We all know about magical fatigue as a whump trope for magical overuse. Now I raise you: Magical euphoria.
Magic that feels good to use. It leaves the user dizzy and lightheaded, a giddy energy rushing through their entire body. It's enough to leave the most stoic whumpee giggling madly, to make the most obedient soldier go rogue. It's a power that ultimately, inevitably, controls its user.
Mages arenāt trusted to act on their own. They canāt be, not when each spell costs them their sanity. Not when, in a daze of manic joy, theyāre just as liable to destroy the enemy as their allies.
And so they need a handler.
Imagine Caretaker in this situation. Forced to watch Whumpee throw themselves into madness, to turn themselves into an unthinking weapon under the demand of some uncaring general. Having to put aside their affection for Whumpee as a person, and analyze them as a tool.
Itās Caretaker who decides when Whumpee is still fit for battle. Itās caretaker who has to look into their dazed and distant eyes, blood dripping into a too wide smile, and decide if Whumpee has anything else to give.
Itās Caretaker who decides when theyāre too far gone, when Whumpee needs to stop. And if Whumpee canāt, itās Caretakerās job to make them stop. Even if that means using force, even if it means hurting them, because letting them run wild isnāt an option.
And when the battleās over, when Whumpee is either led or dragged away to the medical wing, Caretakerās the only one brave enough to tend to their injuries. They wrap bleeding, scorched fingers without a word, the only sound being Whumpee babbling, mad ramblings. Caretaker knows they wonāt remember any of this. They still talk to Whumpee anyway, soft, comforting words they hope will bring Whumpee back faster.
And when whumpeeās eyes finally clear, when their body sags with exhaustion theyāre just now able to feel, Caretaker feels nothing but grief, because itāll start all over again tomorrow.
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