i’m taking a break from tumblr for a bit so @oros-ash3s will be managing @chrysalis-thestateofchange on his own for anyone that follows along. i’ll probably still be writing chapters for him to post but i just wanted to to let you guys know.
content: pet whump (bbu/institutionalized slavery), medical stuff (g-tube), discussion of past infant death
~~~~~~
Mr. Oz had never been one to talk extensively about his family. Port figured, at first, it was just because he didn’t have much to speak of. But as he got to know him better, he realized it was because the topic as a whole carried with it plenty of baggage his master didn’t want to unpack— dirty laundry he didn’t care to air out.
The things Mr. Oz did share tended to disturb him. His father: dead and decomposing in a cemetary he never visited. His mother: dementia ridden and wasting away in a home he didn’t frequent. Extended family: status unknown, across the ocean in a country he wouldn’t return to.
Port learned to brace himself whenever Mr. Oz brought up his wife and kids. It started as wistfulness, sometimes, but it was like watching a train crash in slow motion every time. The faraway stare and standing tears in his eyes would give way to the shouting and rising color in his cheeks, like watching metal twist and mangle, smashing whatever was unfortunate enough to find itself on the tracks.
But somehow, the one thing that stuck with Port the most was the one thing Mr. Oz had shared like it didn’t matter to him at all.
“I’m an only child,” he’d said, in response to Port’s question. (This was back when, naïvely, he thought asking about family might be a good way to get to know him. He learned his lesson quick.) Mr. Oz rubbed at the stubble on his chin in a way that made Port think he was simply pondering over the next clue in his crossword puzzle. “I guess I wasn’t always,” he continued. “I had a sister, but she died a long time ago.”
Port was shocked into momentary silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a beat.
Mr. Oz lifted his eyes from the newspaper like he was surprised Port had even offered condolences. “I was young,” he said, shrugging. “I didn’t really get death, yet. This was before we even came to the United States.” His gaze roamed over the puzzle for a few seconds and he scribbled something in the margin. “She was a baby. Came and went so fast I could barely miss her.”
Something tugged at Port's heart. Was that supposed to be a comfort? Mr. Oz’s eyes remained on his paper, but they went out of focus, looking beyond it. “Hell… I haven’t thought about her in forever. She died of malnutrition. It's really messed up. Everyone blamed my mother.”
Port could not think of anything else to say other than: “That’s terrible.”
“It was only once I had kids of my own that I realized it was never her fault at all. My sister probably had, uh…” He clicked the end of his pen once, twice. “…this genetic disease. Cystic fibrosis. I don’t think they knew how to diagnose it at the time, let alone treat it.” His eyes darkened. “If I had known…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have married Noshin if I had known.” He scratched at his nose, squinting at his paper. “Anyway... What does this even mean?" he muttered, tapping the point of the pen on it.
Port was still stuck on the image of his sister. He imagined holding a baby girl in his arms, running a hand over her soft fuzzy hair like a peach. Then he imagined her going limp and cold and...
“I’m sorry that happened,” Port said.
“Thanks,” Mr. Oz said dismissively. His gaze drifted away from the crossword, skipped up to Port. “Do you know—? Woah.” Discomfort crossed his features, a wrinkle between his brows. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. If I had known you’d be so affected, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Sorry, sir,” Port apologized, swiping hastily at his face. “I just think it’s sad.”
“It’s not your story. No need to cry over it, bud.”
~~~~~~
The carpet cleaner fizzled over the stain like rabid saliva, eating away at the remaining traces of spilled milk.
“Thanks,” Tal said.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Port replied as he wiped it up. This was in his comfort zone. He had no issue cleaning up after others, even if the movement made his body twinge and ache in the aftermath of the seizure.
“You, uh, don’t actually have to call me sir,” Tal said. When Port looked over to him, he was running his fingers through his dark hair, swiping all the way from his forehead to the base of his skull. It was floppy today, like he hadn’t slathered on a pound of hair gel. He was sitting on the far end of the couch, legs pulled up so his heels pressed into the cushion. “I think I’m over the novelty of it.”
“Okay,” Port said. Whatever his master wanted, he could adjust.
He stood and brought the spray bottle back to the cupboard under the kitchen sink. It occurred to him that the bowl of cereal had been mostly full— Tal hadn’t gotten the chance to eat much. When Port returned to him with a fresh bowl of cereal and spoon in hand, Tal’s eyebrows raised with something like surprise, pulling at the scar splitting one of them. He took the offerings silently.
“I can go back to my room,” Port said, not wanting to disturb his peace any further.
“Wait. You can sit with me, if you want.”
Port thought of Sonny, who must still be deep in sleep. He thought about how he did not want to face him when he woke up. “Okay," he agreed.
“Do you want cereal?”
A few minutes later, Port had himself situated on the other end of the sofa with his very own bowl of Froot Loops. In his peripheral, Tal’s brown eyes were flicking to him at regular intervals, carefully not moving his head. Port stiffly spooned the first bite of sugar into his mouth, feeling self-conscious of Tal watching him eat. He tried to chew as quietly and discreetly as possible, as if it made any difference. The sheer artificial sweetness was shocking his tastebuds. It was rough over his sensitive tongue, still swollen from how he had bitten it, and his jaw was sore.
Unsure of whether or not he should try to make conversation, he pretended to be interested in what was playing on the TV. He watched Daffy Duck get blown away with a shotgun, head disappearing into a puff of smoke. When the cartoon cloud dissipated, the duck was unharmed. Must be nice.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” Tal said, unprompted.
In a controlled manner, Port turned his stiff neck to look at him. Tal faced him in turn. His discomfort was well-concealed, but still visible in the slight furrow of his brow.
Port hated to be apologized to. There was only one thing he could say. “It’s okay, sir.” No, not sir. This isn't Mr. Oz. “Talha,” he corrected himself.
The boy looked away, sheepish. “Seriously, I just wasn’t thinking. I know it’s not okay to grab at people. I’m gonna apologize to Sonny, too, when he wakes up.”
“Thank you... it’s okay.” To their credit, neither of the siblings had yet laid a violent hand on them. But it would happen, sooner or later. Someone would lose their temper. And then...?
Port tried for a smile— All is forgiven, it said. Tal's face did not change. His eyes stuck on Port like he wanted to say something more, but he peeled his gaze away and turned back to the TV, to the flashing colors. He grabbed a pill bottle from the coffee table and unscrewed it in a smooth motion, shaking a couple capsules into his palm.
It didn’t feel right to leave the conversation off on that awkward note. “Do you need to take those every time you eat?” Port asked. He ought to learn dietary requirements, anyway.
“Pretty much,” Tal said, after dry swallowing the pills. He shook the bottle for emphasis and the little capsules rattled around inside like a maraca. “They’re enzymes. They help me digest food because my stupid pancreas no-workee.”
Port’s brow furrowed. “What happens if you don’t take them?”
“Bad shit.”
“Oh.”
“And I mean that literally. I could also starve to death, hypothetically, but it would take a while.” Tal seemed obvious to Port’s disturb as he scooped a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Wanna see something cool?” he asked, still chewing.
“Sure,” Port said, with some apprehension. He watched in shock as Tal lifted his shirt to reveal his midriff. Above and to the left of his navel was a piece of plastic, like a snap, protruding from the plane of his stomach. The circle of skin surrounding it was maybe slightly rawer than it should be, but looked otherwise healthy.
Tal poked at it with his finger. “I call it my second belly button,” he said.
“Wow,” Port decided on, at loss of what else to say. He sort of wanted to avert his eyes, even if there wasn’t anything very disturbing about it. “What's it for?”
“It’s a g-tube, for nutrition. It goes straight into my stomach, though I haven’t been using it lately because I’m eating more. Through my mouth,” he specified.
Port wondered if Tal could pour cereal milk into it, but decided not to ask such a stupid question. “Is it for your, uh… cyst-ic…?” He could not remember the full name, though he suspected Tal might have the condition ever since he saw the pill bottles and various medical equipment around the house.
Tal’s eyebrows raised, and he dropped his shirt. “Cystic fibrosis?”
“Right, that’s it.”
“You’ve heard of it? Did Rida tell you?”
“Yes. I mean no. Um…” I shouldn't have even brought this up. “Mr. Oz— I mean— your father… he mentioned it,” Port muttered.
Tal’s eyes went a little wide, but his expression was otherwise blank, straight-mouthed. “He talked to you about me?” he asked, after a moment.
“Not really... It just came up once or twice.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Not really,” Port repeated, pinned under Tal’s round-eyed stare.
Another beat of silence, punctuated by the sound of an explosion coming from the TV. His next question hung in the air like he wasn't even sure if he wanted to speak it aloud: “What was he like?”
This was not a conversation Port wanted to be having this early in the morning. Or ever.
He must have hesitated for too long, because Tal cut him off right as he opened his mouth. “Never mind,” he said, dropping his eyes. He scraped at one of his cuticles with his thumbnail, face unreadable. “You don’t have to tell me.”
If Mr Oz was let's say.. gifted, a girl whumpee (slave) how would he react? And how would their relationship be?
if he was gifted her now, he’d probably try to pawn her off. he’s not interested in a 3rd pet.
if he was gifted her a few years ago, he’d be uncomfortable with the idea but would probably keep her. it would just feel more wrong to him to live with a girl pet. as he gained confidence i think ultimately he would end up treating her the same way he treats the boys.
i'll take this as an opportunity to draw The Boys if they were Girls
1 thing they don't tell you about forced to watch is its sooooo fucking embarrassing for the one they're watching. like, oh my god. you can't ever look your friends in the eye because they saw you getting battered and bashed and WORSE, saw you flinching away and begging for it to stop.
Best friends post-whump never talking about it EVER until one day 3rd friend asks about it and they both fall very silent and won't look at each other.
