Honest. I get it if you don't believe me though."

Patch's look of confusion hadn't gone away. This human seems… like they're planning something. Why the sudden act? Are they trying to get them to let their guard down?

"I didn't want to move you while you were sleeping, but… I can bring you outside, if you want to leave. I'd… want to leave me too. Just point to the door and I'll do the rest. But, I would genuinely like to learn more about you. You may have been able to tell that, well, I've always wanted to meet somebody special. Anybody. And then I found you and just got so excited and… I'm sorry about it."

Carefully, Patch walked over to their backpack, waiting for the human to stop them… but she didn't. They hoisted the bag over their good shoulder, and walked over to the hook that was still on the edge of the table.

"That's fair. Can you please let me put you on the floor, though? I promise, no funny business. Just like… an elevator. It's the least I can do."

This is it, Patch thought. She's going to insist that I get in her hand, and then wham, into a box or cage or something. Figuring that if anything happens, it happens regardless, they shake their head in a firm no.

Melody's heart was breaking during this entire conversation. They finally met something supernatural, and it was pissed at her. She did literally everything possible wrong, as always, and now it was costing her the most interesting event of her life. But she tried to continue being apologetic, figuring that this wasn't about her at the moment.

"I get it. Let me at least move a chair over then? You can climb down to the chair, and then the floor. Please let me do that at least?"

There was a hesitant nod of approval, and Melody moved the chair as promised. Their tiny guest made his way down to the floor, and started walking to the door. It took a bit of time, but Mel didn't dare interrupt or interfere.

"All right, I'll open the door so you can get out. It's been… nice to meet you, Patch. Even if you don't feel the same."

She opened the door just enough for Patch to get through, to make it clear that she wouldn't follow. He climbed over the door sweep and stepped outside, before turning around to look at the human with confusion.

"... What?"

Patch was… confused. Did the human just… let them go? Just like that? No grabbing them? No having to escape out a window, having to climb down a brick wall in the dead of night? Just… letting them walk out the door?

They pointed and motioned in a direction, confused, hoping the sentiment of "I'm going to go now" was a universal one. It seemed to be, as Melody gave them a nod. "Yep. Go wherever you want, I'm going to shut the door… and probably go back to reading, I guess. Maybe try to figure out what you are still, but I won't follow you. You have my word."

And with that, Patch walked away. The door closed, and Melody went back to reading their book, as all of the tears that they were holding in finally came pouring out.

Part 6

It had been about two weeks since Melody met Patch. Two weeks since she made him hate her. She returned to work as normal, spending the slow days at the library reading up on mythologies, trying to learn anything about what he was. Research led down a rabbit hole of conspiracies and disinformation about the existence of all sorts of elves, fairies, and other such creatures, but somehow nothing reputable. Melody could only be baffled by this, How could they live in a city, and yet nobody has ever documented them existing? Despite this, Melody kept Patch’s existence close to her own heart. After all, he clearly just wanted to be left alone.

Before leaving for work every morning, they made sure to leave out an apple slice, and every evening, it was gone when they came home. It was probably just taken by a bird or rat or something, especially because the peel was also missing, but they wanted to believe that maybe Patch was getting them. The other option, that the little being had run as far from her as possible, was just too much to bear. Leaving out fruit was all she could do to believe she was repenting for how she treated him.

It was a dreary evening, about sunset, when Mel had to go out to the nearby alley to throw out her trash. As they were taking the trash out back, they saw something move in the corner of their vision. They turned to see what it was, expecting some kind of pest, when…

"Oh, Patch! I, uh… hello."

#aaaa pressing the post button is so hard right now the fear is real ok i'm doing it i'm pressing the button #tell me if this is Too Long and i can split up the further chapters #actually just tell me anything. at all. i'm clawing at the walls for feedback over here #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t ocs #g/t whump #tiny whump #g/t angst #oc tag: patch #oc tag: mel #patchwork melody

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whumpitisthen · 5 months

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A True Sacrifice

It's an exceptionally quiet day at the facility today. The corridors are empty, the guards are sparse and the cafeteria buzzes with a nervous anticipation.

The slop the staff have the gall to call food has never been quite this well received. While usually most of the captives find distracting each other with idle chatter more pleasant than chowing down on the watery stew, today no one even looks another in the eyes. Everyone is hunched over their own trays and concentrate on only that, whispering to their neighbouring chairs if they must. No one is absent.

He sits at the end of a mostly empty table, watching two women share worried looks, looking over their shoulders for danger. The guards stand at attention, a serious look on all their faces. The black armoured uniforms and powerful looking rifles, while not exactly unexpected to see, are certainly an upgrade to the batons and the lighter padded outfits they usually have on. They do not communicate with each other either, only murmur into their radios once in a while, keeping their concealed eyes trained on the inmates.

He had heard too, of course. He heard about what is meant to go down today.

He has learned to both love and despise things like this — uncommon things. On the one hand, every day is the exact same — same food, same chores, same tests, same abuse. Unpleasant and mind-numbingly boring; and so when something scary enough happens that even the guards don their full security gear, he finds a particular interest in the careful air that settles over them.

On the other hand, nothing good ever comes from disorder. Not when everyone is warned in advance for an upcoming 'event'. Not when nearly every doctor, assistant and low ranking security officer has left the building, and only the most highly trained special forces remain, locked in a room with all the prisoners. Not when the name of that creature is mentioned in the report.

There are many unexplainable phenomena that exist between these four walls. Some of them are harmless, simply illogical items that humanity does not understand just yet, and so they keep them here until they do. A lot of them are harmful, yet not fully understood, so they are kept for examination as well as safety concerning the rest of the world. There are even some creatures, some that seem friendly or non-violent at worst, but are nevertheless held here for the nature of their bodies or their abilities or whatever else the scientists deem them unfit to be let free for.

And then some of them are downright dangerous, evil beings. Ones who need to be kept locked up and closely monitored, because all they know is destruction. Ones that find their purpose in deliberately hurting humans or anything living. Efficient killers, chaotic entities, spirits of another time or even dimension who almost resemble humans, but are twisted in their minds, harming those they meet, even if hurting isn't their intention. Plagues, contained disasters, beasts, hypnotic objects, a hive mind. He has been lucky enough not to be sent to visit any of them so far. He has heard horror stories from some of the older, more experienced prisoners, and was allowed to read some of their files every once in a while by a doctor who seemed just as fascinated by these things as him. Just the thought of being in the vicinity of some of these subjects sends a violent chill down his spine.

Well, he has been lucky so far. Maybe he will remain lucky enough to avoid today's guest as well?

The lights flicker, and any idle noise that may have existed before then is sucked out of the air. Every captive is frozen stiff, hesitantly jerking their heads in all directions wide-eyed, looking for guidance. He, for one. chooses to lean on his elbows and hunch over, walking through a prayer in his head. He can feel it approaching.

He had read the note left on his wall over and over; a small, torn, yellowed piece of paper with dark spots and browning ink. Unsure of who could have left it there, he settled on it being a normal occurrence in this place, and that maybe one of the friendlier creatures decided to leave him with some advice. He hopes it's advice, anyway.

"It exists in laws set by your kind only as long as it remains entertained. It has been knocking on its door for a week, louder every day. Its observers are terrified!

Tomorrow, it will ask for more entertainment."

The lights flicker again, three times in a row, and now people are starting to panic. Everyone was told to stay still, quiet and calm — if they want to survive. Normal people would at least question that casual threat on their lives, but most prisoners here have already learned that if you are ordered to follow such strange rules that come from the researchers, there is most definitely a very good reason you were, and should do your best to do as they say. If they tell you you cannot, say, look inside an inconspicuous red book with a gash on its cover set on a pedestal in the middle of the cell it's placed in, you better not, because chances are, someone before you has, and whatever happened to them was bad enough to warrant a warning for those that follow. He, regrettably, has had first-hand experience with that one. The things he saw on those pages still haunt him to this day, mixing into vivid night terrors every time he closes his eyes. He hasn't disobeyed anyone since then.

Despite all that, warnings are truly useless when primal instincts take over. He can pick out a couple of people starting to break down in fear, who are promptly held close by other captives — not entirely out of worry for them, more so out of concern for the collective them. It's best to help out the weak link in case their own skins are on the line and they become collateral damage because of one idiot who couldn't just sit still like he was told.

The guard closest to him talks into his radio, and in the quiet, he can pick out that even the soldier's voice is shaking with nerves. He wonders if all these armoured, scary looking guys will even be able to do anything if shit hits the fan. This doesn't seem like the kind of experiment that can be fixed with some guns and ammo if it goes wrong. If it was, there would be hundreds of the guys and the doctors would at least be present in the vicinity. They must be here for another reason; maybe to observe what happens inside while the scientists are away.

One thing they were all told was that once the lights go out, it will enter the room, and that once it does, everyone is absolutely prohibited from moving or reacting to anything at all until the lights are back on. No exceptions. They were told to just squeeze their eyes shut, keep their lips sealed and bear it until it's over. If they can do that, nothing will happen to them.

Then they were told that one of them won't make it out.

That's when it all came together in his head. He knows exactly which creature will visit today. He knows why it's visiting and how horrible the consequences of being picked by it are. He knows exactly what that note meant.

This is a subject that cannot be contained. Not by humans, not by any specific material, not by any spell or limit or whatever else. It has no weakness to be exploited, nor does it have a special connection to anything that could be manipulated. It exists outside of the laws set for people in this world, including but not limited to the very laws of physics. The only reason it remains here and obeys the rules of the facility is because it is playful and conceited, and it fancies a bit of fun more than senseless, endless tyranny over this world. It likes messing with people, hurting them and distressing them greatly with its presence. It finds humans fascinating. It is confident they cannot do anything about its existence or actions, but it finds living without consequences far too boring and predictable. No fun at all.

So, it made a deal with humans. It would act in accordance with the rules set for it by humanity for as long as they can entertain it. It will remain in its cell, it will not hurt anyone, it will not cause problems on purpose, it will not show itself at all — remaining a shadow dwelling monster instead, making it so that as long as there is light, it cannot cause mischief. All that on the principle of playing a fair game, of course. This makes controlling it not only possible, but easy. Unless, of course, the rules of the game are not adhered to well enough. Or it decides to bend some rules or find loopholes. It would not be the first time.

The price? A sacrificial lamb. It will be provided with one human of its choice, who it will ‘play’ with as much as it wants. However, its definition of fun and play are very different from what one might expect — it wishes only to bring that person to the very brink over and over, stretching them thinner and breaking them down to tiny pieces that it can build into something different and observe. And then, once that human breaks one too many times from the constant relentless torture and bending of the mind — if they even manage to survive for that long, — it tears them apart and demands another one. It will leave its cell to look for a new toy from the collection of prisoners provided by its captors. The deal seemed miraculously beneficial at the time to everyone, and it probably still remains so to this day. After all, what's one dead human every once in a while in exchange for control over what some believe to be the devil himself?

The young man reminisces about the note. It said the beast has been banging on its door for a week, getting louder and louder each day. It must have been getting very impatient after having finally snuffed out another life and waiting to be sent someone new. He heard it’s always a surprise when it decides it has grown bored. Sometimes it only takes a few days for the sacrifice to be tortured to death, other times it keeps its playthings around for months, slowly consuming them on a level no one could ever understand but them and their tormentor. It meticulously morphs them into something they never wanted to be and forces them into a corner by repetition and pain. It leaves him nauseous, the thought of what the poor guy who is chosen will be made to go through. This is an anomaly; there is no telling if the first chosen will even make it out of this room.

Now, the lights in the hallway leading to the cafeteria dim, flickering erratically until they finally die out one by one. It's like watching it approach in real time, not by seeing its body walk, only the darkness that follows it grow. Not long before it reaches the double doors — locked to keep everyone inside in the event of panic taking over and chaos ensuing, — he makes the conscious decision to take a deep breath and relax as much as he possibly can. He lays his head on top of the table in front of him, forehead warming the metal surface. He then surrounds himself with his arms tightly, building a little tent of warmth and protection to hopefully block out any sound or sight that may distress him. Maybe he can just completely ignore everything around him. Maybe it will be over quicker than he thinks. Maybe it won't even look his way if he can make himself small and unassuming enough, just quickly snatches up someone else and leaves right after, returning to its cell forever and he will never see it again. It's possible. That's the best he can hope for.

His heart stutters in unison with everyone else's when the last light outside goes out with a droning buzz, concealing what must be eyes peering in through the windows at the top. In the deathly silence, three slow, innocent knocks ring loud against every eardrum.

It is here.

"May I come in?" — follows its intimidating voice soon after. A grin can be heard through its low, throaty timbre, twisted humour dripping from its tongue. It sounds like it finds the notion of obeying powerless creatures like humans amusing. Like someone pretending to be invested in playing house with their niece, struggling to keep a straight face as they play along in something so juvenile.

None of the guards react, while the captives only plant their hands firmer to their mouths. You'd have to be some special kind of stupidly arrogant to think anything you say will be taken seriously by this thing. He supposes if such arrogance exists, it would be found among the head professors here. They must think themselves deities to be fucking around with supernatural destructive entities like this one without fear.

To his surprise, the hesitant footsteps of the guard next to him reach his ears, fading towards the entrance. Are they actually going to open the door for it? A tremendous amount of concentration is required to squash any thoughts coalescing in his brain of making a run for it and slipping out through the door while it's unlocked. Even if he somehow miraculously got through it, what would it solve? He would get shot before he makes it that far, and if not, then he will be running right into the clutches of a monster. Nevertheless, his desperate mind tries convincing itself that there is a way out of this.

"Aw, really now... Is there no one willing to play with me? I'll behave, I promise," — it all but whines, but he can feel its impatience growing. He has never been more aware of the hairs on the back of his neck than now as they prickle and lift with the shiver that runs down his back. Maybe it is for the best that one of the security officers grew a pair and decided to join in on the game of pretend, if only so it will stop hauntingly musing and clawing at that damn door. — "Oh! Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The guard says nothing in response, completely ignoring its mockery. He hears the keycard sliding into its slot on the wall, unlocking the doors with a sharp electric shriek. With great hesitance, and an audible inhale, the soldier reaches for the horizontal bar to push down on and open up the way inside for the menacing thing, stepping off to the side in tandem with the swing of the door hinges.

As the door is pulled open, there is only a blink of massive, sharp claws latching onto it before the light bulbs inside the cafeteria explode at once, drowning everything in near complete darkness, leaving only the red hue of the emergency lighting painting the walls with bloody shadows. A small commotion breaks out, the dramatic change in surroundings managing to freak out a few people, causing a bit of a scene towards the leftmost corner from where he sits. Listening to others panic only serves to scare him more, but he manages to keep it all under his skin, trying to distract himself from his quickly rising heart rate by self soothing motions. Around and ‘round, over and over again his thumb travels the sleeve of his prison uniform. Slow circles. He concentrates on trying to do the most perfect circle he can on the smooth fabric.

The small panic is ignored by the creature for now in favour of focusing on the valiant effort from the guard who was brave enough to approach it. It must appreciate the gesture.

It breathes out a chuckle that barely sounds human at all. — "What a brave little soldier you are. Thank you for letting me in, Brandon. Lovely to see you again."

It knows the guard? As far as the prisoner knows, no one here wears name badges at all except for him and the other captives. It could be that he guards the creature's cell, and they have interacted before. Perhaps seen each other. However, that still does not explain how it could know his name when no one is allowed to talk to it.

"Tell me — is your wife still ill? Have you managed to scrape together enough money to save her yet?" — It coos at the armoured guard, enunciating each word to draw out the hurtful sentence. This seems like an incredibly intimate, serious conversation to be having right now. Something tells him that it's not that the two have been chatting away with each other when nobody's looking, more so that it just knows much more about the people residing here than it lets on. The way it phrased the question seems too mean-spirited and mocking to be genuine, and the sympathetic drawl it used was less than convincing.

"Now, what is that expression for? I'm merely curious." — The guard must gesture or nod in some way, because though he says nothing in response, the prisoner can hear the heavy, languid steps of the creature entering the cafeteria finally, huffing in dramatic annoyance. That grin does not leave its mouth. — "Alright, alright. Don't let me distract you from your very important job."

The doors close and the telltale buzzer of the lock sliding back into place seals the fate of each captive in the room.

For the first time since it got here, it finally acknowledges the presence of the crowd of people anticipating their possible deaths sitting in neat rows at long lines of tables. He can only hope no one is dumb enough to act out; there is no telling what it will do if it is displeased. — "Awe, just look at you all. Trembling in your boots, like newborn kittens."

As it stalks deeper into the room, he listens to Brandon move back to his position next to him. He catches the clicking of his armour sheets knocking into each other from his shivering, despite him standing completely still. Even through the mask it's obvious how hard he is trying to keep it together, taking long, deep breaths in order to keep calm. The captive wonders if it was an allotted job to open the door for the creature, or if he really just thought it best to play along with its games.

"No need to be so scared… After all, I'm the most harmless thing in this facility. Perfectly contained and controlled. Predictable!" — It bangs on one of the tables right after 'predictable', jerking everyone in the cafeteria terribly. It giggles to itself in delight. Despite the warning the prisoners received about not reacting to anything it does, it has yet to punish failure to follow rules. And truthfully, everyone flinched, including the security personnel surrounding the room. It pauses, glancing from prisoner head to prisoner head, then passes over the guards once, waiting a good few seconds before continuing. — "You are all so well-behaved — were you expecting me? Did you know I would come out to play today?"

The way it saunters through the room like it belongs anywhere near here is almost disorienting. Somehow he is the one who feels like he doesn't belong. And truly, he doesn't. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here if that one guard didn't see him sneaking out of his cell a few weeks ago. He would be free, finishing up university and truly starting out his adult life. He wishes every day for a miracle, but he doesn't even know what kind of miracle would be able to save him. One that could destroy this whole damn building, let everyone who was kidnapped against their will free, while also trapping all the abnormal, dangerous curiosities and experiments it holds safely deep below the surface.

The next time the thing speaks, its voice comes from a radically different direction from where he heard its footsteps leading. — "I did warn them in advance... It can't be that I frightened them so much they ran off, can it? There is not another soul in this whole place but us, little lambs."

A sharp gasp and a sob, somewhere to his far right. There is the subtle whisper of the uniforms the captives wear, the noise it makes as it is twisted. It has someone. Has it grabbed them? He wants to see what's happening so bad, but he wants to stay alive more. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut. — "It's so nice of them to leave me such a lovely gift."

"No, please, please — "

"It's just unfortunate that they had wasted my time — and yet more unfortunate that they didn't even come to watch me some more, as they so like to do."

It must have made its choice. He prepares himself for the death wail and desperate pleading of the poor soul, expecting the monster to latch into them and drag them away back to its own cell soon. He tries to plug his ears and curl up as tight as possible, to somehow block out the terrible, traumatising event and be glad it wasn't him that was chosen. What a morbid, inhumane thought. The only thing more shameful than being happy for another's misfortune is the fact he feels absolutely no shame for thinking like that.

“Hmm… I was really looking forward to showing them this."

The screech of agony comes and grows in volume so quickly he barely has time to jam his fingers deeper into his ears before it ends. Abruptly. A sickening crunch and a splash of liquid hitting the linoleum floor, then silence. Deathly silence. No one dares to utter a word. What happened? Is it over? He certainly won't be the one to risk asking.

Long enough goes by for one of his fellow captives to ask instead of him, tears audible in her voice. He would be lying if he wasn't close to bawling as well. — "I-Is it over?" — comes the innocent whisper. When her voice isn't immediately answered with violence and death, he dares to open up his fingers just a little to look through the cracks. She would not have been able to even finish that sentence if it wasn't over, right?

He sees a massive shadow cross the room right in front of him, blocking out the red light beating down on his face for only a split second. It moved inhumanely fast. It was inhumanely tall. It also had at least three more pairs of long limbs than a human would, each ending in too many bladed fingers.

It's gone before he could even squeeze his eyes shut again, already out of sight. It moves rapidly and without a sound — a horrible chill freezes his body in place at the primal fear that takes hold of him. He prays it didn't catch him flinching so violently.

Right after he concludes that it is definitely not gone yet, it answers the question for her, —

"I am afraid I am not done just yet."

The same woman who spoke up now screams for her life, her desperate cry only overpowered by the creature's demented laughter as it tears her apart without as much as another word. All that remains is the latter half of her corpse, fallen to the ground with a dull, final thud. This is bad, this is very bad. It must have killed its first chosen as well, — is he just meant to sit there until his turn comes? Just hope that his shivering and gasping of terror won't be too loud for it to end him? How long is he meant to stay like this?

Its long, deep sigh is filled to the brim with contentment. — "You break so easily..."

A shot goes off then, deafening like the screeching, roaring guffaws it lets out as it bends to dodge the bullet, leaping away into a corner swiftly. It clicks its tongue, probably at the one who shot at it. Its voice drops to a low growl that resembles the purr of a carnivore. — "Aww, did I break a rule? Did I make the big, scary humans angry?"

More shots follow in rapid succession, exploding from all angles, more and more of the guards lifting their respective guns to join in. Now the captives are made to scream from the added stress, frightened not only by the creature's antics, but from the gunfire as well. Some almost hope to get shot rather than ripped in twain by it. If any bullets reach at all they do not hurt it, as the only reaction it gives is uncontrollable laughter and mockery.

Worst of all, he can't even tell who's still alive anymore. Between the bullets and the creature roaming the floor, there's no way nobody is caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet catches his shoulder, singing his skin on its way. He cries out, gripping at it, but luckily it is more busy jumping from prisoner to prisoner to use them as living shields than with punishing them for their understandable reactions one by one. Something sounds almost bitter in its voice as it speaks between the rain of bullets.

"You almost got me!"

A muffled cry and the sound of a heavy rifle hitting the floor.

"Go on, make me obey!"

Ripping of armour, of flesh.

"Show me how scary you can be!"

Something bangs on the table in front of him with a sickening crunch.

"Oh, you shot your own. How sad."

In the end, when the fire dies down and silence stretches between drips of blood, no one dares to say a word. Whoever is still alive has either passed out from injuries or overstimulation, or has receded so deep inside their own minds that they still twitch and quake at echoes of long gone fire. He feels closer to the latter, unable to even move an inch if he tried, ears ringing like a church bell.

The room now strongly smells of gunpowder and blood. Most of the soldiers are dead, only a couple hiding away in corners, injured or just terrified, and a single one standing stock still, hands clasped tightly around his gun. He can hear him gasping for air.

It wanders between the corpses as if it was skipping through a meadow of flowers. It seems just as peaceful too.

"Mmm..." — It stops somewhere in the middle of the room, cocking its head to the side. It coughs out a snicker. — "Now you seem disappointed in me."

It's talking to someone again, but who? He's sure he's the only one left conscious after all that. His toes curl with the thought that it is talking to him.

"Oh, could it be?" — It sounds giddy, growing louder, condescending. It stretches every syllable threateningly, playful. His guts tie themselves in knots at its awful tone. — "I can hear you, Doctor! Brandon, you didn't tell me you had her on the line!"

If he concentrates, he can just barely pick out the tiny voice yelling orders at Brandon from his radio. He is obviously not following them, clutching that heavy piece of metal in his hands like his last lifeline, hugging it close instead of defending himself with it. He does not move, but the creature doesn't mind walking closer to him instead, kicking corpses out of the way nonchalantly. — "She has caught it all, has she? Doctorrrr, why didn't you show up today? I was looking forward to seeing you."

It is coming closer again, closer to Brandon most likely. He wonders just what in the actual hell this guy did to have made friends with something like it. One wrong move is enough for it to tear out your throat, and yet it treats him like a dear friend compared to everyone else. The tip of his rifle still burns from all the lead he shot its way prior to it killing off most of his colleagues.

The radio has become suspiciously quiet.

"You left me this delicious gift, but didn't even come to see me? Brandon, tell her to come visit me!" — It is right next to him, talking to Brandon — it's just his luck that he managed to sit next to the murder demon's only buddy.

Brandon says nothing. It's voice darkens then, purring out these words, — "I truly would have loved to see you today, doctor. It's a shame you weren't here. I would have been more than happy to let you join in on the fun. I would have loved to show you the consequences of your carelessness in person."

The radio sparks to life again, her voice coming hurriedly, — yelling at Brandon to shoot it now now now — but not much more makes it out before it grips the black box and tears it off of the guard, whispering right into it to make sure the one on the other side listens well, — “Next time you need someone to test your new toys out on, make sure they actually work before you piss me off. See you on Monday, love.”

Whichever scientist it is talking to starts yelling again, voice distorting with the steadily increasing pressure it uses to crush the small device in its hand. The last dying static that makes it out of the speaker is snuffed out viciously, causing both other men to flinch when it shoves the thing into the wall right next to Brandon's head, shattering it to pieces and letting the plastic shards fall to the blood covered floor. It's silent once again.

So the fuckers were watching. Of course they were, nothing happens in this godforsaken place without their knowledge. However, what the demon meant was clear — the scientists have displeased it by making it wait despite their agreement, angered it when they didn't even come in to witness its retribution in person out of cowardice — proving they knew fully well they had messed up — and then made it furious when they opened fire as soon as it began doling out more pain than they thought it should. All that, banking on these new weapons being sufficient enough to stop it. It’s all clear to him now — it decided to hold this horrifying spectacle as a punishment and as a warning in response to the arrogance that had let the researchers slip up and forget their place. Now, of course, the ones paying for it are people like him, with no control over the situation, not people like that doctor watching from a safe distance from what must be another lab, or even her own home, free of all consequences for her rash actions.

Well, free for now. He doubts it will forget her disrespect come Monday. If he was in her place, he would quit and never return.

"What do you think, my darling Brandon? Shall I make the message more prominent?" — Its spine creaks like a firecracker. He imagines the massive thing hovering over the cornered soldier with a scary grin, daring him to shoot it so it can make him regret he was ever born in the blink of an eye. The last bastion of this toy castle, standing between a wall and a creature that could tear down this entire building, if only it wanted to.

No shots are fired, no screams are heard. A loud metallic bang on the floor — Brandon dropping his weapon. The creature hums a pleasant sound after nearly a minute of unsettling eye-contact and only the sound of their own breathing, finally snickering and backing off of the terrified guard. It seems satisfied. — “Atta boy. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Brandon’s quivering lips part behind the mask of his helmet, letting past a shaky exhale. He pushes himself back further, searching for balance on the wall behind him with his knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Though he is a special case, he is far from immune to the vicious whims of the horrific creature.

The monster begins wandering the room once again, surveying the darkness for prisoners that may still be alive. Its demeanour has changed, though; it seems much more irritable, less playful. It is no longer hiding its heavy footsteps, and it no longer taunts and mocks neither Brandon, nor anyone else. He doesn't know if the change is a good or a bad thing. He's only glad it hadn't noticed him yet.

It finds a possible candidate for itself but kills them off in the same moment when said candidate jumps to their feet in a blind panic and tries to run from it. It sends an arm through their abdomen, lifting them up towards the ceiling and tossing them into a wall, no doubt shattering their spine and killing them. The way it kills does not become any less terrifying, no matter how many times he has to listen to bones crack and flesh rip. It sighs, moving on. — “Disappointing. Awfully disappointing.”

Another life snuffed out not a minute later — it's almost dismissive with how carelessly it sends bodies flying through the air like puppets. No one seems to be able to satisfy it. It’s like it has lost interest in playing along. That isn't exactly surprising, if he thinks about it. If he was such an all-powerful, menacing beast with no kryptonite, and his fun was ruined by the people he had made a deal with out of boredom, he probably wouldn't stick to the rules either, but ignore them and look for other ways to amuse himself.

However, stuck with his thoughts as he is, the only thing he could truly concentrate on is one question: what if no one will be chosen by it today? It can surely just break out of here and look for more meat, if not just completely abandon the agreement and go on a merciless hunting spree. That would be disastrous, maybe irreversible. He can only hope that if he is killed today, unable to please it, it will at least find the motherfucker who kidnapped him and kill them too. All of them.

Bodies that still have a soul in them are scarce. The mental fortitude he needs to stay so still and quiet as he listens to it smashing someone's skull into a wall just a couple tables over has become even scarcer. He's going to die here. He will. It doesn't want a prisoner like him, it just wants to destroy. No rules tie it down until the doctors repent, and to repent they might have to give their lives. It's just going to kill off each leftover prisoner one by one; probably Brandon too once it runs out of defenceless captives.

“Is this it? This is what I was made to wait for?” — It comes up behind another man and doesn't even wait for him to react, snapping his neck in one quick motion. — “What a waste of my time. This is getting more and more boring, Brandon, and you know how I get when I'm bored.”

As if demonstrating, it snaps the arm of a person lying on the ground, already injured from a gunshot just to hear them wail. Once it heard enough, it tears off the whole limb, and moves onto the next one, not letting up until their body finally gives out. The prisoner can't see any of it, but he can more than sufficiently imagine it from the horrid sounds.

He can hear frustration clear as day in its otherwise emotionless voice. This is the end. It's only a matter of time before it finds him. At least he won't be taken by it, tortured for god knows how long; and he takes solace in that. His death will be brutal, but quick. Maybe he should just get its attention and be done with it.

He considers it, but his train of thought is swiftly interrupted. — “May I make a suggestion?”

It's a timid, yet loud, hesitant voice muffled by a padded helmet. No one but silence answers it. The beast stops in its tracks, pausing for just a moment. He cannot believe he heard that right. The first thing he feels is bitterness, for he really will be left all alone when the creature eliminates this suicidal soldier before him.

“Brandonnn…” — it sings at him, a vile, dangerous melody crawling with unsaid intentions. However, to his surprise, it doesn't instantly leap across the floor to tackle the guard and behead him for breaking a rule. Instead, its eyes find Brandon, humming to him from what sounds to be across the room. It brings small relief to hear that smile having returned to its face. If nothing else, at least it's interested again. — “You are being very brave today. You aren't supposed to speak to me, don't you know? It's very dangerous.”

It purrs at him knowingly, but doesn't pounce on him. Not yet. What could Brandon's plan be? Distraction? Self-sacrifice? Maybe the monster whisperer can find a way to calm it down after all. He holds his breath, praying that whatever the guard is about to do doesn't end in more carnage.

“Well, seeing as, uh, we're all breaking the rules, I thought I'd, I'd join in.” — It's unusual to hear a prison guard so nervous; usually they sound either bored and emotionless, or antagonistic as they drag captives off to help out with deadly experiments that are too dangerous for more important people to take part in. It's hard to feel righteous joy at listening to one of the people who routinely treats all like him as less than human finally being on the receiving end of the cruelty of a subject like this when he may be next; but he can't say it's impossible. Every stutter makes both men more anxious, and the monster more intrigued.

The creature starts walking towards him at a languid pace. The guard tenses. — “You just can't help playing with fire.” — He can almost hear Brandon's heart pounding from where he cowers. The silence is deafening. — “And what may your suggestion be?”

He hesitates to answer. It’s approaching him, now closing in on him much too quick to think clearly. Like a timer, counting down with each step towards his death. Like convincing the Grim Reaper to grant him more time.

As it steps up to him, towering over the man in a terribly intimidating fashion, he forces himself to answer it in the smallest, most strained little voice he has ever heard from a guard, — “I think you would like this one.”

The confusion is quickly overridden by terror. It can't be. Brandon can't do this to him. It's not hard to imagine what the offering could be, but he still tries to come up with a different answer. Breathing becomes a challenge. The creature's curiosity has been peaked, however. It looks towards where Brandon points with a questioning hum.

The prisoner can feel its gaze landing on him. Its voice travels towards him while it addresses the guard.

“I am very curious why you think I would.”

For a moment, hope reappears in his heart. He at the very least managed to put it in a better mood and distracted it, but that is not enough to save anyone, especially not him, now that he drew attention to him like this. Everyone is still just as stuck, but maybe a miracle could happen, and he manages to convince it to go after someone else — the doctor, for example. Whichever one pissed it off so bad.

Brandon swallows thick as he thinks of the right words to say next. The longer he talks, the more his hope of ever getting out of this in one piece diminishes. — “He, he has been behaving perfectly this whole time. He has been quiet, and still, and, and I know you like the ones that, uh… that are easy on the eyes, as well as obedient.”

The creature is laser focused on every word he says, equal parts amusement and something darker lurking beneath. — “I must say, it is nice to hear your voice. A welcome change. Keep talking for me. Convince me.”

It turns away from Brandon to scrutinise the captive’s quivering body instead, burning holes into the top of his head. Though he cannot see what's going on, he can hear it very well, and when it starts walking over to him, he gags on a sob and his breaths become irregular.

“Right, uhh — I've seen him around a lot. He's new, but he's never really been a troublemaker. He, uh, seems smart, a bookworm. A loner. I heard he was a top student at a nearby academy before he was brought here. I always see him reading reports and docs. I'm sure he's read yours too. Maybe he could be… interesting, to play with. Right?” — This was humiliating, dehumanising and evil. With every word it became harder to stay still, yet easier to lose himself in despair. Brandon is basically killing him in the most roundabout, terrifying way. It seems to be considering this option, thinking it over. — “Come on, what else… And, uhh, I spoke to him once. I think you'd like his voice, he's got this soft, light way of speaking. Maybe it sounds good as he… screams. You know? He cries easily too. I've heard from one of the others that he's a crybaby. He isn't used to pain. His life was pretty easy as far as I know, so he bruises easily. I think he, uhh, he could… entertain you for a little bit?”

“Mmm. Is that so…” — It's behind him, it's right behind him, what is he meant to do? He no longer supports Brandon's idea, and he downright despises it once the demon starts touching him. He feels its long fingers wrap around his shoulder, teasing at his neck. It purrs as it listens to Brandon, clearly delighted by some of the things he says about him in this awful, uncomfortable, much too personal rant. — “Oh, that does sound very enticing. And he is indeed very well behaved. I barely noticed him at all.”

As it leans over him to observe from up close, he gives up entirely on trying to survive, jerking away from those awful, dangerous claws with a whimper; to the delight of the monster. He doesn't want to be chosen, he really doesn't, he can't do this, he can't — but he can't even force a single plea out of his throat. He is frozen solid, yet pliable in its embrace as it circles him, inspects him, smells him. Possibly worst of all, he can't even bring himself to be angry with Brandon. He probably would have tried something similar in his place. However painful it feels to be betrayed by someone who seemed to be on his side, it is still for the greater good to sacrifice one for the lives of many. He just never expected to be sacrificed himself. He assumed there must be another from the hundred other prisoners next to him that would be a better choice, and found crucial comfort in that.

He tries to avoid looking at it as it pulls and nags at him. Its frigid claws freeze his lungs and burn his skin. This fear is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Debilitating, primal, fit for a prey animal in the clutches of a predator. It makes alien sounds that resemble giddiness, digging through his hair eagerly, grabbing onto a stray lock and jerking it hard enough to wrench his head to the side, keeping him bent like that. Its words chill him to the bone as it murmurs into his ear. — “You lasted so, so long, little lamb. If only your shepherd dog could have scared off the wolf on his own, huh? His owner is not here to help, and he is too cowardly to give up his life to save yours. How sad.”

It does not sound sad whatsoever; it sounds wicked and excited. It completely suffocates him with all those limbs, feeling every part of him. He has never felt so many hands on him at once. It's awful, he can't even fight off any of them before they have him by the wrists and ankles and waist and neck and chest and he is completely defenceless against all of it. He feels himself being lifted into the air and there are even more hands touching him, coming to caress his face and knot his hair, and when he opens his mouth to scream a desperate wail of helplessness, fingers enter his mouth to push on his tongue and explore his molars.

Brandon has gone quiet, averting his eyes and trying his best to ignore what he has done. It's for the greater good, that's all that matters. And he might keep his job after all, despite his failure to follow orders from his boss. If he returns in one piece and with a successfully tamed monster back in its cell chewing on its newest victim, perhaps he will be excused for it.

When it finally seems satisfied, it simply drops him, uncaring of the height he was held at. He lands painfully on his front, scraping his chin off the floor. He tries to clamber away immediately, blindly backing away from it, but those hands return sooner than expected, gripping him by the neck to keep him in place.

It forces him to look in its eyes. It has awful, terrifying, coal black orbs that pierce him right through. Whatever it is looking for in his teary expression, it finds it, because it grins with sharp teeth and takes hold of one of his wrists again, dragging him along with itself. It walks right past Brandon, tearing the doors open with no issue. It pauses in the doorway, turning to the guard once more.

“Thank you for helping me choose, my dear Brandon. I hope to see you again soon,” — it says, waving him goodbye. It wastes no time to return to its cell, a newly reignited curiosity pulling it towards the corridor. Brandon succeeded in exciting it. Ideas of torment materialise in its head already as it listens to the poor prisoner sob, pulling at the fingers gripping him tight.

In a moment they are both gone. The lights brighten, the danger is gone. The few people who survived this encounter are saved. Brandon escorts them back to their cells, one by one, taking the time to let quiet tears fall as he shuffles through the sea of dead. He does not have the peace of mind to write a report nor to notify anyone about it being over for another couple hours. And in reality, it isn't over. It never is. The prisoner will die sooner or later, and then he will have to do this again and again and again. He will have to live with his choices, and if it comes down to it, he will have to make the same decision again.

The next day, as he stands outside the cell door, listening to the unending wailing and begging coming from behind the solid steel, he will have to convince himself that this is better. That he made the right choice. He will cry and apologise over and over again to the locked metal gate.

And it will be listening to him, satisfied with its one true victim's pain.

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