#mention of starvation

[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.

[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 :)"

[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

[literarystarfish]

Caretaker's Friend

Whumpee being rescued and brought home with Caretaker to try to recover. Only for Caretaker to leave Whumpee in the hands of a friend for a while who only makes their recovery harder.

~2800 words

cw: past forced starvation mentioned/ past forced isolation mentioned/ past violence mentioned

-

Whumpee’s recovery, by all of Caretaker’s standards, was going great.

They’re making progress. They’re doing so well in fact!

Both Whumpee and Caretaker had fallen into a healthy day-to-day routine where Whumpee is moving forward. Not, of course, without a few missteps, but all in all they’re doing great! They still can’t be alone for long periods of time. Too much solitude still terrifies them, makes it so their mind plays tricks on them—makes it so it feels like Whumper is leaving them in that dark pit, alone and cold and wet and starving as a punishment again.

So when Caretaker is called away for something they cannot possibly get out of, despite their best efforts, they are forced to leave Whumpee with a trusted friend. A friend of theirs that Whumpee had met a time or two before the whumping even! A friend they’ve met again plenty of times with Caretaker after. Caretaker trusts them and even Whumpee seemed to be only a bit wary of them after getting to know them more. Much better than the absolute terror of having someone new come into their home, at the very least!

Surely Whumpee and Caretaker’s Friend (CF) were going to be alright for just a week together! They both agreed. They could do it! They would be fine!

Plus, Whumpee was doing so great and being so independent, even if they just needed another’s presence to fend off Whumper’s solitude. CF could provide that presence and perhaps help in case Whumpee had any difficulties or setbacks. Just until Caretaker returned!

Just a few days!

And day one went off without any major hitches. CF wasn’t used to Caretaker and Whumpee’s routine, so of course the going wasn’t as smooth as when Caretaker was there, but it was still fine. CF didn’t always seem as willing to help Whumpee with the small things like Caretaker either, so Whumpee found themself trying their best to be more independent. That’s a good thing though! Right? Independence again!

Maybe they didn't need to have Caretaker there all the time anymore. They were handling this! Perhaps they were a little more anxious, but they're getting through it! If only it didn't remind them of Whumper, but those are just memories. Nothing real... anymore.

But then on day two, CF seemed a bit more standoffish and annoyed, especially when Whumpee was having a bit of an unresponsive panic attack after CF had come up on them a bit too silently.

Whumpee had been concentrating hard on a small craft—crafts, Caretaker had said, were a great way to keep their mind off things and something to bring them joy and accomplishment!— when CF had come behind them and grabbed the pair of their safety scissors to cut a small string off their own clothes that had come unraveled.

Whumpee, of course, hadn’t heard them approach, though they knew Caretaker had warned CF not to come up on their back without a verbal warning (surely CF just forgot!), so when a sudden figure behind them grabbed the scissors of all things, Whumpee couldn’t help but imagine the terrible things Whumper could have and would have done with those scissors. (After countless nights of pain from other such sharp things, scissors weren’t a far stretch to imagine in the hands of Whumper.)

This, of course, sends Whumpee into a state. Panicking and hyperventilating and sobbing that they were sorry and not to hurt them, despite anything CF said to counter the idea that they would.

“Oh, come now! I wasn’t going to hurt you.” “You know you’re not with Whumper anymore. This is Caretaker’s house!” “What could I even do with safety scissors anyway?!" "I'd really have to put effort into it if I was going to hurt you. I could barely cut you if I even tried!" CF tried to calm them, but hearing Whumper’s name like that (another thing Caretaker had warned them not to speak of that CF surely just forgot in their haste to try to settle them) and the reminder of how easily mundane things could be used to hurt them if someone wanted to only made it worse.

CF sounded so exasperated by Whumpee’s panic the longer it went on that Whumpee could only think about how bad they were being. A burden. How annoyed CF was that they wouldn’t—couldn’t— calm themself down.

They were unsettled the rest of the day after they managed to pull themself out of it. They found themself needing CF’s presence more than usual. CF accommodated them, but seemed to do so begrudgingly. (Whumpee understood. After all, they had just been so independent the day before! How frustrating it was to CF that they seemed to be going backwards.)

Whumpee awoke with a start in the dead of night that night to their own screaming. They jolted up and nearly threw themself off the bed. They must have kicked their blankets off themself during the night in their dream. A chill ran down their spine and they started to shiver.

It was no dream. It was a nightmare. A nightmare of being back in Whumper’s grasp. With a pair of safety scissors cutting into their skin so easily. A nightmare that left their nerves frayed and them sobbing and terrified.

CF comes in to see them and Whumpee is thankful for the presence that could scare away the loneliness that was creeping in and for someone who wasn’t Whumper—who now seemed to linger at the edges of their mind after the nightmare. Their door swinging open the rest of the way to see the other familiar person brought Whumpee a sigh of relief.

“CF, I—”

“You woke me up!" Whumpee started at CF's tone, sitting up straighter and clasping their hand behind them. How Whumper had always wanted them when they were angry. Because CF was clearly angry. "I’d just fallen asleep on that shitty slab of concrete Caretaker calls a mattress when you start screaming and woke me up! I thought Caretaker said you were getting better. If I’d known you were so needy still, I’d never have accepted babysitting their charity case. God! Stop your sniveling and go to sleep! It was just a damn dream!”

CF’s narrowed eyes pierced through them and Whumpee found themself swallowing down their sobs even as their tears flowed freely. It was unfortunately very easy for them to do. Whumper hated when they cried loudly after any of their punishments. (It was obnoxious for something they had deserved for being bad! It was their own fault they had been punished 'so stop your sniveling!') So Whumpee had trained themself to keep quiet. It was so easy to fall back into that habit. To stop the sniveling like Whumper wanted them too. (Whumpee may have forgotten that Caretaker has never wanted them to keep their feelings bottled up and that they hated when Whumpee didn’t let out their cries, as loud as they needed to be, no matter the time of night.)

Whumpee tried not to let the whimper out that they felt build in their chest when CF left, shutting their door with a slam. Whumpee never shut their door all the way, feeling too trapped and isolated if they did. Then CF turned off the hall light that filtered under Whumpee's door frame as they made their way back to their own room, bathing Whumpee in complete darkness. The same light that Caretaker always left on so that Whumpee would never be without some light, knowing they were terrified of the dark.

Whumpee didn't sleep again that night.

Days three and four were much more difficult. Whumpee tried to stay away from CF as to not annoy them by being so needy again. That, of course, did no favors to their mental state. Solitude in any capacity was difficult. Now so more than before after the rough day (and night) they'd just had. But it was easier if Whumpee self-isolated so that CF could be happy with them. After all, they hadn’t asked to take in Whumpee! They were doing Caretaker a favor. They didn’t deserve to be annoyed like this! They were doing them both a favor. The least Whumpee could do was try their hardest!

Unfortunately it seemed CF was always in the kitchen. So, in attempt to keep away from CF, Whumpee kept putting off eating until they weren't. They could wait just a little longer! Surely CF wouldn't be there for too much longer, right? But -oh.. CF was sitting in the small, cozy breakfast nook in the kitchen now. It looks like they were reading. Perhaps they will be done soon and Whumpee could get food after.

They were making popcorn now? Another snack? Okay. Maybe a little longer.

But now its nighttime. Surely CF wouldn't appreciate being woken up again by Whumpee messing around in the kitchen so late at night. Maybe tomorrow morning..? Unless of course CF was making coffee again...

Every time Whumpee would make their way to the kitchen, CF was there. Either making food or eating a snack or reading at the breakfast nook or walking in right after them to do any of those things, forcing Whumpee to turn around and walk right back out in order to stay out of their way. They've been starved for days before with Whumper. They can wait just a little bit longer. A day and a half was nothing they couldn't handle.

And right as Whumpee was coming down the stairs a little later to check to see if CF was still in the kitchen, they tripped and fell the last few steps to the floor. It was an accident- they promise! CF had come running in wondering what the racket was.

"No-nothing! I promise! I just... I just fell down the steps a little. I'm fine! It's nothing! An accident..."

"Are you hurt?"

"N..No. Just.. maybe it'll just bruise a little. But... but its fine."

"Thank goodness!" Whumpee sighed in relief at CF's clear relief. At least they weren't angry they had fallen and- "If Caretaker knew you got hurt while I was watching you, I'd be in so much trouble." -oh.

They supposed that was true. If Whumpee had gotten badly hurt, it would likely strain CF and Caretaker's friendship. Caretaker trusted CF. They wouldn't be happy if Whumpee managed to hurt themself during CF's watch. It would be their fault if Caretaker had gotten upset at CF...

CF shook their head with a roll of their eyes and made their way back from where they'd come. The kitchen.

Whumpee sighed and limped back up the stairs on the ankle that would surely stop hurting once they slept if off.

That night, the fourth night, was another difficult one. With Whumpee's stomach growling at them and their body stiff and sore and bruised, they couldn't help but feel a bit like they did when they were with Whumper. They weren't with Whumper, of course! They knew that...

But...

But it was getting harder to remember as their ankle throbbed and their stomach grew hungrier and the night grew darker. Everything felt much too... painful to be with Caretaker still. Too similar to when Whumper had them.

Oh god... what if their head was playing tricks on them. Caretaker never let them go to bed hungry. And Caretaker never left them go to bed alone if they had a panic attack or left them without patching them up if they accidentally hurt themself.

Maybe...

Maybe Whumper found them again? It wouldn't have been the first time their mind played tricks on them, thinking they were back with Caretaker in happier times only to wake where they had passed out (or been knocked out) on the floor and find themself beaten and bruised and starving and alone.

Oh god, they were alone again, weren’t they? They... Caretaker wasn't here. Whumper... Whumper had found them! They must have. That's why they were alone and scared and in pain and in the dark and starving.

Whumpee hugged themself tighter, pulling their legs closer to their chest (and ignoring the throbbing still in lingering in their ankle), unwilling to touch or feel the grimy, cold, damp edges of that damned pit they were surely trapped in again.

Whumper’s pit.

Dark and cold and alone.

God, it really was Whumper again, wasn’t it?

They were taken from Caretaker again! They... they-.. No. Wait-

A memory filtered into Whumpee’s head. A recent memory… of Caretaker leaving them. Of the door shutting behind them without ever looking back at Whumpee. Of Caretaker leaving them with... someone else.

Caretaker left them. They left them! They left them and gave them to Whumper, didn't they? They were finally annoyed by how needy they were. How annoying and clingy they were. With how loud they were with their sniveling all the time. By how often they had to cook them food or to feed them out of Caretaker's own pocket.

Whumpee let out a tearful sob, but they quickly hushed themself. What if Whumper heard?! If they were caught crying again they’d be forced to stay even longer in this pit. In the dark. All alone.

“Whumpee! CF! I’m home!” Caretaker called gently into the home after they managed to finally get the key in the lock. It was dark. Usually Caretaker wouldn’t have been traveling at night, but it had already been five days since they’ve been home and they were antsy to see how CF and Whumpee handled themselves together.

Whumpee had been doing so well! They were curious to see if any more progress has been made in their absence.

“Welcome back, Caretaker,” CF came out of the kitchen with a smile, book in hand.

“Hi, CF! How’d it go?”

“Fine! No trouble at all!”

“Really? That's great to hear! Where’s Whumpee? In the kitchen?”

“No. I actually haven’t heard from them for a few days.” CF grinned happily, “They’ve been very independent. At first they were a bit nervous. Asked me for help and to stay near them all the time. They must have been missing you." CF nudged Caretaker's shocked form with their elbow. "But then they seemed to get better very quick! They barely came looking for me after. In fact, I only checked up on them one night when they had a nightmare. They’ve been calm and quiet ever since! You’ve really done very well with them, Caretaker. I was worried in the beginning when they were so clingy, but it turned out fine!” CF recounted their successful days here. Only after they finished their explanation did they notice that Caretaker wasn’t as happy about it as they were.

“Wait… so where is Whumpee?”

“Like I said, they’ve been very independent. They were doing that craft or whatever it was in their room a few days ago. I assume they’ve been working on it since.” CF shrugged.

“You- you haven’t seen them for a few days?” Caretaker was horrified now.

CF noticed their face was a little paler than usual. Traveling must have taken a toll on them.

“Nope. I know you said they were a lot more independent lately. I guess you were right!”

“In their room? By… by themself?!”

“Yes? Of course. Why? Is everything- whoa!” Caretaker pushed past CF. They ran up the stairs and down the hall, realizing with horror that the hall light was off.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker called as they reached Whumpee’s door. Whumpee’s closed door.

Caretaker scolded themself as they realized calling their name like that would only scare them worse.

“Whumpee, I’m coming in! Its just me! Its Caretaker, okay?”

They didn’t hear anything from other side of the door. That didn’t calm their fears.

“Caretaker, whats going on? I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably just sleeping or something.” Caretaker didn’t even pay attention to what CF had said.

“Whumpee? I’m coming in!”

When they opened the door, they couldn’t see anything for a moment, the darkness too impenetrable. A darkness that Whumpee was still not okay with.

They flicked on the light only to lay eyes on Whumpee.

It took both Whumpee and Caretaker a moment to process what they were seeing.

Whumpee. Oh god, Whumpee!

Whumpee, who was curled into the center of the room into a tight ball. Their wide, wet eyes poked out from their arms that were poised over their head.

Then Whumpee flung into action.

"I-I'm s-sorry! I... I'm sorry! I'm sorry for m-making you so angry, Caretaker. Please forgive me! P-please don’t leave… Don’t leave me! Don't give me away to Whumper again. Please! P-Please! I’ll- I’ll do anything!”

Caretaker watched in horror as Whumpee threw themself onto the floor at their feet. Their knees hit hard enough that Caretaker heard the audible thump and could imagine the bruises that would form. Ones that took just as long to heal when Whumpee had first been rescued.

They could see the way Whumpee cried by the shaking of their shoulders, but they didn't hear a sound from them as they held it in with their head bowed to the floor.

Bowing to them.

"Pl-please d-do-don't m-make me go i-into the p-pit, Master. Please!"

"Whumpee, no-" Caretaker wasn't sure what to say as they were thrust back to memories of when Whumpee was first rescued.

Back to when Whumpee's mind was still thoroughly in Whumper's clutches.

Whumpee was back to square one.

---

This one got away from me again. It wasn't meant to be this long but I kind of like it so here it is. Hope you enjoy!

loosely inspired by this post

[lacehartz]

https://www.tumblr.com/lacehartz/771581690984415232/uhh-i-just-need-to-be-his-innocent-little-girl

So in this it says when he takes us out people think we’re a childbride so just curious do we just look that young or are we that young when he’s doing it?

link , cw in tags.

i think you’re definitely younger than him !! coupled with how he’s brought you up, you’ve sort of got a sense of innocence, you’re meek and shy. you don’t really know how to interact with people that aren’t barry, just very socially awkward altogether. i also think your growth would have been stunted in some way, mainly due to him leaving his drugs in places easily accessible to a younger you + food scarcity / strict rules regarding eating… ( think starvation… malnourishment.. thinking so much … pls…. )

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 15

Broken Glass

(Drabbles' masterlist)

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.

-

[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

[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.”

[hold-him-down]

The Felix sneaking River food pls

“Thank you,” River mouths. He’ll be caught, and in their ‘punishment,’ the staff here will not hold back. If that punishment would be dealt solely to him, it might even be worth it. The empty, aching void inside him longs for the reprieve, for a bite or two of anything, but the reality is simple: the punishment will not be dealt solely to him. He takes Felix’s hand and turns it over, letting his fingers linger for just a moment on his open palm, then sets the bar into it. He wraps Felix’s fingers around it and withdraws. “I can’t take it,” he says. 

Felix’s face drops, tears instantly welling in his eyes. He quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand.

“You're starving,” he whispers in response. "They'll kill you."

River nods.

[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.

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