#TW: Starvation

[xx-akubara-xx]

MEGA POST: Prisoner AU - Part 1

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Page 20

- Part 1: You're here! Part 2: N/A

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Master Post of Comics

[mothsparksghost]

"He Taught Me That the Hand That Feeds Deserves to be Bitten When it Beats"

-The Hand That Feeds By The Crane Wives

Alternatively!

Corporate Greed Strikes Again

TWs: Corporate Greed, Kidnapping, Human Experimentation, Torture, Violence, Blood, starvation

Danny was running away, it was getting to dangerous in Amity for him to stay. There were new rogues every other day getting more and more powerful as they popped up. The GIW had gotten even more competent in their weapons making, but not in their situational awareness. Just the last week, he had gotten shot at least seven times keeping civilians safe.

For the safety of everyone in Amity, it was bet for him to leave.

For good.

So he packed a bag, made sure there were no current loose ghost, made sure no one was inside Fenton Works, and then promptly blew up the portal with a modified ghost shield to keep the damage to a minimum. Unlike others, he was well aware of where people were and how the could be killed.

So now that everyone thought him dead, he ran. To where? He didn't know. But he needed a pit stop somewhere to get some food. Danny landed on the roof of a building reaching for a map he had stored somewhere in his bag. Shuffling things around he couldn't seem to find it.

"Damn, must've dropped it," Danny muttered. Turning, he only got a second to look at the blur coming for him, but then Danny only knew darkness.

---------------

Danny runs away when theres more and more causalities in Amity. He blew up Fenton Works while inside to make it seem like he died, and to those that did know about Phantom, dead dead.

He makes pit stops, and at one point accidentally cuts himself as Phantom and leaves not knowing there was ecto left behind.

A scientist about to get fired from some big corp trying to get green/clean energy stumbles upon it, and thinks its his big break.

Soon he had the entire company board on board with his idea, no matter that it could be breaking meta laws and could get them all life in prison.

The hunt for the unsuspecting meta, one Danny Phantom, was on.

And then when the bounty hunters, somehow getting their hands on ecto weapons (Maybe the GIW donated them? Maybe they had commissioned them from the Fentons? who knows) get a ping of his location? They sent their best hunter and got poor Danny.

Danny soon wakes up and realizes that "Oh no, where am I?!"

He soon learns that is the least of his worries.

Danny is then tortured, and the people soon realize he has a human side, so they quickly modify the ghost chains to make sure he stays a ghost.

He then Bites a guard and is then muzzled.

The Big Corp soon starts draining him of his ecto while trying to figure out how his body produces it

After all, he who controls the supply controls the market

So while Danny can't turn back into a human, in a low ecto rich environment, and constantly being drained of what fuels his ghostly body, he begins to feel the effects of starvation, because "Ghost are dead, they don't need human shit." and quote.

Well Danny was a special lil halfa and needed food in order to fucking survive

Soon, his hazmat suit starts to become baggy, not fitting anymore and it slowly progress until his eyes start to become clear, becoming the pure ecto green of his flesh in blindness, his bodies way of trying to conserve enough energy until he can get out.

The scientist, seeing the green eyes immediately rip one out, wanting to see if his eyes had a more concentrated ecto that they could use. They quickly learn, no, its clear and has little to no ecto.

Danny's voice has stopped working a long time ago at this point.

The Bats then notice a once failing Clean energy company suddenly thrive.

They investigate and are disturbed to realize that they are using a purified Lazarus water as the main fuel.

They then hunt down the source building and sneak into it, trying to find the source

Bruce is then distracted, going down a heavily guarded hallway unnoticed.

He opens what could only be a vault door, then peering through a black netting with a green sheen, he see's Danny.

What happens after that? Idk but if someone wants to pick up they can :D

———————

Tbh its been a hot min since ive actually drawn smth so im a lil out of practice lol.

Anyways i wanna thank the besties (gender neutral) in the Batphantom Club House discord for giving me songs to put on the list 🤗

I needed smth to make the brain worms go brr and so im making my way through the list.

The songs on the list help me catch a prompt for a drawing, and, well a prompt lmao, whether its the lyrics or the rhythm or overall vibes lol.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

For the “tropes to rave about” list: When two characters have been whumped and one insists on downplaying their injuries to take care of the other one :D

Oh where to begin???

This trope is so versatile, and the results really depend on the relationship dynamic between characters. The dozens upon dozens of sub-tropes? Are they mutually competent, student and mentor (i.e., parent and adopted child), siblings, lovers, best buddies, strangers, rivals, or (gasp) enemies???

Whatever the case may be, there's a lot of potential here.

Give me suppressed winces and forced smiles. Give me hoarse whispers of "promise you're okay?" and "are you sure?" Give me voluntary starvation and/or dehydration so their companion has the strength to heal. Give me an exhausted caretaker carrying their companion across unknown distances because "it's fine, I'm fine, just keep talking to me," even though each movement is agony. Bloodstained clothes turned sticky and stiff, hidden from view. Powering through the pain because oh God that's too much blood and their companion shouldn't sound like that. Broken bones going unset and grinding painfully with every movement. Give me stiff movements and piss-poor acting, but their companion is so unwell that they just can't see it.

Let's not leave out the lonely parts for our poor caretaker, though. Those moments when their companion is asleep and they try to treat their own injuries as silently as possible - but careful, careful, they need to ration their medical supplies because their companion needs it more than they do. Those moments when they say they're going to find some food or water, knowing there's none, and they just use it as an excuse to let the mask drop - just for a little while. The hours (or days) of silence, broken only by their companion's shuddering breaths. The melancholy of believing rescue is out of reach. The resignation of deciding to rescue themselves and their friend.

Then give me a companion that, once they're starting to improve, sees right through their caretaker's façade. That healthy glow now looks like a feverish flush on the face that's been hovering over them. The caretaker's movements are too sluggish to stop their companion's too-fast hands from grabbing that traitorous, bloodstained article of clothing. Now there's questions, too many of them, and their caretaker can only manage to give mumbled answers to two of them. Righteous anger. The guilt of rifling through their things, only to see that all of the medical supplies had been used on themselves. Hurried movements and oh-damn-that-still-hurts; but their caretaker just doesn't have the strength to stop them from pushing them to lie down and now the roles are reversed until help can arrive or they save themselves.

That, or the caretaker manages to keep up the strong and steady act until rescue finally comes. It's almost eerie, really, how their mind and body are in sync with one another until they're absolutely certain that their companion is in safe hands. Then the exhaustion and pain come crashing down on them all at once. Maybe they stumble. Maybe they collapse. Maybe several sets of hands catch them. Or maybe they go unnoticed until someone turns around and oh - oh that's why they stopped talking.

-Bonus-

Caretaker: You're gonna need a, b, and c. And maybe a crash cart.

Rescue Medic, confused: But... your friend's condition doesn't call for any of that stuff.

Caretaker, actively bleeding out with a completely straight face: It's not for them.

[the-grave-of-andrew]

I've been really busy and haven't had time to draw anything new. So, this is one of the first pieces I made last year when I first formed.

I wanted to see if I could draw maybe what it would have looked like after starving for so long.

[cosmicjoke]

Untitled

Levi stares up into the craggy, receding blackness above, sees the hanging stalactites, and imagines one of them breaking free, crashing down onto his head and crushing him to death.

He’s seen it happen.  Seen it lots.

Wasn’t nothin’ left, after you got hit by one ‘a those.  Just mush and blood.

He thinks about it happening, and guesses it’d be better than this.

He hasn’t eaten in eight days.

It’s winter.  He knows.  From the cold air seepin’ down through the cracks in the rock, the flutter ‘a white powder and frigid wind which aches him down to his bones.  Knows from the faded light.  The small bits which break through them cracks, just a weak bleed of ‘em now, pale and fragile.

Winter meant no crops.  No growin’ food above meant no food below.  None.

All the merchants’ve closed up shop and left for the surface, and it’s just rats down here.  Rats and bugs and not much else.

Levi wraps his arms around himself, feels the press ‘a his ribs against his arms, and the pain in his stomach takes his breath. 

He don’t find somethin’ to eat soon, he knows, he’s gonna’ kick it.  He’ll be dead.

He stares up at the black above, and the rank and damp air around him feels like a wet cloth over his face.  Feels like drownin’.  He knows what drownin’ feels like.  Kenny’d held him under, sometimes.  Put his head in a barrel ‘a water and kept him pressed there ‘till his useless strugglin’ would stop.  So he knows. 

Kenny’s been gone three years.

Levi pushes himself up from where he’s slid down, wastin’ away in his own filth and despair.  He clings for a moment to the side of the building, head rushin’ bad.  Squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to pass.

His legs are weak beneath him.

Gotta’ find somethin’ to eat, or he was gonna’ kick it, sure.

He staggers forward, away from the building, out into the open streets.

Ain’t nobody around.

Too smart for that, he figures.  Holed up where they could find, dependin’ on their stash to make ‘em through the dead months. 

Levi ain’t been smart. 

The despair’s got him.  It’s got him for weeks now.  Weeks and weeks.  Couldn’t think right when the despair came.  Couldn’t plan, couldn’t act. 

Just sat there and let it wash over him.  Stopped tryin’ to live.  ‘Till winter come, and now he ain’t got no place.  No stash. 

Quiet and black.  There’s a dead body lyin’ there in the narrow road between houses.  Rotten stench fills Levi’s nose and he turns away, wretches hard enough to put him back on his knees.

It’s so cold, but he’s sweated through his shirt, sticky, tacky against his skin, makin’ the cold worse.  Can’t stand it.  Can’t stand the feel. 

He reaches up and pulls it off over his head, drops it on the ground and gets back to his feet.

Arms around himself and his ribs against his arms.

He feels the bare, rough stone against his naked feet, and remembers.

Someone’d stoled his shoes the other day. 

He’d been deep asleep, somehow.  Guesses maybe the hunger’d made him pass out.  Someone’d stoled his shoes, right off his feet, and he hadn’t felt nothin’.  Only realized when he’d woke, and they was gone.

Wasn’t no good, havin’ no shoes.  Feet got all cut up on the rough stone of this place.  Disease could set in.

He barely feels it, though, staggering forward.  Rough feet for rough stone. 

Gotta’ find somethin’ to eat.  Gotta’ get up outta’ this cold.

He looks through the gutters.  Digs with raw fingers through piles ‘a trash and waste.

Finds an apple. 

It’s half-rotted.  Got maggots all over it.

Levi drops it when he sees, turns away, wretches.  Ain’t nothin’ to come up, though.

He presses his wrist against his mouth, sucks air in through his nose.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Gotta’ eat somethin’.

He finds the apple again, wipes the maggots off.

Keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he brings it to his lips.

It’s rotten through, mush in his mouth as he bites into it, bitter, sick taste against his tongue.

He chokes it down, and his stomach roils, pinching and squeezing, and then bile’s comin’ up outta’ his guts, and he’s pukin’, a dribble of vomit past the corners of his mouth.

He drops what’s left ‘a the apple and wraps his arms around his belly, his forehead sinking to the stone beneath his knees.  He groans, low and weak.

Shouldn’t ‘a eaten that. 

Didn’t know what else to do.

Warm tears slip from the corners ‘a his eyes, but that’s all.  Doesn’t cry.  Not really. 

Just hurts so much.

Sits there a while.

It’s quiet, down here in the dark, now.  Quite enough, he hears the ragged sound ‘a his own breath, heavy in his ears.  Hears the rats scurryin’, scratchin’ inside the walls and pipes and tunnels.

Gotta’ keep lookin’, somehow.  Gott’a find somethin’…

Gets back to his feet.

Looks up at the ceiling. 

Dark up there.  Dark, black rock, pressin’ down on him.  On all of ‘em.

Ain’t no light, down here in this place. 

There’s tunnels beneath, he knows.  Deeper caverns and caves which snake their way for miles down below these streets.  Pitch, down there.  Where even the weak bleed ‘a the sun which struggles through the cracks don’t reach.

He could go there, he thinks.  Burrow down into the earth, deeper and deeper still, ‘till it’s nothin’ but blackness all around.

Wouldn’t have to worry about none of it, then. 

Could just… let the earth close in around him.  No more dead bodies.  No more starvin’.  No more lookin’ up at that black ceilin’ and imagining a sky beyond.

No more havin’ to live…

He shuffles forward, and holds himself, faced ducked against the frigid air.

Just him out here.

Always just him.

Maybe he’ll crawl down into those tunnels tomorrow. 

If he can’t find nothin’ to eat by then…

Gotta’ be somethin’, though.  Somewhere.

He’ll keep checkin’ the gutters.  Maybe he’ll get lucky.

If not…

He thinks about them tunnels.

‘Least then it’d be a choice.

‘Least then, he’d get to have some say.

That’d be more than he ever got, dreamin’ of the sky and seein’ only darkness above.

[ask-ranma-and-ryoga]

[bebemoon]

FAMINE .

[dcggersedge]

Arms, body, legs, flesh, skin, bone, sinew, good luck

You’re six years old when you learn what hunger feels like.

The people of Brodia are strong, made of the same stuff as the very mountains they live in. That’s what Papa says as Mama sets the table for dinner. Tough as rocks and impossible to keep down.

The Divine is always watching, Mama says as she takes her seat at the table. The mending she’d been working on for the neighbors in exchange for the eggs you ate this morning is neatly tucked away. They don’t help those who don’t help themselves. We solve our own problems before anybody else.

Neither of them say anything about how the plates on the table are almost empty. Neither of them say anything about how it’s been like that for a while now. You don’t say anything either. You smile, thank Mama for dinner, and tell yourself that it’s your problem to fix when your belly doesn’t fill.

(The other kids know the feeling too. It comes up one day, while sprawled out on the ground after a game of tag. “If Brodians are made of the same thing as the mountain…” one kid asks, quiet voice carrying on the wind. “do you think we can eat dirt?”

Silent, as the small group considers the question. Then laughter, teasing, and urging each other back onto your feet so you can play a bit more before dinner.)

You’re seven years old when Papa loses his hand.

Not completely, he assures you when he sees you staring at the limb that’s been bound up so tightly, he can’t even move. It’s still attached. Still working. Just an accident in the mines. Nothing that he can’t handle.

Except he can’t work like that, Mama says. There’s a pile of the neighbors' laundry in the corner that she asked you to help return after dinner, in exchange for…whatever they can spare. He can’t work, which means they all have to work harder in the meantime. Nothing they can’t handle.

Neither of them talk about how the small meals get smaller. Neither of them talk in front of you about how Papa can’t find new work, about how Mama’s doing more and more and barely getting anything. You hear it all the same, crouched outside your house beneath your window. The walls aren’t thick enough to block the yelling if you’re listening for it.

(At 16 you learn that it wasn’t an accident, but negligence. Another noble cutting corners and rushing, hurrying, what is the wellbeing of faceless workers worth when the war needs resources, and those who provide them need profits? You find this out as the noble bleeds out around one of your knives.)

But that’s later. Now, you’re seven, holding a fistful of dirt and a head full of memory. You know what hunger feels like. You know that dirt tastes like iron, and you fix the problem by pretending as hard as you can that your belly is full.

You’re eight years old when you are kicked out of your house.

It’s for your own good, Papa says when he sees you staring at him. He won’t look at your eyes, the same color as his, instead nodding at the man you just met who has a hand on your shoulder. You’re a tough kid, you’ll be fine. Nothing you can’t handle.

One problem fixed, you hear Mama saying to herself in the house. Through the doorway, you can see the large bag the man gave them spilling coins onto the table. One less mouth to feed, and coin to feed what’s left. One problem fixed, just took some hard work.

Master doesn’t say anything, just waits for you to pick up your things and follow. He doesn’t say anything when you cry. He doesn’t say anything at all, not even when you sit at the table and he puts a plate down in front of you.

It’s still not full. Not like his. He sees your eyes watching him from across the table and scoffs. You wanna eat good, he asks, pointing down at his plate. You don’t say anything, but you nod your head and try not to flinch as he stabs into the meat.

You will when you work.

(The meal after your first kill is chicken, slathered with tomato that makes it look like your hands did only hours before. You eat it, and fix the problem by pretending it doesn’t taste like iron and dirt.)

[princesssarisa]

In Cinderella Tales from Around the World, I've now finished reading the variants from Spain and Portugal.

*There are two Spanish versions in this book, which are almost identical to each other. In both, either two or three days in a row, the heroine's stepmother sends her out of the house with some tedious task to do (a bag of beans to shell, or either rice or seeds to sort), but each time, she meets a kind woman who does the task for her and gives her a different type of nut. Each nut produces finery, which the heroine wears first to church, then to the Promenade, and then to a royal ball (or just to church and a ball). In one of these two variants, the helper is an old woman, while in the other, more religious version, she's a saint, although it doesn't say which one.

** The motif of Cinderella getting her finery from a nutshell also appears in one Italian version and one French version each. Of course this motif will most famously appear in the Czech variants that inspired the film Three Wishes for Cinderella.

*There are three Portuguese versions: The Hearth Cat, The Maiden and the Fish, and Horse-Skin.

**The Hearth Cat starts out like the Italian versions. The heroine convinces her father to marry her seemingly kind schoolteacher, who turns cruel after the marriage; she's sent out to pasture the cow and wind thread, but the cow winds the thread for her; when the stepmother finds out, she has the cow killed; the heroine finds a golden ball in the cow's entrails. But then it takes a detour into a Mother Holle-style "Kind and Unkind Girls" tale – the girl drops the golden ball into the well, goes down after it, and finds herself in a house belonging to three fairies, which she tidies up. For this the fairies give her blessings, including a magic wand. When she comes home, the stepmother sends her own daughter to the fairies' house, but instead of cleaning it she messes it up, and as punishment the fairies make her ugly. Soon afterward, the stepmother and stepsister go to a horse race (that's a first instead of a ball or church!), the heroine uses her wand to dress in finery and go too, and from then on, it's a Cinderella story, where she marries the king in the end.

*The Maiden and the Fish is like a cross between Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast with an aquatic twist. There's no stepmother, but just a loving father with three daughters, two spoiled, one kind. The youngest is again called "the Hearth Cat" by her sisters, but she's not forced to work as a servant, she just does the work that her sisters are too lazy to do. One day the father catches a golden fish, which the heroine finds too pretty to cook. Then the fish speaks and urges her to throw him into the well, then follow him down there. She does, and finds herself in a golden palace, where the fish gives her finery so she can go to a festival to which her sisters have gone. She goes, she loses her slipper, and the king, despite being a widower much older than the girl, resolves to find her and marry her. Meanwhile, she goes to back to the fish's palace, and the fish asks her to marry him. When she finally consents, the fish turns into a handsome prince, and reveals that he's the king's son. Later, when the slipper fits her, she declines the king's marriage proposal and reveals that she broke the prince's enchantment, and the king is so happy to have his son back that he gladly lets them marry.

**Horse-Skin, as the title might imply, is really a Donkeyskin variant, and interestingly it doesn't include any magic. A cruel king locks his three daughters in a tower and abandons them because the princess he wants to marry doesn't want stepchildren. The two older sisters die of starvation, but the youngest is finally rescued and, dressed in a horse-skin garment, she becomes a servant to an old woman who works for the king. But she keeps a chest that contains both her sisters' elegant dresses and her own, and eventually she wears those dresses to attend three balls at the palace. The young king falls in love with her and at the third ball gives her an engagement ring. After she runs off yet again, the king becomes gravely ill, but Horse-Skin drops the ring into a bowl of broth that's being taken to him, when he sees it he sends for her, and so they reunite.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 21

“Take me with you” Failed escape | Stumbling | Too weak to move

Content warning: starvation, dehydration. Left for dead.

This is a sequel to THIS prompt. This can be read as a standalone however.

It’d taken two days for Whumper to give up. 

They knew when they were beaten. No matter how hard they pulled at the cuff on their wrist, it wasn’t going to come loose. No matter how much they screamed for help, no one would hear them. Their prison was just as simple as it was inescapable; they knew because they’d created it to be so.

Whumpee had dropped the key to the ground before leaving. It still laid there, tauntingly out of reach. The cuffs around Whumper’s wrists made reaching for the key useless. They’d stilled tried. 

Their stomach had become a hollow pit, their throat so dry that their tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth. Every inch of their body throbbed with pain, even the slightest of inhales making the broken rib Caretaker left them with burn. The pain was distant now, their body too weak to properly process it. They could do nothing but sit, staring at the key, waiting to die. 

It was about four days before something changed.

“Well, you’ve looked better,” a voice called in place of a greeting, and Whumpee immediately recognized them. They could never forget the voice of the person who’d chanced them across the globe, who was always one step away from catching them. For the rest of their life, Whumper wouldn’t forget Detective’s voice. 

Detective’s shoes clicked against the cement floors as they descended. They stopped when Detective was standing right before Whumper. Humiliation burned in Whumper’s chest, and they tried to lift their head to stare their rival in the eyes. 

Their neck trembled with the effort, even the slight movement leaving them dizzy, but they managed to do so. Detective grinned down at them.

“Someone finally managed to get the best of you, huh?” Detective asked, eyes scanning Whumper’s face. “I’m pretty impressed with that kid; I knew Whumpee was something else, but I didn’t know they had this in ‘em. You really picked the wrong person to mess with.”

Every breath felt like labor, and yet Whumper forced themselves to speak. Their voice burned as it left their throat. “ Are you–, are you just here to mock me?”

Detective shrugged. “Partally. I was expecting a fight, but it looks like I already won.”

Whumper scoffed,“They won, not you,”

A deep chuckle left Detective at that, and they nodded in agreement.  “You’re not wrong, but I don’t see how those details matter when you’re the one chained to the wall,”

The room fell silent again, and Whumper couldn’t hold their head aloft any longer.  Their head fell, leaving them trembling from the effort. They felt like vomiting, even if they knew their stomach was empty.

Whumper didn’t hear Detective approach. They only noticed when a hand touched their chin, forcing them to look up. There was something amused in Detective’s expression. “What, no witty response? Is a bit of hunger all it takes to shut you up? That would’ve been good to know earlier.”

They put what little energy they had left into speaking. “Fuck off.”

Detective only laughed, allowing Whumper’s head to drop. Whumper didn’t have the energy to pull away as they felt a hand wrap around their chained arm, grip surprisingly gentle.

They heard a click, and suddenly that hand was the only thing keeping them aloft.

“Well this has been fun, but we’ve got somewhere to be,” Detective said, but Whumper couldn’t process the words. They stared ahead at the view they’d become intimately familiar with. The key that had mocked them was gone. The metal pitching into their wrist was gone. 

Whumper didn’t have the energy to fight as Detective forced their body to stand. They nearly fell, tripping over their numb legs. Detective’s grip was the only thing keeping them standing. Their hold didn’t waiver as they pulled Whumper’s arm over their shoulders.

Whumper couldn’t do anything but stare at Detective’s smug face. Somehow, Detective’s smirk widened. “You thought I was going to let you die here and not get a chance to rub my victory in infront of the press? I don’t think so.”

[xx-akubara-xx]

Prisoner AU: Page 9

Three Days - Three Dinners pass.

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Page One

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Master Post of Comics

[bitchywaifuwu]

Could u do a Do Shik request? Please

Where he and y/n used to date but then y/n broke up with him because he was being to clingy/possessive. So as a result of then breaking up he kidnaps her and keeps her in his basement. Few months later when y/n escapes and has do shik chasing her down she gets hit in the head with something hard and gets knocked out. When she wakes up in the hospital not knowing or being unable to recall what’s happened for the past 5 years or so the doctors diagnosed her with amnesia. Do shik takes advantage of that and tells y/n that they are lovers and have been dating for 5 years successfully tricking y/n and taking her back home like nothing ever happened.

im so sorry this has taken me so long to post, ive had to take a bit of a break for my mental and physical health and i stayed away from writing for way longer than i thought i would. i will try to put loads out now to make up for it though

do-shik x fem!reader

warnings : manipulation, kidnapping, forced starving, short coma, memory loss, abusive relationship, assault?

the grip on your wrist was strong - tight - and do-shik clearly wasn’t planning on letting go of you any time soon.

“you can’t leave me! i won’t let you!”

over the few years you had been dating do-shik, he had slowly become more and more possessive. it was hardly noticeable at first and whenever he told you that he “just wants to spend more time you, after all you’re always so busy with all the work your boss dumps on you,” you would brush it off and take his word for it. however, him calling your workplace and quitting your job for you with no discussion about it beforehand was too far. him not letting you answer your phone anymore was too far. and him not letting you see your friends or family was way too far.

you were finally fed up and you couldn’t just ignore all of the red flags that had slowly been popping up everywhere. you needed to get the fuck out of that house, and more than anything, you needed to get the fuck away from your boyfriend.

little did you know that decision would be the worst you would ever make.

three months. three months since he broke into the tiny house you and your mum were staying in and stole you away in the middle of the night. three months of worrying about her - not knowing what had happened to her and if do-shik hurt her. three. fucking. months of being borderline starved to death until you have to grovel at your captor’s feet, begging him to bring you even the smallest crumb.

even though he was almost a complete stranger to you again, you were easily able to identify that the expression stretching across his face each time was one of glee.

it took a lot of work but over the time you were hidden away within the depths of his home, you had gained his trust. not much, but enough for him to let you have free reign over your room and wander freely while he was away. you waited for him to leave late at night, most likely to find his next victim, and began planning your escape.

you had memorised the layout of the room, what was in it and where everything was so that when the time came for you to leave, he wouldn't be able to find you. most of your plan had been perfected; you would find the makeshift key you had made out of hairpins and scrap pieces of metal, pick the lock, and leave about ten minutes after hearing the car out front pulling out of the driveway.

you weren't sure where you would go but you did know that you would run as far away as you could. maybe even change everything about you. just so that you could be free again.

fresh air had never tasted so good, never smelt so different from the humid, musky air you got down in the basement. you finally felt free.

instinct kicked in and you ran. you ran as fast as you could through the winding roads and alleyways. priority number one was find a crowded area - somewhere you could get help and finally have do-shik locked away forever. the rough roads hurt and your bare feet were burning from the open scrapes on the soles.

the city was close. you could smell it, hear it, taste it on your lips. the sound of people shopping late at night, the scent of food from stalls on the street. you were so close. it was just a bit beyond the corner - only a little longer.

and then everything faded, a sudden sharp pain in the back of your head spreading across your whole body and as you lost consciousness you heard somebody shout for help.

when you came to it was bright. too bright. you could feel needles stabbing your brain over and over millions ever second. someone was holding your hand in a soft, clammy grip. you didn’t recognise him but by god was he beautiful.

“y/n? fuck i thought i lost you. why did you have to worry me like that?”

tears fell from his eyes onto the hand he still hadn’t let go of. his shoulders shook as he sobbed and you felt bad for not knowing who this man was. why didn’t you know who he was when he seemed to care about you so much that he would worry about you?

“who... are you?”

your voice was quiet and scratchy. how long had it been since you had used it? you couldn’t tell but your hair looked longer than you liked. the man’s eyes glistened with more tears and he looked hurt.

“you don’t remember me? i’m your fiance. we were going to get married 4 months ago - you went into a coma not long before the wedding. do you really not remember me?"

a simple shake of your head told him all he needed to know and he looked dejected, like he had lost all hope.

"but i'm willing to try and remember you. i'm sure you were important to me before."

his former expressiom morphed into a grin. it was a good thing you mistook the twisting feeling in your gut as a side effect of the medicine.

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

I guess this is a headcanon? (TW: Starvation & Child Neglect/Abuse, maybe ED?, Long post)

I'm very hesitant, if not against taking things from the MCU phase 4 as canon. (For multiple reasons; new writers bragging about never having watched the previous movies, inconsistencies in lore/writing, abuse apologism/victim blaming, cis-washing, obvious character bias, incest, characters being wildly OOC, etc.) Hell, even Phase 3 is guilty of being unreliable at times, such as with Thor Ragnarok.

However, there is one thing about the 'What If...?' series that gives me pause for its implications now that I've been able to sit on it for a while. Because that, at least, makes sense with the original two phases lore and themes.

When we see Loki in the universe where they're returned to Jotunheim and raised among others of their race, Loki isn't small. Loki is actually about the same height as the average Jotun. Which seems to imply that Loki's decreased height in the base universe isn't just due to genetics. Sure, Loki was tiny as a baby, but clearly, they had the means of growing to average without issue.

Because of this, I've come to a conclusion that accidentally makes Odin and Frigga's parenting of Loki worse: Loki was malnourished.

This explains why Loki's musculature and height are both different. Hell, Loki has a six pack here, and their arm muscles are clearly larger, too.

To me, this makes a lot of sense. Jotuns, being larger creatures, would obviously require a lot more caloric intake in order to grow and function properly, but because of royal Asgard customs, I imagine it was probably instilled in Loki that eating more than the average Asgardian is 'unsightly' and not proper for someone of their status. So, Loki ate about average for an Asgardian, but way less than a Jotun should. Thus, due to not eating correctly for his species, they end up with their growth stunted.

Now, all this being said... that makes Odin and Frigga's piss-poor parenting even worse. Because that would imply they were knowingly starving Loki to either keep up appearances and stunt their growth on purpose so people wouldn't catch on, or they just didn't care enough to feed them correctly. Because there's no way they couldn't have known Loki would need more food than the average Asgardian. Especially given one had first-hand experience with Jotuns and the other is the self-proclaimed 'smartest woman in Asgard'.

Let's also not forget the fact that Loki's body likely is more accustomed to colder climates being a frost giant, and Asgard is much warmer, which would also have an impact on them health-wise. Now you have a cocktail of 'Oh God, my body hurts' for Loki's entire childhood. (Which adds to Loki's desire to prove they're worthy of love and respect and to be equal to their brother, who would've been healthy growing up, while Loki was probably sickly and had to be tended to more often, leading to them feeling weak, and/or possibly being compared to 'the stronger brother' by others.)

Possibly, this could've settled a bit by puberty, with Loki's body adapting to the environment after growing up there, as well as their growth stopping altogether once puberty stops.

I can't help but feel sad though, like- please let them have extra dinner, their stomach must feel like it's imploding!

Not sure if anyone else noticed that, or came to this conclusion - someone probably has - but this is part of my headcanon now.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

A few days ago as I was yearning for my lunch hour to approach at work, an idea struck me. Continue reading if you want to suffer with me.

Imagine a character who doesn't need food to survive. If you want to spice things up, maybe they don't even need water. This makes it so much more convenient for their captor as they're held hostage, imprisoned, etc. Maybe there's a whole Cinderella thing going on, where their cruel guardian refuses to feed them.

But get this.

They may not need food, but they can still feel hunger. They can still lose a little weight (after all, eating not only kept the discomfort of hunger away, but it gave the character a healthy softness to their body). Their head can still ache. Their hands can still have a tiny tremor. The room can still dip and sway around them. Doing tasks is so much more difficult. Maybe, for their species, it's only this bad if they're accustomed to eating regularly. The longer they go without, the easier it'll be to deal with.

But it's not true. It can't be true. It hurts so much. It feels as if their stomach is collapsing in on itself. Their mouth is so dry that it's starting to go numb. They've sucked on their lips until they're chapped and raw. Their throat clicks with every empty swallow. Tiny white sparks swim across their vision whenever they stand. It had to have been a myth, that they could go without food or water. No living creature should have to endure this. No living creature should be able to.

(feel free to make additions - I ran out of creativity juice midway through writing this but I would love to see how you interpret it)

[echoarts03]

Just had to put my cat down last night.

TW below the cut: Starvation & death

My gray tuxedo cat, Clouseau [clue-so], was put down at 9:10pm EST on March 4th, 2024. He was my unregistered emotional support animal, a major lovebug, and a *velcro cat. Even when he was sick and could hardly walk, he came to me and climbed into my lap when I cried. He was one of the best cats I ever have had/will have and will be missed dearly by so many people.

*Velcro cat: Feline companions that follow their humans everywhere are often referred to as “Velcro pets” because of their desire to be attached to your side.

You may be curious; why did we euthanize him? Well, not only did he have thyroid disease, kidney disease, and POSSIBLY lymphoma, but he was also starving himself. And on top of that, he was FIV+, meaning his body just couldn't fight these things off like a normal cat's immune system could have, even with the plethora of medicines we were giving him.

My brother, who wanted nothing to do with this cat, broke down into tears before we left, holding the cat for the first and only time ever, grieving just like me, my mom, and my cousin were.

He said he wants to be a part of the next cats' lives.

It was my first time being a part of the euthanasia process, and it was the longest hour I've ever experienced. I held him when it happened, and my mom and I held each other for a long time when we got to the car.

I went to bed at 10:30 last night as opposed to 12/1 am.

He's been so sick, though, that this morning, I feel a lot less awful than I thought I would be feeling. He's out of pain, He's with his brother now! And as much as I miss him, he wasn't living the life he deserved to live. He was suffering. My mom thinks I did a lot of my grieving before he died, and I came to terms with it relatively early on.

Of course, I still miss him, though.

All I hope is that he was greeted with open arms by his brother, who we not only lost last February, but was also his best friend.

We will be going to the shelter on Friday in hopes of adopting 2 new cats.

Hold your animals close, guys. The void they'll leave once they're gone is suffocating.

Rest in peace, Clouseau. Mommy loves you. ❤️

[alexlestar]

Fic I wrote based on this post. It does have trigger warnings of self-harm by starvation, self-loathing and self-destruction. So please don't read if either of them are triggers.