#mention of starvation

[bambiraptorx]

Rise au with the whole 'Draxum kidnaps a turtle for nefarious and evil purposes' trope except the gargoyles are super not into it and actively trying to free said turtle

Like maybe they aren't super obviously going against it or anything (especially given the premise of their boss kidnapping a whole ass child and presumably more or less torturing them, he's probably not a guy you necessarily want to confront directly) but they are distinctly not playing along.

Cause the thing is, they've canonically been lying to him since the day he hired them and he presumably never figured that out (he probably would not have kept them around if he had) and they're kinda known for being 'stupid' and messing stuff up, so it wouldn't be all that hard for them to just. Do that on purpose.

For example: Draxum tells them to stop feeding the whichever turtle it is so that he can starve into compliance. A few days later he's like "damn why isn't starving them working" and the gargoyles are just like "oh we were supposed to be doing that? we forgor oopsie :("

or like

Draxum asks them to watch the turtle overnight, and the next morning they're like "oh did you mean keep them in the cage overnight? Cause we just let them out. Yeah for a stretch, a quick little run. Btw you're paying us overtime for that right?"

Draxum's like "well go find them you buffoons" and they're like "okay fine", and then come back half an hour later and are like "good news we figured out how to find the kid fast! we called yokai CPS :)"

[very-gay-poet]

people wonder why we still need feminism when boys in my class were comparing what the suffragettes (/womans right to vote movement in the uk) did to get the right to vote (hunger strikes, arson attacks, destroyed property where the majority of people would notice, leaving behind notes to say that they did it, etc, etc) to Hitler. They were comparing woman who just wanted to be fucking equal to men and get the right to vote for all woman (not just rich white woman like the suffragists did) to HITLER.

[bananonbinary]

rewatching a deltarune playthrough and whatever you do dont think about how susie is clearly extremely food insecure and not only "only had chalk" that she fucking stole for breakfast, but goes on to steal every food item we see in the world and mentions being hungry several times in part 1 alone. and tells ralsei that he'd never be able to make enough cakes for her. dont think about how she's maybe never actually felt full in her life and the dark food can't help with that.

[electrozeistyking]

Hello, welcome to The Rare Bites AU! I was going to draw J and V, but my eagerness to show this to you was far too strong. Here's some notes on it:

-the disassembly drones are pretty much starving and scrawny. uzi hates that her colony basically lied to these guys because they're only attacking because they're desperate to feed. she's like "DAMN WE'RE A BUNCH OF FUCKING LIARS HUH."

-j, n and v are some of the rare few disassembly drones that reached close to adulthood. they're all shaky and weak by this point, but still strong enough to take down a worker if they absolutely pushed themselves to do it. their population has been shrinking for years, due to starvation, overheating and killing their own young.

-"And our parents are leaving these fuckers to starve over one stupid deal they failed to uphold and won't even tell us about?! Like, come on! If these guys were human, they'd be all bony and shit! That's gross! What the fuck is wrong with us?!"

-n unwittingly reveals how bad their situation is by announcing that j and v might kill him in order to feed themselves when they find out he's had more than enough to drink (uzi's like "damn" and gives him some extra oil canisters. the workers have enough as is, so she doesn't bat an eye over having to give any up to disassembly drones).

-because these three don't really have a major reason to hate each other, i like to imagine that n, j and v basically fell asleep in a very shaky cuddle pile in order to feel less alone in this cruel world, and eventually begin to include uzi. at that point, they feel safer and start gaining weight and showing their true personalities. :3

-long story short, they start off in a bad place but then everything gets better because of uzi's input. :3

[gaybd1]

I love Zukka food conversations?

Zuko HAS known hunger but he’s also had all the food he’s ever needed served to him on a silver platter for the majority of his life

Sokka was responsible for feeding his entire village from way too young an age

Zuko has dealt with ARFID/autism-related texture issues his whole life and feels extremely guilty because of his “privilege to be picky” (he’s rarely been fully healthy regardless)

Sokka teaching Zuko to fish and hunt because it’s super important to Zuko not to be helpless while on his own again

Sokka expressing his own guilt to Zuko of the winters when there wasn’t enough food for everyone to go around. How he felt responsible. How he gave almost all his food to Katara so she wouldn’t have to know what real hunger was

Both of them getting a bit of chub as adults because they are finally in a position where they CAN

[xx-akubara-xx]

Prisoner AU: Page 9

Three Days - Three Dinners pass.

-

Next

Previous

Page One

-

Master Post of Comics

[whumperofworlds]

Whumpee who is overconfident. They think they could get out of any situation. And they could!

Then Whumper came along, taking Whumpee captive. For days. Weeks. Months. Being tortured, starved, and so on, with no rescue in sight.

And for once, Whumpee's confidence fades.

[paingoes]

Destroyer Bonus - Glow

something lighter after the last update 

@pumpkin-spice-whump sent an ask game about “best memories” w paris and delta and it made me sad because yeah there arent many! but there are a few. heres one of the softer ones. ft. drunk!Delta

(Content: living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, touch starved, implied physical abuse, alcohol, power imbalances, war mention, passing drugs mention)

“What do you mean they surrendered?” Paris’s phone charms clicked together as he paced up and down the hall. “When? Just now?”

Delta listened at the other end of the hall, taking careful notice of the silent pauses that marked it as a phone argument, not a normal argument. The former always disappointed him. He liked hearing both sides so he could figure out who to root for.

“Well what the fuck did I come here for then?” Paris’s voice was more whiny than angry this time. “We already unpacked!”

Most of the ship’s cargo had been emptied to set up a new base camp, most of the soldiers already occupied with its assembly. The relative vacancy of the ship made all sound echo within it.

He heard Paris curse, the call ending abruptly, and the footsteps approaching. Delta peeked out of the alcove he’d been hiding out in.

“Not on?” He mouthed.

Paris jumped back in surprise, but recovered quickly. He rolled his eyes.

“No, we’re not on,” he said. “I didn’t call you, did I?” 

Paris shooed him away, even though he’d been there first. He was barely looking at him, all his attention still absorbed in the broken screen.

“Go to your room.”

He went to his room.

~

That was fine. He was never unhappy about cancellations. Even before his little moral doubts had started nagging at him, the work was hard on his body, even harder on his brain. He didn’t mind going back to his room. It meant he wouldn’t have to do anything today — and he was always so grateful for any rest.

He stared at the book he’d been reading until the room had grown so dark he could not see the pages. When he finally came to, it was pitch black outside the windows. He didn’t know how much time had passed. There came a knocking from out in the hallway.

The only light that came through to him was a thin line of orange beneath the door. Shadows crossed over it. He heard giggling, faintly. He didn’t bother to turn the lamp on before he opened it.

Sierra stood in the doorway, one hand flying to her mouth coyly as if to conceal her smile. She was flanked by her other handmaidens. Without the standard coifs and corsets, they were almost unrecognizable. They were dressed all in white, though the fabric of the gowns was frayed and torn at the edges. Their hair was undone in loose, messy curls.

“Hi Delta,” Sierra waved, then covered her mouth again in faux shyness. “We’re having a party, cause like, there’s nothing else to do here. We were wondering if you wanted to come out?”

He blinked, his head still foggy as he was emerging from the fantasy novel. He stared back at her tiredly and did not even consider the offer.

“I’m not allowed to leave the ship,” he said.

Sierra shook her head, smiling wider.

“Already asked. His Majesty said it’s alright.”

She slipped on the title, or she was being mean. Delta wasn’t convinced either way.

“He wouldn’t say that.”

She held up a small slip of paper.

𝒮𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈.

                                       𝒫𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈 ♡

~

He went to tell Simon he was leaving, just to cover all his bases, but found his office empty. It was a total ghost ship. The girls hadn’t been lying. It seemed like everyone onboard had gone out to the encampment. 

There seemed no better use for it, if they weren’t going to be fighting, if they weren’t leaving until tomorrow. 

He followed them down the ramp, dressed more casually than he usually did for any “party” occasion, but still done up in the way they had liked. He didn’t argue.

He began to regret the easiness with which he had followed them as they walked past the groups of soldiers. He did not actually want to be near any of them if they were getting loaded, or even if they weren’t. They were too rough, too entitled. They thought he had to answer to them — and though he didn’t, he did not have the boldness to correct them. Not that they would’ve listened anyway.

But Sierra did not stop at the main camp, though some of the girls did peel off to see all the commotion. She led Delta and the others out on the knoll. 

There was a crop of trees surrounding a stone pit. He watched her struggle to start a fire there before finally offering to do it himself, igniting the wood with electricity until it caught flame. He blushed at the cheers he got for that. It was nothing.

They had only taken him out as a toy. He had no misconceptions about that. He sat down in the spot where they’d indicated, keeping his posture straight so as not to throw off their machinations.

They talked amongst themselves while they worked. He caught the edges of their conversations, found none of it especially relevant but entertaining enough. It was more entertaining the more drinks they slipped into his hand. The girls seemed to get the same rebellious thrill out of his drunkenness that he got out of being drunk. Martino would’ve killed him if he knew. He drank in spite of, or maybe because of this.

He liked the way the night air felt against his skin. He was grateful to have experienced it before they made the return trip. As large as the ship was, it could easily become claustrophobic after enough time spent in deep space. It made him crazy, sometimes.

He flinched at the abruptness of the contact, then gradually relaxed underneath it. He was so unused to gentle touch. As the maid’s hand moved through his hair and down along his neck, he had to stop himself from leaning into it. It was hard for him to recognize anything as want, but in this, he came close. The touch was fleeting. It never lasted long.

They braided flowers into his hair, stopping every few minutes to check their progress. 

He hadn’t realized Sierra had left until she reappeared. In the dark, their silhouettes all looked the same. She came back over the promenade. Paris tread casually beside her.

Delta tensed a bit, fearing Sierra’s permit had not actually been all-inclusive, that he was not actually supposed to be outside. But Paris didn’t look very shocked to see him. He tousled his hair absently as he passed behind him, made no other acknowledgment.

As usual, he followed Paris’s voice before any other sound. He couldn’t keep himself from listening in on their conversation, even if he wanted to. 

“-not like it’s real. You’d know if it was.”

“It isn’t, though. I’ve always known it’s not real, that doesn’t make it any-“

“My brother used to get those. They gave him Ativan for it.”

“I tried that already.”

Another flower was braided into Delta’s hair. All the stars were out. The music carried over from the main camp, not deafening the way it must have been at its source, but pleasantly muted by the distance. 

~

Paris held the bottle in his periphery, shaking it gently, like a lure. Delta took it. The prince’s attention immediately left him, did not wait to see his reaction. An offer, then, not an order. Delta drank it anyway.

It was only when Paris sat down by the other side of the fire that Delta noticed the laurel wreath woven into his hair. He’d never seen it before, did not know where he had found it. 

“Hi,” Delta said, already very drunk.

“Hey,” Paris shrugged, more sober than he normally was this time of night. 

Sierra was laying down on the other side of them, playing on her phone. There was no way she had a signal out here. She was feeding a virtual cat with blue pellets, watching the status bar go up.

“Do you remember when the Emperor first got you?” 

He said the Emperor, instead of my father. Delta tried to remember if he’d ever said the word dad. At most, he would call him the old man, but it was stark and without any playfulness. It was accurate. The Emperor had been old, even when the two of them were just children. Too old not to have a succession plan.

Before Delta could respond, one of the maids snapped her fingers by his face. He turned around.

“Stay like that,” she said before blinding him with the camera’s flash. He stayed like that, holding still as she took a few more. The only experience he’d had with cameras was in clinical settings. He held the same indifferent expression he’d been coached to wear, which to be fair, was not very different from how he normally looked.

“Delete those,” Paris said without much passion. It was against protocol, but it was clear he didn’t really care either way. He turned his attention back to Delta. “That trick with the dragon. Can you still do it?”

He couldn’t believe he even remembered that. Delta had found it insanely gaudy at the time, even more so as his tastes had developed. He realized, a bit sadly, that the purchase anniversary was coming up. He wondered if they’d send a card. 

“No.” Delta shook his head. It’d been a party trick, never repeated. “I couldn’t do it in the dark, anyway.”

At that same instant, the fireworks went off in the distance. Paris flinched, moving both hands protectively to the back of his skull like he anticipated an attack from behind. When none came, and there was only red and purple across the sky, his expression changed from embarrassment to annoyance and then eventually relief. The fireworks weren’t from their camp. They’d come from across the river. Not his responsibility.

Nobody else seemed to see him flinch, so Delta pretended not to either. His attention drifted back to the fireworks alone. 

They were impressive for what they were. Nothing compared to the sheer shock and awe of the campaigns that could have just as easily lit up the sky that night. He could have spent all night trying to stop the bleeding from his mouth, the numb static in his hands. He was glad they’d surrendered. He knew that this was how he was meant to be used, what the Emperor had intended. The threat of destruction was almost more powerful than the carnage itself. He wished it could play out this way more often, without anyone actually having to die.

The case clanked noisily to the ground. Sierra knelt over top of it with her hands on her hips, before giddily prying off the lid.

The interior was bright with all the different paints held inside of it. They were some algae derivative, bioluminescent, glow-in-the-dark.

Sierra licked the tip of her paint brush. Her other hand moved to take Paris’s. He offered it without resistance, about as used to being handled by her as Delta was. Well, not quite as much.

In thin lines, she traced shapes over the back of his hand and along his wrists. She scooted closer to him to drag the brush along his cheekbone.

Delta hadn’t realized until then just how much the two of them resembled each other. Pale skin, light gold hair. But she looked more alive than he did. Paris took the brush from her.

As he watched Paris paint the dahlia in careful strokes along her cheek, Delta was overcome with the sense that none of them belonged here. 

It passed quickly, the way it always did. It had to.

He startled a bit as Paris caught him looking. He couldn’t exactly hide his staring in the dark, both his eyes shining like headlights. He hadn’t meant to stare.

Paris quirked one eyebrow at him. He uncurled his hand, waiting a second. When he was met with no resistance, he finished the gesture, curling the fingers back inward. Here.

Delta arranged himself carefully in front of him, offering his wrist. Paris took it, readjusting his arm to have a better angle at the canvas. Like before, he was almost overwhelmed by the touch, so unused to any softness that he thought he might’ve just lost sensation.

The paint was more cool than he’d been expecting, like river clay. Pale green. Paris made the first marks with his fingers. They were loose ferns and vines. Soon after he switched back to the brush. It moved in smooth, tickling arcs. The old lines were cleaned up. New ones were drawn on more precisely.

Sierra had marked Paris in the traditional style, mostly roses and spirals along his veins. He’d done hers in the same way. The marks Paris left on Delta’s skin were different. He did not understand why they looked so familiar. After a few drunken seconds, he recognized them. He’d seen them scrawled out along the columns of the Imperial churches. They were bind runes. Protective sigils.

He flinched as his chin was tilted back up. 

“Not gonna hurt you,” Paris said.

He was embarrassed that his flinch reflex had gotten so overactive, though frankly it was Paris’s fault. He didn’t sound annoyed though, or even particularly surprised. He had to have known it just as well.

Delta closed his eyes. The brush tip was slick against his face and not altogether unpleasant. Oddly gentle.

After a few strokes, Paris clicked his tongue in disappointment, “You’re already glowing.”

It was true. The glow wouldn’t stand out on him the way it would on the others. If anything, the paint might’ve blotted out the light from his freckles. But the color would show. He still wanted it.

Paris painted a few more lines beneath his eyes. His eyebrows were knit in concentration; he was taking this more seriously than he needed to. Even without seeing them, Delta could feel just how tight and tidy the lines were. It was a collection of five point stars.

While they’d been working, the other maids had done themselves up just the same, their practiced hands moving much quicker. The patterns they had drawn along their arms seemed to come to life as they moved amongst the flickering shadows.

Delta settled back against the tree. He finished out the last of the bottle. His skin felt strange and newly exposed, like the brush had cut him open. It’d still felt nice at the time.

He was drifting off. Everything was fading out into a pleasant haze. All he could focus on were the golden embers and the way they drifted upwards into the black sky.

“You kept him up past his bedtime,” he heard Paris chiding. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. Sierra giggled a bit in response, not unkindly.

“Can I…?” His own voice faded out. He asked out of politeness, but he did not feel it was something he had much control over anymore.

“You’re good.”

Delta fell asleep right there on the grass, wrapped up in the strange glow of night.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 15

Broken Glass

Content: good caretaker, recovery whump, fear of starvation, quick mention of eating glass, blood, domestic comfort, domestic whump, self-deprecation, dissociation, kind of unreliable narrator.

Catetaker had told him not to touch kitchen stuff. They had said that this house didn't go by the rules Whumpee was used to. Caretaker didn't need Whumpee at all, so the least he could do is stay out of the way.

And yet, Whumpee was disobedient and tried to get his own plate instead of waiting at the table until Caretaker was done bringing dinner stuff to it. They must have known this would happen, must have known Whumpee was so useless and clumsy that he couldn't even hold a plate.

When the sound of breaking glass hits Whumpee's ears, the sound of him falling to his knees hits Caretaker's.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Whumpee was getting all the wasted food and glass into a small pile. He tries to keep the glass parts more on the outer sides, so when Caretaker forces him to eat it, he can avoid the glass for some time and at least enjoy the food-

"-pee! Hey! Listen to me, stop!" Caretaker's voice finally rings in Whumpee ears, and he freezes. He can feel his cheeks wet.

Caretaker's hands come in view, ignoring Whumpee's flinch to reach his hands and carefully take them away from the glass. His hands already had bloody cuts.

"It's alright," Caretaker said calmer, trying to nudge Whumpee away from the broken glass. "Let's clean this hand, hm? Can we do that?"

They had that voice of when Whumpee is feeling numb and weird. He wasn't feeling that much numbness today, he could speak.

His mouth didn't move to answer. Perhaps he wasn't ready to speak. Whumpee just nods shakily instead.

Caretaker guides them to the laundry's sink and washes his hand for him, then gets small band-aids when the blood keeps coming back. Whumpee knows hands bleed a lot. Whumper used to get mad when Whumpee dirtied their kitchen with blood.

Was Caretaker mad because of it? Whumpee could never read them, so he didn't know what punishment they would carry out for this. Perhaps they wouldn't make him eat from the ground, like Whumper. Would they starve Whumpee? What punishment would suit disobeying them, breaking a plate, and wasting food?

"...-back. Take your time, you're safe, everything's okay." Oh, was Caretaker speaking to them? Their voice sounded a bit far.

Was he sitting? When did they leave the laundry?

"Hey, there," Caretaker whispers with a sad smile when their eyes meet. "You're back with me, buddy?"

Whumpee nods, though he still feels floaty and wrong. Was he... on the couch?

"It's okay, you're safe," Caretaker repeats and adjusts the blanket around Whumpee-

Blanket? Where did that come from?

For how long was he out this time?

"I'm sorry," Whumpee whispers, almost with no sound. His hands were tingling, all the way up to his elbows, and he registers how his body feels heavy now.

Caretaker just shake their head. "There's nothing to apologize for." They pause, looking for something in Whumpee's expression. "Are you still hungry? I can bring your food here if you prefer eating on the couch. Watching that TV show you enjoyed yesterday, maybe?"

"... Food?" He could eat, then? On the couch? Watching TV? Why was he being rewarded after messing up?

"Yeah. We got pasta, roasted chicken, and some veggies today. There's boiled eggs if you want some, too." Whumpee knew that, he dropped that food, he saw the pasta staining the floor. Caretaker must have seen something in his face, because they speak up again, gently. "Whumpee, you get to eat another full, new dish. I'll throw away the food that fell, it's alright."

"I can eat it, you made it for me," Whumpee whispers, not able to look Caretaker in the eyes.

"The floor is dirty. You shouldn't eat something that fell on it. I made plenty of food, not just that dish. I can get you another, there's no problem." Caretaker smiles, shifting the weight of their crouching legs. "Do you want the food here on the couch?"

Whumpee doesn't know how to answer. Caretaker was so, so different from all he knew. It was too hard to read what they wanted from him. So Whumpee just nodded, hoping that was the right thing to do.

Caretaker's face didn't change, didn't give him the green light that it was the right answer, but they didn't seem angry either. "Alright, I'll bring it here. You can put the TV show when you want, okay? I'll take a few minutes."

Once Caretaker goes back to the kitchen, Whumpee realizes his body is all okay again. Nothing tingles or feels heavy, nor his mind feels floaty. It still takes a while for him to reach for the remote and turn on the TV, but he's not feeling bad, or "anxious", as Caretaker calls it.

For some reason, the voice that always screams "danger" is quiet. Whumpee knows it'll come back soon enough.

But for now, he can believe nothing bad will happen, because Caretaker always promises they'll never hurt him. Because they never broke that promise.

Even when Whumpee broke their rules, wasted their food and broke their plate.

For the first time since the rescue, the tears in his eyes aren't sad ones.

-

[phleb0tomist]

the recent surge of articles on severe ME is shattering my heart. we’re looking at a live, ongoing portfolio of the NHS’s failure to protect young ME patients, the same failures that cast a shadow over both my childhood and my current life, and it’s so wild that things aren’t changing. there’s no repair, no apology for the highly preventable suffering or the deaths, which are mostly young women.

the improper care of ME patients isn’t because of a lack of funding, it’s because of ignorance & stubbornness. the bare minimum of appropriate care to prevent a severe ME patient from getting worse is to allow them to be somewhere dark, quiet, lying down, hydrated & fed, and somehow the NHS can’t even provide that. my main shred of hope is that this is finally being reported and i wonder if that will be the catalyst for a little bit of repair. i’m desperate to believe it will be

[antiendosystemterms]

Starving alter

An alter formed from trauma related to starvation or not having enough food to eat.

((term made by us. Flag made by us.))

[whump-galaxy]

“Want some food? You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been here.”

“…”

“I promise it’s not poisoned. It doesn’t taste great, but it’s not poison.”

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃Mercurial:

Ghoap x male reader

Chapter One/Prologue: Abstain

"I found you, I found the door."

-Mitski, I Want You

(please mind the tags, I don't know how the UK train system works, English isn't my first language apologies for any mistakes <3)

You kiss them goodbye on the doorway, you make sure their jackets are zipped up, you promise to keep the windows locked and to not go out at night, Simon smiles, his eyes crinkling above the surgical mask.

"Gonna be good for us, hare? Sure hope so."

It's half joking, half threatening and desperately hopeful.You focus on the spot between his eyes as you nod, stomach twisting into knots and hands sweating.

You press your ear to the metal door and listen to their footsteps fading away then you rush to the balcony and watch the black, truck you repainted last month go down the road, through the U turn and disappear, your knuckles white against the railings your forearms stiff, eyes so wide and unlinking untill they water and force you to blink. You're scared that any moment now the other shoe will drop, they'll turn the car around and John will ask you if you really took them for such fools as Simon rumages through drawers and wardrobes laying every bit of your pitifull escape plan on the floor, like a wolf gutting a hare. Then you'll be driven back to the lonely, stuffy shack in the woods in the trunk, hogtied and gagged, feeling every bump on the road.

The trunk opens and you shut your eyes against the onslaught of white hard light, nose stinging from the cold as you curl into yourself out of both fear and well deserved shame, guilt. They're talking above you, familiar voices blurring together and becoming white noise. You feel like an insect pinned down, getting dissected.

Someone places their hand over your eyes, rubbing at your red, runny nose with their calloused thumb.

"Oh lovie."

"Carefull Si, cannea back out now."

There's silence for a second and you know they're exchanging the kind of look that saves their lives out on the field, the kind of look that explains and understands.

"Gotta let him learn his lesson ,hmm?"

"No other choice left."

Simon runs his hand over your face and rubs at your neck, that still smells of someone else. Mature and cold with hints of narcissus.You can see his internal conflict in his darkned eyes and see you can see his attachment, his love, his despration winning out.

You look up at them at Simon's wide set face and his unfocussed eyes dried out from lack of sleep, John bends down and picks you out of the truck setting you down on aching feet, still clad in socks as he flicks his knife out, a flash of fear goes through you, gutted by the same knife you had bought for him on his birthday, how fitting.

"Run 'n I'll break ya legs,."

"Last resort Si, might never heal proper again."

"Wouldn't tha' a good thing by now?"

You hear a sigh, both exasperated and heartbroken.

"Hope not."

Simon holds you in place by the shoulders as John cuts the ropes away, his jaw is set but his sweet blue eyes are wet, tired and you can't help the immense guilt you feel at putting them through this, for pushing them so far, for staying when you knew you'd do this.

Then you lift your face and see it, the cabin it's a box really, no windows and only one heavy door, John had mentioned his father had built one for hunting ,you wonder if it's the same one. You look over the dark wood walls and the door padlocked from the outside, your fear snowballs, all consuming and rattling your ribs. The idea of being trapped in the small, dark space is nauseating, it terrifies you in a way so primal, so reflex you think you'll bolt for a second, you think you'll beg scream, anything, anything. John straightens up and caresses your face.

"Just for a little while hare, just 'till Si n' I are back from this misson, then we'll come 'n get ya, promised we'd never leave eachothe, remember?."

He rips the tape off your mouth and gives you a soft sweet kiss, familiar lips failing to settle you for the first time, well groomed stubble scratchy against your moist skin, Simon presses his cheek against yours.

"It has everything ya need and we'll be back before you know it, just behave yourself and you'll never have to see this place again."

His voices is gravel against your skin, his breath smoke but you can't focus on them pressing against you on either side or the ropes laying undone on the grass.

All you can see is the cabin, the padlock, the wardens, the convict.

You had stayed for a long time in that cabin, long enough for your food to start running out, long enough to grow both lovesick and resentfull, long enough to get yourself together and fix the old, busted hunting camera you had found shoved between the wall and the bed.

You bought two flasdrives a week ago before their deployment and hid them in your tool box, on one you upload images of the cabin, of chains, of bruises, dents in the wall and your room ransacked time and time again.You know it's not a strong case and it's not meant to be. It's supposed to be a reminder for what you did, what you're running from, your sentencing.

On the other flash drive you upload all your happy memories, screenshots of loving wordsand jokes, selfies together, pictures of gifts and vacations, the apartment you saved up for with them. To keep you warm, souvenirs from the last place you settled in, from the last place you let yourself be loved.

You tuck them into the struddiest back pack you own, four changes of clothes, underwear, very basic toiletries, some fancy jewellery you'll have to pawn off later on. The money, fake ID and passport you had hidden in the inner lining of one of the coats John's forgotten about a long time ago, discarded at the back of his closet.

You pack the bag in under ten minutes just the way you practiced, the hard part is the note, you write over and over again palms sweaty and hands shaky eventually you settle on;

'Stay safe, I love you, goodbye.' Flowery language and false promises feel ingenuine when you're leaving everything the three of you have worked for, everything they'd tied their hearts to , it feels cowardly when you're running away. You leave the crumpled up notes on the top of the trash and your shared card on the table. You keep your promise ring in your pocket.

The walk to the train station is torture, every loud step is Simon, every wide shoulder or brown jacket is John, you feel like you're drowning in a pool filled with snippets of them, like driftwood caught in a storm much bigger than he'll ever comprehend. You either dread the day they'll be nothing but memories or salivate for it, you can't decide with the overwhelming panic, the sick excitement.You buy a day pass and a burner phone before you throw away your cell phone.

The bus ride is calmer, when you don't think about the pub you met in, the small flower shop you routinely bought foxgloves and bluebells from, the record shop Johnny loves, the workplace Simon insisted he drove you to whenever he could; the lufe you're betraying, the blessings you're running from.

You sit arms crossed and face hidden under your hood as you watch the city flash by, the further away from home you get the more guilt you feel; guilt for letting them in, guilt for misguiding them, guilt for aggravating them again and again and again untill either one snapped, guilt for leaving when you had just convinced them you wouldn't even think of it.

You swallow it down and watch the city speed away colors blurring like oil paint.

Next Chapter >>

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Girlypop I randomly thought of this, want your thoughts on it.

Would Horror sans enjoy eating bugs?

Idk why I thought of it, canon horror prolly wouldn't since he chose to starve for years instead of having anything, or maybe everyone in that AT/AU ate the bugs before he did.

Uh, I don’t know. I’m not the Horror Sans/Horrortale expert. Based off what I’ve read, both of the Horrortale comics and analysis of fans, I’d say no.

Can’t really give exact reasons why I have that gut feeling—mostly because he denies himself any form of substance, and I have a feeling that if he ever ate bugs he’s gotten really really desperate and will hide that information from everyone else, I’ve gotten a bit of a vibe that canon horror is a bit of a sadistic asshole and also seems kinda protective of how he’s perceived? His reputation in Snowdin I guess—but I do. I could be wrong, or maybe my reasoning for thinking so is just what’s wrong.

Horrortale and Horror fans can feel free to correct me or add on.

[angstyaches]

Augusnippets Day 15

Prompt: Starvation, requested by🐊 anon

OCs: Charlie and Shayne

Word Count: 455

CW: entrapment, prolonged hunger, angst, NO RESOLUTION INCLUDED, it's open-ended and bleaker than most of my fic endings.

Part 2 of 2 - takes place after the events of Day 12.

___

The treetops swayed, untroubled, against the pale blue glow of late evening. Charlie watched, breaths slow, body still, conserving energy. Conserving it for what, he didn’t know, but... hopefully for something.

The quiet was split, not by a growl from Charlie’s clenching stomach, but by a scream. The forest floor trembled under a faltering surge of power. The shimmering walls that stretched up towards the sky didn't even wobble. 

“Stop it, lovely.” 

Shayne spun around, his hair soaked with stale rainwater and fresh sweat. “What?” 

“Just..." Charlie closed his eyes. "Stop.” 

“Stop trying to get us out?” 

“Yeah.” Charlie spread his hands over his aching belly. It had rained the previous night, and by some mercy the water had come down through the wards, but the hexagon hadn’t provided anything edible yet. “Lie with me. It’s kind of nice down here.” 

“You’re fucking joking, right?” 

Charlie didn’t dignify that with – or waste his breath on – a response. 

There was a soft scuffling of pine needles. Through his damp clothes, Charlie could feel Shayne’s warmth just to the right of his own body. Shayne’s stomach growled audibly as he settled on the ground. He cleared his throat, trying to muffle it, a moment too late. How he still had it in him to feel embarrassed was beyond Charlie. Unfortunately, Shayne had a lot more experience with extended bouts of hunger than Charlie did. 

“I’m..."

Charlie turned his head and opened his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, love." The hollow pits under Shayne’s eyes were almost as dark as his hair. The lines of his cheeks and jaws were too sharp. “I’m supposed to be the one who knows about this shit, I should – I should be able to –” 

“Stop.” Charlie frowned. “I get it. I’d do anything to get us – even just to get you out of this, lovely, if I could. We’re on the same page here. It’s... not just you who feels helpless.” 

Charlie wasn’t sure if it had been the right thing to say or not, but he was out of breath by the time he finished speaking. His stomach shifted with each breath he’d drawn to force out the words, until it squeezed out a sluggish, acidic growl.  

“Not even sure if I’m hungry anymore,” Charlie admitted. “I just feel...” 

“Sick.” 

Charlie nodded. Shayne blinked harshly and looked up towards the darkening sky. Charlie did the same. As the sun went down, the wards' glare became harsher to look at. 

“This is not nice,” Shayne murmured. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar.” 

They reached for each other’s hands at the same time, their fingers hooking together as their wrists rested on the forest floor. 

“Yeah,” Charlie whispered. “But at least you’re not wasting your strength anymore.” 

___

@augusnippets

[off-the-rails-raccoon]

I love idea of ghostbur just looking terrifying.

Not like scary looking like cdrm but somewhat in the way uncanny valley is

YESSS!!! I've always been obsessed with the idea that ghostbur looks uncanny and odd in a way that people generally find hard to place but they know for sure something isn't right. I usually try to make this effect appear by playing up the whole ghost/corpse thing, and just basing his appearance off of how I think cWil would look as he was being buried. For example: The sword wound still looks fresh and new but there's flakes of dried blood around it, his skin is disturbingly pale and chalky, his eyes are slightly sunk in, and they seem to have dulled and appear glassy. Plus, I also like to think that being a ghost in the overworld has slightly warped his body, so minor differences have occurred that most people would miss but those close to him.