#prompt: denied food as punishment

[slippedtheknot]

Whumpmas: Day "Six"

Sugar cookie + burns+ denied food as punishment

Whumpee shrugged his shoulders and hid the bottom half of his face in his hoodie; trying to hide the tears.

However, to Whumpee's dismay, Caretaker is good at her job and was able to pick up on his watery eyes right away.

"What's wrong?"

Whumpee sniffled and turned his face from her hands. "Nothin'"

"Are you sure? I want to be able to help you."

"I-it's just that...well Whumper. He...he'd keep food from me as a punishment."

Caretaker nodded, before the words finally sunk in. "Oh, oh okay. Well...hun, you know that you've been good today, right?"

"Um...yes ma'am, I understand. It's just that, I'm not too hungry right now."

"Sweetheart, you have to have something." Caretaker brushed the stray hairs out of Whumpee's face. "I can't send you to bed on an empty stomach!"

"Would you feel better if you helped to make it? We can make some sugar cookies. Maybe by the time we make, bake, and decorate them, you'll be hungry."

Whumpee bounced the idea around in his mind for a while.

"Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Whumpee, would you mind grabbing the cookies out of the oven? Set them down on the stove top." Caretaker looked back at Whumpee while she worked at stirring the frosting. Whumpee's head shot up and his body moved to the oven door. His movements almost seemed robotic to Caretaker, but she shrugged her suspensions away.

The door popped open, and the next thing Caretaker heard was Whumpee screaming.

She dropped her stirring spoon and bowl. On it's way down, the spoon knocked over the milk; spilling it all over.

Between the pain, Caretaker grabbing his wrist, the cool water, the sounds, and the smell of cookies, Whumpee was having a breakdown.

"Hey, sweetheart." Caretaker grabbed his face and turned his face to her. "Are you okay?"

"No."

[moniericreative]

The Saddest Tragedy of 2/2; Damned Regardless of Choice

Wasn't sure if anyone else already talked about this, but after going through the Persona 5 Royal Artbook a while back, and again recently... Something about the whole situation just really struck with me.

Obviously, spoiler warnings ahead for Persona 5 Royal, specifically Third Semester's Februrary 2nd.

So, unsurprisingly, I'm referring to Maruki's Deal.

It's a common interpretation that Akechi's 100% gung-ho against it.

But there's two separate moments that show a rare bit of... Wavering in his resolve.

The first is the Phantom Thieves meeting in Maruki's office with Lavenza:

Out of all of the Phantom Thieves, the only one to play devil's advocate and remind the group that Maruki's actions benefit them too is... Akechi, of all people. Not Joker, not Makoto, not Lavenza or anyone else.

It's solely Akechi who brings that fact up.

In the same meeting, beforehand he was very upfront and crass about how manipulative Maruki was being, and how the man played the other thieves like a fiddle...

And yet he says this in spite of all that.

There was no reason or prompting for him to, and Ryuji even rejects him politely afterwards too.

So surely this was just an off-line of simple pragmatism, right?

Well, here comes moment number 2, in one of the optional Jazz Jin hangouts you can get with him:

He plays it off as some idle food for thought with no deeper meaning, but... It's Akechi. He usually doesn't just say things just to say them.

There's always a hidden meaning to his words.

It's pretty obvious he's referencing his space in the Phantom Thieves, a group that's civil with him but doesn't particularly have any inclination to be friends with him... But it does beg a question...

Is he happy? Now that he's no longer being controlled by Shido, or burdened by a lifelong revenge?

By the sheer existence of this conversation at all, directed only towards Joker and in a place that he's comfortable in (second to Leblanc) it's pretty safe to say he is, but has reservations about it (i.e. 'If their happiness hinges on the group's unhappiness.')

Now where does the artbook come in? Well, inside the P5R artbook, there's a handful of interviews that expand on some parts of the Royal exclusive content.

What was the one bit that stuck with me?

(Thanks to VeskScans on Twitter for the high-quality scans of the artbook: https://x.com/VeskScans)

Per fan-translation:

Creator's Comment: "When I think about how Akechi's wish is to play chess with the protagonist after school, I want to tell him 'You like the protagonist after all, don't you?'"

Akechi's Wish.

He has a wish that Maruki actually does grant him, and it's to essentially be friends with Joker. It's mutual to Joker's own wish to be friends with him.

So add up the context of all three, and it paints a very depressing picture already:

Akechi is genuinely happy for once in his life, but doesn't think he deserves it at the cost of everyone else's. It runs opposite to his own sense of Justice, and his negative views on himself as a "cursed child," and that fuels him to keep denying it.

So with him being split between the two sentiments... It's unsurprising that he would rely heavily on Joker to make the ultimate decision; Whether to accept, or to deny. Because he himself can't, and Maruki knows full well of that.

Sure, he keeps pushing Joker to deny Maruki... But why?

Is it because what Maruki's doing is wrong, and he needs to be stopped? Is it the closest thing to a punishment for all of his actions, which has been constantly denied to him up to this point? Is it the closest thing to a confirmation that he's undeserving of such happiness, especially with how much blood is on his hands?

Who knows.

So how does any of this tie into Maruki's Deal on 2/2? Isn't Rejecting a false reality the obvious choice here?

Well... It's simple.

You're not really picking between a true reality and a false one.

You're picking between:

The acknowledgement of Akechi's growth (Hereward), the righteousness he carries as The Justice arcana, and his freedom from being under someone else's control his whole life.

And this:

Think about it. Maruki gives you multiple opportunities to accept his reality, and they become increasingly personal to Joker with each one.

First is the happiness of the general public.

Second it's the happiness of the other Phantom Thieves, especially Sumire.

Then finally, it's the happiness of both Joker and Akechi.

If the first two couldn't sway Joker's decision, why would the third?

Because you want Akechi to be happy and no longer suffering. You're the one in control of making that decision as the player, remember?

And both he and Joker are also fully aware of that, given how they look back at you in the "Accept" ending.

Not to mention in spite of how he reverts back to his "Detective Prince" mannerisms, almost as if he was a different person entirely... We never actually get any indication that he goes off to fight Maruki alone, or try to fix everything himself, do we?

Sure, he says "... Well. I have your answer. There's nothing left I can say. Our deal's off."

But what can he say? Once again, you've exceeded his expectations.

And once again, he's left as speechless as his "you really are..." moments.

You chose him over a "true reality." You told him to his face that he matters, you accept him as he is in spite of everything he's done, and you want to keep spending time with him as equals. As friends.

There's no anger, betrayal, shock, or even hurt in his voice. Just quiet acceptance because after all they've gone through together, he knows Joker wouldn't lie about that.

It's a truth he has to accept, even if it conflicts with his image of himself. He's wanted by someone else, for the first time in his life.

Of course he has no need for a deal anymore. They were always the closest things he was willing to get to a friendship, without establishing a close tie that could potentially hurt him in the end.

Why would he need one when you chose your bond over all else?

You proved to his face that it's not just some temporary truce with mutual benefits. It's a genuine bond for both parties, not just to him.

... It's just a shame that something you've done with him up to this point with genuine intent has been perversed into a means to sway both boys and you into compliance.

Ultimately though... You're the one stuck between two choices for him:

Forsake Akechi's happiness, and finally being wanted for who he is and not whatever pleasant image or service he can provide.

Forsake his freedom, and all the growth and accountability he's accumulated thus far from his own sins.

This teenage boy is damned regardless of the decision you make. All because a man with a Jehova complex noticed that he matters to Joker (and by extension you as the player), and uses him as an ultimatum to get Joker (and you) to comply.

All because said man is well-aware that Akechi's actual fate is vague. Did he live? Did he die? Who knows, neither he or Akechi actually confirm it. They just dance around the subject and leave the assumption up to you. But he'll take full advantage of the vagueness to justify his actions to you, and show why his goals and yours are "truly in alignment."

And the worst part is that Maruki's doing this with a genuine intent to make his life happier afterwards, much like youself. It's not out of malice, or a sick sense of delight, or with the airs of playing god.

He's distorted. He's a man with good intentions that have become so distorted that he inadvertently perverses the very desire to do good for the world.

And just like Shido, and Yaldaboath, before him...

Akechi's the number one casualty.

You're just forced to decide which part of him the gun is aimed at this time.

Because this boy can't have both. It's one or the other.

[holidayinhell]

Half-baked Carewhump prompts.

Whumper goes so long without feeding Whumpee that when they finally realize how skinny he is, they provide him with his favorite food, ice cream. Whumpee is forced to eat it constantly. At first it was a relief from the hunger but now the foamy, sickly sweet substance makes Whumpee gag. The basement he lives in is barely above freezing and all he is given to eat is ice cream.

Whumper reprimands Whumpee for crossing the line, accidentally slashing him with a knife in the process. Whumper immediately reaches for the first aid kit. He expresses heartfelt regret, apologizing over and over as he wraps the injury. When Whumpee half-heartedly teases Whumper about how quickly he swaps from hot to cold, he snaps. He forces Whumpee’s face to the table, pressing his fingers into the wound until blood seeps through the gauze.

Having Whumpee sleep in his bed next to Whumper after they’ve been forced to sleep on the cold floor of the basement for weeks. Whumper makes Whumpee wear a bell around his neck, in case he tries to sneak away in the night. Whumper is an incredibly light sleeper. Any and every movement wakes up Whumper and often results in punishment.

Scrubbing Whumpee in scalding hot water with bristle brushes after denying him a shower for weeks. Forgetting to give him a towel to dry off afterwards. Cutting his nails so short that they start to bleed. Shearing his beloved hair with a pair of dull scissors (with the best intentions of course) while Whumpee drip-dries naked, shivering cold.

((more prompts))

[ilaytrapsfortroubadours]

Lokius Headcanons pt 4

(kinda angsty edition)

Loki never realized his love language was physical touch until he met Mobius. Even before they became anything more than friends, Loki couldn’t deny the flicker of warmth that went through him every time Mobius patted him on the shoulder, or laid a steadying hand on his back. He used to spend nights kept awake by the memory of their shared embrace at the end of time. Whenever things back at the TVA took a turn for the worst, he’d replay the moment in his mind. He’d relish in the memory of arms around him, securing him, holding him like he was worth something. No matter what he did, he couldn’t claw the heavy feeling of yearning out of his chest. Loki wanted so badly to ask Mobius for that again. He knew Mobius would give it. But still, that part of him, that defensive, terrified, violent part of him, always prevented it, at least back during the early TVA days.

Mobius is self destructive in nature, a trait he shares with Loki. He’ll work himself to the point of endangering his health, he’ll consume caffeine until he becomes physically ill, he’s even killed a few particularly evil and dangerous variants in a violent rage with his bare hands. He lets his anger, anxiety, and exhaustion build until he either lashes out or becomes essentially catatonic. Loki tries with all he has to prevent this. Every chance he has, he’ll ask Mobius how he’s doing, prompting him to vent any negative emotions or anxieties he may be holding onto. He’ll keep a close eye on Mobius when he has a project to work on, making sure he won’t work himself death. And if Mobius can’t hold back a breakdown, if he needs to spend a day in bed, not moving or talking, Loki will lay next to him. Sometimes Loki will talk to him, tell him stories, whisper reassurances. Other times they won’t talk for hours, although Loki’s hand will remain in his, a silent “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Loki’s self destructive tendencies, compared to Mobius’, are much more specific and deliberate, almost like a subconscious punishment. Whenever he’s in a particularly bad spiral of self loathing, the first thing he subconsciously prevents himself from getting is adequate sleep. As the days go by, he’ll sleep less and less until he finds himself not sleeping at all. The ability to function and fulfill basic human needs dwindles pretty quickly after that. He’s done this all his life, and for a long time, barely anyone noticed. Mobius notices now, though, frighteningly quickly. He’ll pick up on the bags under Loki’s eyes, or the grayish tint of his face, or the constant trembling of his hands. He’ll convince Loki to have some food and water before leading them both to lay down in their bedroom, trying to coax him into getting some sleep. It isn’t much of a fight once Mobius gently pulls Loki down to lay his head on his chest, the agent wrapping his arms securely around him, holding him closely as he finally sleeps.

[whumpmas]

12 Days of Whumpmas Prompt List

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already.

The AO3 Collection can be found here.

There are 24 prompt options and 30 tropes in total! Pick one or both for each day and combine with any trope. Interpretation can be specific or very loose.

(All prompts and tropes can be found below the cut!)

12 Days of Whumpmas 2023 Prompt List

Day 1: Christmas lights / Christmas Card

Day 2: hot chocolate / white

Day 3: mistletoe / wish

Day 4: at the mall / Santa

Day 5: red / Christmas tree

Day 6: present / sugar cookie

Day 7: snow / fireplace

Day 8: candles / family tradition

Day 9: Christmas carols / bow

Day 10: unwrapped / icicle

Day 11: Christmas dinner / bell

Day 12: midnight mass / Cheers!

Tropes list:

Exposure

Bruises

Force feeding

Duct tape

Forced to beg

Gilded cage

Touch starved

Kidnapping

Prison visit

Caught in a storm

Burns

Domestic abuse

Bound and gagged

Damaged vocal cords

Stockholm syndrome

Forced to kneel/bow

Poison

Used in ritual

Childhood trauma

Denied food as punishment

Truth serum

Pneumonia

Don't let them see you cry

Drugged

Alternative (milder) prompts:

Can't go home

Flashbacks

Cough syrup

Hallucinations

Memory loss

Nightmares

[badthingshappenbingo]

Prompt Masterlist: Part 1

Part 1 of our prompt list ("Accidentally Hurt by Friend" - "Eye Scream") is below the cut:

Accidentally Hurt by Friend

Acid Burns

Addiction/Withdrawal

Adrenaline Crash

All of the Other Reindeer

Allergic Reaction

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amputation

And I Must Scream

Anger Born of Worry

Angry Mob

Animal Attack

Appendicitis

Arm in a Sling

Asthma Attack

Attack the Injury

Attacked in Their Sleep

Attempted Rape

Auction of Evil

Backhand Slap

Bag of Kidnapping

Banished

Barbed Wire

Barely Conscious

Be Careful What You Wish For

Bedside Vigil

Being Watched

Betrayal

Big Brother Instinct

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through the Bandages

Blindfolded

Blood from the Mouth

Blood Transfusion

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstained Clothes

Bloody Nose

Bludgeoned

Body Image Issues

Body Swap

Bound and Gagged

Bounty on Their Head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Branding

Breaking a Promise

Bridal Carry

Broken Angel

Broken Limb

Broken Nose

Broken Rib(s)

Bruises

Bullying

Bundled Up in Blankets

Buried Alive

Buried in Rubble

Burns

Busted Lip

Cabin Fever

Came Back Wrong

Can Only Move the Eyes

Caning

Can’t Go Home

Captive Push

Captivity

Car Chase

Carved Mark

Cassandra Truth

Catatonia

Caught in a Snare

Caught in a Storm

Caught in an Explosion

Cauterizing a Wound

Cave In

Chained Heat

Chained to a Bed

Chained to a Wall

Chickenpox

Childhood Trauma

Chloroformed

Choking

Chronic Illness

Chronic Pain

Claustrophobia

Clawing at Own Throat

Cold-Blooded Torture

Collared and Chained

The Collector

Comatose

Comfort Object

Common Cold

Communication Suddenly Cut Off

Compelling Voice

Concussion

Conditioning

Confidence Shattered

Confined to Bed Rest

Confrontation

Corporal Punishment

Cough Syrup

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cradling Someone in Their Arms

Cramping

Creepy Crawlies

Crippling the Competition

Crisis Catch-and-Carry

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Crush Injury

Crutches

Cry into Chest

Crying Themselves to Sleep

Damaged Vocal Cords

Damaged Wing(s)

Deadly Game

De-Aging

Deathbed Confession

Defeated and Trophified

Defiant to the End

Definitely Just a Cold

Degloving

Dehumanization

Dehydration

Delirium

Demonic/Ghostly Possession

Denailing

Denied Food as Punishment

Depression

Didn’t Want to Be Saved

Dislocated Joint

Disowned by Family

Disproportionate Retribution

Dissociation

Distress Call

Doctor’s Visit

Doesn’t Realize They’ve Been Injured

Domestic Abuse

Don’t Let Them See You Cry

Don’t You Dare Pity Me

Dragged by the Ankle

Dragging Themselves Along the Ground

Drowning

Drowning Their Sorrows

Drugged

Drunk with Power

Duct Tape

Dungeon

Dying in Their Arms

Ear Injury

Ears Ringing

Eating Disorder

Electrical Outage

Electrocution

Emotion Control

Empathic Healing

Empty Shell

Enemy Turned Caretaker

Epidemic/Pandemic

Exclusion/Rejection

Exposure

Eye Scream

[muirmarie]

Title: do you love your neighbor (is it in your nature)

Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series

Ship: McCoy/Spock/Kirk (mcspirk)

Rating: T / no archive warnings BUT mind the prompt and also there's some physical violence

Word Count: ~20k

Written for @badthingshappenbingo for "denied food as punishment" - my bingo card is here

_____________

Leonard McCoy volunteers to spend ten days aboard the small vessel the Avery when the three medical staff aboard come down with the Berovian flu. He may live to regret it.

Or rather: he'll be lucky if he lives long enough to regret it. _____________

McCoy tightens his right hand into a fist until it's shaking from how tightly he's holding it, until every part of it aches.

It's not enough.

“It's your ship, Admiral,” McCoy says.

“It is,” Hayes says. “It is my ship. And everyone on it belongs to me, don't they. Except for you.”

_____________

(all my fic is still ao3-locked (sorry) but if you need an invite lmk - i unlocked all my fic but i can still give you an invite if you want one)

[seasaltandcopper]

Humiliation Prompts Pt 2

As requested by anon, here’s part 2. These are all presented as sfw by default (but can be interpreted otherwise if that’s your preference)

Humiliate them by:

⇢ Washing out their mouth with soap

⇢ Making them wear a list or symbol of their crimes

⇢ Making them ask permission for all basic needs (drinking, sleeping, bathing, using the bathroom, etc) Bonus: make attaining these conditional or even arbitrary

⇢ Hand feeding them scraps

⇢ Keeping them restrained or confined long enough they wet/soil themselves. Bonus: leave them in their own filth longer as punishment for the mess

⇢ Refusing to let them dress/undress themselves

⇢ Feeding them dog or cat food

⇢ Bathing or washing them by hand

⇢ Touching scars or recent marks and making them recount how they got each one

⇢ Displaying them as an art piece. Bonus: strip them first, or bind them in a stress position

⇢ Making them cry in front of the person they’d be most mortified to see them like that

⇢ Refusing to let them wear clothes

⇢ Mocking them for parts of their appearance they can’t change (scars, marks, weight, physique, etc)

⇢ Forcing them to sleep on the floor

⇢ Having them select and cut a branch before switching them with it

⇢ Keeping them in a cell with transparent walls

⇢ Boxing them up and returning them weeks later, bound and gagged, on someone’s doorstep. Bonus: include photos or videos of what happened during those missing weeks

⇢ Spitting in their food

⇢ Cleaning the filth from a pair of shoes with their clothes or bedding

⇢ Adorning them with body piercings. Bonus: ring piercing + a chain to lead them around

⇢ Enforcing a particular level of grooming (shaving, trimming, waxing, etc)

⇢ Playing dress up with them like they’re a living doll

⇢ Ordering them to scrub floors/latrines with a toothbrush

⇢ Eating a fancy meal in front of them after they’ve been starved for days. Bonus: drop a bite or two on the floor for them to lick up

⇢ Denying them entry or services at a public place (restaurant, store, hospital, library, etc)

⇢ Making them take punishments for someone else

⇢ Throwing spoiled food, rocks, or trash at them

⇢ Dumping them in a muddy ditch after a bad beating

⇢ Leaving them bound in a dumpster on a hot day

⇢ Assigning them a difficult project, then destroying it once they finish. Bonus: make them do it over again

[frostymj]

I wanted to do more for Prodigy Celebration, but I'm having some creativity block right now.

But there was a short story I posted to the Discord some time ago, but haven't posted anywhere else. I thought today might be a good day.

Minor mentions of hunger, imprisonment, death, not graphic. Just a conversation shortly before Lost & Found. I tried to imagine the scene of Dal first telling Gwyn about the Window of Dreams. Good ending.

Prisoner Dal R'El grunted with determination as he climbed the metal walls of his detention cell on Tars Lamora. Close enough to the ceiling, he pushed himself to reach out, and was successful this time at grabbing hold of the ventilation grate.

He wasn't known for being the strongest kid by far, but he was agile enough to pull himself up to peer through the wire mesh to the fan mechanism inside, to see if the ventilation shaft was big enough for him to possibly squeeze through.

"The vent pipe is only 10 centimeters in diameter. You're not that skinny."

Realizing he'd been caught, Dal shot his attention to the voice outside the cell.

Gwyndala, the prison warden's daughter, stood casually with her arms crossed, amused by his antics.

Dal let go of the grating and landed heavy on his feet. "Gwyn! What brings you all the way down here..." He stepped toward the opening, careful not to get shocked by the force field, so he could see if anyone else was with her. "...with no watchers?

Gwyn sighed. "Just thought I'd see how you're doing so far. Figured maybe this could help." She pulled a honey lychee from her concealing robes and placed it through the passthrough. She knew it was his favorite, and watched as Dal's eyes widened, but he tried to act casual as he took it and bit.

"How long has it been now?", he mumbled through chewing.

"Three days."

"Hm. Could've sworn it's been four." He sat cross legged on the floor. "But, you know, brain gets fuzzy without food or water after a while."

"Five days detention. You know the rules for trying to escape. Just like last time, and the time before that." It was a grueling punishment. Some didn't survive it. But Dal was particularly resilient. She couldn't help but add "still better than where you would've wound up if you hadn't been caught."

"I would've figured something out," he gave his usual protest.

"You hid in the chimerium loading car, about to be dumped into smelting. It would've roasted you. How would you figure that out?" She was hoping a challenge would prompt him into telling her his next move.

But he just chuckled. "C'mon Gwyn, where's your sense of adventure? Oh that's right, it got locked away in these dungeons along with the rest of us."

Of course she bristled at his attitude, but she couldn't deny part of her was drawn to the truth of his words. Something she was starting to realize she wasn't getting from her father.

"All you have to do is keep your head down, and you'll survive." She tried not to sound too concerned for his safety, but she was.

He paused before his next bite and shot a piercing look up at her. "You know your father's going to work us all to death in these mines anyway. What difference does it make?"

Gwyn closed her eyes. Again, he was right. Her heart ached for all of them.

"But I know that's not going to be me."

She scoffed. "How do you know that?"

Dal pondered down at the half eaten lychee for a few quiet moments.

His voice was more gentle when he spoke. "Have I ever told you about the Window of Dreams?"

When they first met, she wouldn't have expected such softness from him. But over their conversations she had caught glimpses of a tenderness underneath his bravado and biting sarcasm. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a pulsar cluster. The most beautiful nebula." He gazed up at the walls of his cell, but he wasn't looking at them. His wistful smile told her he was back on the ship, gazing into the stars.

She was stung by the longing to be out there too.

"Waves of vibrant red and wisps of blue, with a heavenly white light at the center. And they emit an electromagnetic resonance that makes the hull of the ship sing like a choir of angels."

Gwyn leaned her shoulder against the door frame outside the cell, and lowered herself to the floor with him to listen.

"They say if you gaze into it long enough, you can see your future."

"And what did you see?"

He shifted closer to lean against the door frame himself. They were now separated only by the force field between them. He closed his eyes to remember the moment, still smiling gently. "Adventure,.. freedom,.. safety,.. family,.. love..." his voice tapered off.

Gwyn considered him quietly with a smile of her own. She wouldn't have guessed he dreamed of such sentimental things with such reverence.

"...that's how I know I'm getting out of here," he finished with renewed confidence, finishing the lychee.

She wanted that for him. She couldn't help but admire the courage of holding onto that hope.

With nothing edible left, he put the core of the fruit back through the passthrough "What about you?"

She was caught off guard and again looked up to see his bold eyes imploring gently into hers. She had never felt so connected to anyone than in that moment.

"What are your dreams?"

Gwyn blinked back to reality when she realized no one had ever asked her that before. "...I don't know," she felt a little embarrassed as she answered sadly. She half expected him to laugh at her lack of life experience. But she only saw a sympathetic smile. He wanted more for her too.

The moment was interrupted when the familiar clacking of metallic feet, and the chittering of approaching watchers on patrol startled her. Drednock must have noticed the surveillance cameras offline.

By the time the robots had rounded into the corridor of detention cells, they spotted the Diviner's Progeny standing over the prisoner.

"I suggest you think carefully about your insubordination," Gwyn coldly chastised him. "We won't be so generous next time." She abruptly turned to leave, but not without sneaking a sorrowful glance at him. He countered with a knowing smirk as she walked away. She was forced into this role, as trapped as he was.

---

It was some months later Gwyn stood at the windows lining the ready room of the USS Protostar.

Acting Captain R'el walked up from behind to join her. They both gazed out to the stunning sight of the Window of Dreams, singing it's glorious song against the ship's hull all around them.

"What do you see?" he asked.

She gently started crying with happiness as she took his hand in hers and leaned into him. Nothing separating them anymore.

Adventure,.. freedom,.. safety,.. family,.. love...

[slippedtheknot]

Whumpmas Day "Three"

Wish + Denied Food as Punishment + Gilded Cage

Whumpee sniffed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing for the smallest crumb. His stomach ached, and Whumper had all of the cupboards locked away. But...his stomach hurt so badly. If only he had something...anything.

"Whumpee," Whumper kicked the door as he was walking past, "I need you to make dinner now. Like, now now."

"Okay, sir." Whumpee said softly; grabbing ahold of the wall to pull himself up. Whumpee entered the hall, only to be remembered how bare his room was compared to the rest of the house.

He walked down to the kitchen; finding that Whumper had already set out ingredients. Whumpee's eyes landed on the small box of locally grown raspberries and his stomach let out a loud grumble. Whumper wouldn't notice if Whumpee had one, right?

He stuck his hand in, and searched for the smallest one. Whumpee pulled it out; holding it delicately in his palm.

"Hey!" A spatula came down hard on his hand. "What do you think you're doing?! I don't seem to remember giving you permission to eat?"

[abubblingcandle]

The eating disorder fic!!!!!

Pls 🙏

Of course! This is pretty angsty so I'm sorry in advance and will put it under the cut for tw eating disorder and tw child abuse/neglect

So it is one of my fills for Bad Things Bingo based on the prompt Denied Food as Punishment and it screamed Jamie Tartt to me.

It's a fic surrounding the concept of problems Jamie would have with food after being a child in poverty with an abusive father in a high pressure sports environment. When I started thinking about this prompt and talking it over with some writing buddies it formed into this idea that James Tartt Sr had managed through his actions to embed the idea that Jamie needs to score goals or win to earn food. And he doesn't even realise he's doing it anymore, whenever they lose or he doesn't have a good game his appetite disappears and so he doesn't eat.

He doesn't really notice it while he's at City as when he does play he does well and City are always winning. But when Zava comes ... it all spirals into Jamie collapsing at practice and his weight being well below his weight range. It follows Jamie through the trials and tribulations of basically trying to deprogram his brain and develop a more healthy relationship with food.

A little snippet for your Tuesday!

Jamie flexed and bent the notebook in his hands. The cartoon Earl on the front was taunting him with its joyful smile in the face of his misery. The darkness settled over him, Jamie must have been sat on the floor in front of his fridge for hours. Even the rhythmic beeping reminding him that the fridge was open had died a sad death. It was lucky that he had the money now for the electricity bill because there was no ounce of energy in Jamie’s limbs to spare to close it. Jamie tucked his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on the bony joints as he exhaled. It was fine. He came back to his after the meeting with the physios with all the intentions in the world to open his fridge, pull out one of the nutritionist approved meals, stick it in the microwave, sit at the table, eat it while doom scrolling on his phone. He had succeeded at the first step. And then fallen at the hurdle after that. Who knew that having a meal was so many steps? Jamie didn’t notice until the weighted fog settled over him and he couldn’t move any further.

[maureen-doolittle]

Are the Jedi a cult?

So my wife and I were talking about Star Wars while eating dinner, and we landed on the topic of the Jedi. I mentioned my absolute hatred of the Jedi approach to child-raising. Like, oh, you want your group members to deny attachments? I know, give them all disorganized and disrupted attachments to primary caregivers!

And then a THOUGHT hit me: are the Jedi a cult? Specifically, to what degree do their beliefs and actions resonate with Steven Hassan’s BITE Model of Authoritarian Control? I pulled it up and my wife immediately said, “Wow, that would do NUMBERS on Tumblr. Please help prove my wife right because she’s awesome. 

For the unaware, BITE is an acronym that stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotion. It refers to four different types of control that organizations can have over their members. The higher a given organization scores, the more cult-like that organization is likely to be. (Disclaimer: this post is exclusively for shitposting reasons and I am extremely not a mental health or sociology expert.)

Behavior Control

Regulate individual’s physical reality - unclear? 

Dictate where, how, and with whom the member lives and associates or isolates - literally yes that’s the whole thing that PROMPTED this post

When, how and with whom the member has sex - yep, celibacy rules!

Control types of clothing and hairstyles - yes, unless you’re mace windu

Regulate diet – food and drink, hunger and/or fasting - no, not that i know of

Manipulation and deprivation of sleep - nope

Financial exploitation, manipulation or dependence - i am absolutely not going to research the star wars economy for this shitpost. we’re leaving it at “unclear.”

Restrict leisure, entertainment, vacation time - lol do the jedi get vacation? like, at all?

Major time spent with group indoctrination and rituals and/or self indoctrination including the Internet - can you imagine if the jedi had twitter? god, anakin would be such a pain in the ass about it. anyway, this feels like what the jedi council is, so yes. 

Permission required for major decisions - SPEAKING OF THE JEDI COUNCIL... also, according to my wife, “obi-wan consults with the jedi council more than raiden consults with the elder gods.” i don’t understand this reference, but i’m glad some of you will.

Rewards and punishments used to modify behaviors, both positive and negative - again, the jedi council!!! like, there’s the whole “well you’re not a master YET” nonsense and... this post might turn me into an anakin skywalker apologist

Discourage individualism, encourage group-think - this is literally what caused the council to collapse. no one had an original thought.

Impose rigid rules and regulations - oh my god SOOOOOO MANY.

Punish disobedience by beating, torture, burning, cutting, rape, or tattooing/branding - happily, a no on this one. holy shit.

Threaten harm to family and friends - technically, this is a “no,” but it’s specifically because you’re not supposed to have any of those, so i’m giving this a half point. also, see everything that happened with Shmi Skywalker.

Force individual to rape or be raped - again, no.

Encourage and engage in corporal punishment - we don’t see what goes on in the crèches, but since we don’t have evidence, this is a no.

Instill dependency and obedience - they LITERALLY have a master/padawan system where you can’t question your superior, like???

Kidnapping - hot take but i totally think this is what they do with some younglings. that said, this is just my hot take, so this is technically still a no.

Beating - again, no

Torture - no

Rape - no

Separation of Families - actually yes??? like, true, i don’t have proof that the kids are kidnapped, but they fully separate children from their families at extremely young ages!

Imprisonment - no

Murder - listen, we could be here all day debating whether all, most, many, some, few, or none of the jedi’s killings are justified. but like... they’re warrior monks, so i’ll give this one a pass.

Score: 11.5/25

Information Control

Deception: a. Deliberately withhold information - i didn’t remember this one so i asked my wife and she immediately went “yeah, definitely” b. Distort information to make it more acceptable - “What I told you is true... from a certain point of view” - Obi-Wan Kenobi (this is a yes) c. Systematically lie to the cult member - DARTH FUCKING VADER had to tell Luke about his parentage! like! obi-wan! what the hell!

Minimize or discourage access to non-cult sources of information, including: a. Internet, TV, radio, books, articles, newspapers, magazines, media - this probably gets a “no” on a technicality. how would we even measure this? b. Critical information - nope c. Former members - again, this is a technical “no,” but it’s only because i really don’t think there are any “former members.” d. Keep members busy so they don’t have time to think and investigate - arguably yes, given how much they’re constantly running all over the galaxy. like, they’re definitely not the only law enforcement/army in the galaxy, so what gives? e. Control through cell phone with texting, calls, internet tracking - huh, i wonder if those blue video things are tracked? do we have any confirmation of that? i’m pretty sure they have the capability to do so, so i’m giving this a half point.

Compartmentalize information into Outsider vs. Insider doctrines a. Ensure that information is not freely accessible - again, no way to measure this, so no b. Control information at different levels and missions within group - oh ABSOLUTELY. i’ll cut them a tiny bit of slack because they have to do this for like, legitimate national security interests sometimes, but they also do it for bullshit information control reasons. c. Allow only leadership to decide who needs to know what and when - again, this is literally just the jedi council

Encourage spying on other members a. Impose a buddy system to monitor and control member - hello again, master/padawan relationship!  b. Report deviant thoughts, feelings and actions to leadership - you have ONE bad dream about your secret wife dying in labor, and everyone’s on your case about it. c. Ensure that individual behavior is monitored by group - yep

Extensive use of cult-generated information and propaganda, including: a. Newsletters, magazines, journals, audiotapes, videotapes, YouTube, movies and other media - another no on a technicality. also, this gives me the horrifying mental image of Jedi YouTubers, so now you have to suffer with that. b. Misquoting statements or using them out of context from non-cult sources - nah

Unethical use of confession a. Information about sins used to disrupt and/or dissolve identity boundaries - oh, you’re sad because you miss your enslaved mother? well THAT’S just proof you could NEVER be a jedi! b. Withholding forgiveness or absolution - do they even have a process for forgiveness or absolution? am i losing my mind or do we not see this? anyway, no. c. Manipulation of memory, possible false memories - nope

Score: 9.5/19

Thought Control

Require members to internalize the group’s doctrine as truth a. Adopting the group’s ‘map of reality’ as reality - this is just crèche training b. Instill black and white thinking - jesus, CONSTANTLY. “once you go over to the dark side, forever will it dominate your destiny!” c. Decide between good vs. evil - see above d. Organize people into us vs. them (insiders vs. outsiders) - see above again

Change person’s name and identity - huh, this one’s actually a sith thing. bonus points for the villains actually doing the cult-y thing this time, i guess.

Use of loaded language and clichés which constrict knowledge, stop critical thoughts and reduce complexities into platitudinous buzz words - the fact that yoda’s advice to a terrified first-grader is “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering” really says it all here.

Encourage only ‘good and proper’ thoughts - once again, see above.

Hypnotic techniques are used to alter mental states, undermine critical thinking and even to age regress the member - nope

Memories are manipulated and false memories are created - not that we see, no.

Teaching thought-stopping techniques which shut down reality testing by stopping negative thoughts and allowing only positive thoughts, including: a. Denial, rationalization, justification, wishful thinking - those earlier yoda quotes are really pulling their weight in this section. goddamn. b. Meditating - i have to assume meditation is a part of jedi training, because like... come on. of course it is. that said, i don’t know if it’s specifically used to stop negative thoughts, so we’ll give it a half point. c. Chanting, Praying, Speaking in Tongues, Singing, or Humming - i put these all in one because they’re all religion-focused, but in a way that doesn’t map onto the jedi/star wars experience of religion. and the answer is no to all.

Rejection of rational analysis, critical thinking, constructive criticism - the jedi are so afraid of constructive criticism that anyone who tries gets hit with immediate professional consequences and social shaming

Forbid critical questions about leader, doctrine, or policy allowed - again, see above! it’s wild how many times i’ve said that here!

Labeling alternative belief systems as illegitimate, evil, or not useful - they literally call it the dark side. like, i’m not saying that Force choking or lighting is a good thing, but really, guys?

Instill new “map of reality” - eh, not really

Score: 10.5/16

Emotion Control

(upon seeing this i went “oh, i’m sure this will go GREAT.”)

Manipulate and narrow the range of feelings – some emotions and/or needs are deemed as evil, wrong or selfish - fear, anger, the need for a parental figure... yep! all demonized!

Teach emotion-stopping techniques to block feelings of homesickness, anger, doubt - yes again

Make the person feel that problems are always their own fault, never the leader’s or the group’s fault - your fear and grief about missing your mom are YOUR fault, anakin! it’s definitely not our fault that we took you away from your mom and left her to die!

Promote feelings of guilt or unworthiness, such as: a. Identity guilt - eh, not really b. You are not living up to your potential - oh absolutely yes. “you were supposed to bring balance to the force!!1!11!!!” like, i know it’s not said as a control tactic, but that’s a lot to put on a person! (side note: i was correct earlier; this post is totally turning me into an anakin skywalker apologist.) c. Your family is deficient - i actually don’t think they do this, so like... hurray for the bare minimum. d. Your past is suspect - they don’t explicitly say this, so even though i get the vibes, i have to give them a no. e. Your affiliations are unwise - fuck off this LITERALLY sounds like a yoda quote! i don’t care if he didn’t actually say this, i’m counting it. f. Your thoughts, feelings, actions are irrelevant or selfish - including your desire to grieve your mother, aunt, and uncle! g. Social guilt - no relationships allowed! f. Historical guilt - nope

Instill fear, such as fear of: a. Thinking independently - yeah there’s no way the council allows that b. The outside world - actually, no. they’re in pretty regular contact with the outside world, despite the fact that they ignore the increasing corruption of the galactic republic. c. Enemies - hello dark [side] my old friend... d. Losing one’s salvation - the only way the jedi could be worse is if there were some version of this. the only afterlife they have is being a blue ghost, which is rad as hell. e. Leaving or being shunned by the group - technically, no, but see above - no one ever leaves this group. f. Other’s disapproval - if mace windu looked at me with disappointment in his eyes i would DISSOLVE g. Historical guilt - nope

Extremes of emotional highs and lows – love bombing and praise one moment and then declaring you are horrible sinner - qui-gon and yoda both do this to anakin and luke, respectively.

Ritualistic and sometimes public confession of sins - the jedi council is responsible for so many of these

Phobia indoctrination: inculcating irrational fears about leaving the group or questioning the leader’s authority a. No happiness or fulfillment possible outside of the group - yep b. Terrible consequences if you leave: hell, demon possession, incurable diseases, accidents, suicide, insanity, 10,000 reincarnations, etc. - no, but i also don’t think leaving the group is presented as an option? i know i keep giving half points, but it’s my high-effort shitpost and i’ll do it if i want to. c. Shunning of those who leave; fear of being rejected by friends and family - see the above logic. hey look, the half-points evened out! d. Never a legitimate reason to leave; those who leave are weak, undisciplined, unspiritual, worldly, brainwashed by family or counselor, or seduced by money, sex, or rock and roll - oh my god can you IMAGINE yoda complaining about former jedi being “seduced by money, sex, or rock and roll.” someone get frank oz on this, stat. that said, people who join the dark side are explicitly said to be “seduced” by it, so... maybe? half-points abound! e. Threats of harm to ex-member and family - nope

Score: 14.5/25

Total Score: 46/85, or 54.12%. Honestly, that’s not quite as high as I was expecting, but that’s still like... concerningly high! like, if you join an organization and describe it as “just over half-cult,” that’s really bad! jedis! what are you doing!

[neonthewrite]

Missing Freedom

Today's prompt, "Melancholy", gave me an idea pretty much the moment I saw the prompt list. Glad to finally get around to it! The inspiration for this came from a Giant!Jacob AU created with the inestimable @borrowedtimeandspace - Be sure to check out their prompts for the month too!

TW for some themes of dehumanization.

~~~

Jacob wasn’t free, though no chains adorned his wrists. He was trapped all the same in the sturdy walls, reinforced with a few layers of metal. His cage had come a long way from the quick construction it had originally been, back when they lured him there with promises of protection and help with the impossible situation he’d found himself in. They added to it all the time, making it more and more efficient for its true purpose. While they worked on whittling away his resistance, they built up his prison at the same time.

And through it all, he’d never been able to seek answers to why he was like this in the first place. No one was all that interested in the why or the how. He was giant, and that was all that drew their interest.

What looked like a warehouse from the outside was really more of a holding cell for him when he wasn’t being marched around his training grounds. Concrete floors, fluorescent lights, and a broad open floor space made for an unwelcoming home on their own. Add to that the catwalks around the upper walls, putting his guards at eye level with him when he sat up, and the whole thing felt oppressive indeed. No one came near him without the usual body armor and gun, the silent, thinly veiled threats of what he’d face if he didn’t comply with orders.

They were soldiers. He was not. But they sure were doing their best to make him one.

No, not even a soldier. He was to be an attack dog, a beast to be broken. They’d even built an automated system to dispense food to him in a container in one corner, a chute that delivered a precisely calculated diet for maintaining his health. His basic needs were met in that building, but little more. Jacob wasn’t even supposed to speak to anyone unless directly addressed, so building a rapport with his guards was out of the question.

Jacob didn’t have any windows in his cell, aside from a few small ones low in the walls, all of them definitely sized for the normal sized folks and their coming and going. He didn’t dare get too close to those little windows, though, lest they decide they need to warn him off with a glancing gunshot. He couldn’t look outside in the idle times they kept him locked up.

It rained a lot in that remote countryside where they had him stashed away. Usually a light drizzle, it drummed a familiar pattern on the roof overhead all the same. He used to be neutral to the sound of rain, back in another life when he’d been normal. Now, he welcomed something to break up the monotony that wasn’t one of his drills or other training sessions.

When he could lie there on the concrete, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain outside, he let his mind go blank. The melancholy emptiness was better than thinking too hard about the constant exercises they had him doing during the day. It was much better than thinking about the interrogations he’d participated in.

He wasn’t a war machine just yet. But with the right lighting and ambience, he could be put to use scaring someone into talking about all kinds of things, whether he wanted to or not. It started with denying him food; even if he did nothing at all, his stomach growling in the dark was enough for some of them to crack. 

Of course, he faced his own consequences if he didn’t at least try to play the part. No matter how much Jacob told them he wasn’t made for it, he couldn’t put on a convincing act to matter how they punished him for it, they kept tossing prisoners in the warehouse with him. From there, he was to figure out ways to prod them into talking. The impossibility of a giant helped him a surprising amount. To those prisoners, he might as well already be the dangerous monster his captors wanted to make of him.

He drummed his fingers where they rested idly on his abdomen. He hadn’t seen a prisoner for an “interrogation” in a few days. That meant he should probably expect another one sometime soon. They weren’t routine, but he’d learned to expect them.

He closed his eyes as the rain picked up outside. He could imagine it, soaking the dismal facilities that had built up around his prison in the months since he’d been captured. Beyond them, the hills and forests would be more vibrant green against the grey backdrop of the sky. It would be an amazing place to hide away from civilization while he figured out what had happened to him.

He imagined it again, one of his recurring daydreams. He wouldn’t be slowed down all that much by the walls, even reinforced as they were. They might scratch him a bit, might resist his strength for a moment or two. But he was a giant. It was hard to imagine something holding him back.

But they had weapons. They could easily find him. Hiding away was a lost cause at his size. And though he was tougher than he was at his normal size, he wasn’t invulnerable. They could and would hurt him if he left.

They couldn’t punish him for just imagining it though. Jacob imagined it a lot, because it was really all he could do. He had yet to become the mindless, dutiful soldier that they hoped for out of him, and he liked to think his daydreams played a large part in that. It would be hard for them to take that away from him.

No, Jacob was far from free. But even if they did eventually put chains on him to keep him in line, they couldn’t put chains on his little daydreams. He could imagine freedom as much as he wanted.

[amethystgoldenwind]

Donnie's 'Eating Disorder' (Rottmnt Headcanon)

(it's not really an eating disorder, just read below)

All four of the turtles were designed with the perfect soldier in mind. Naturally strong, with high potency in various stats like speed, defense, and power. Meant to walk after taking hits that would kill a lesser creature. Meant to dish out punishment unlike anything even the most skill warriors can do.

And part of that, comes with being thin/not having excessive fat build-up. They were designed with metabolisms meant to break down anything. Food is nothing to them. Obviously, they still need to worry about proper nutritional intake, but they can eat as much junk food as they want and not gain a pound.

So, because of that, the turtles could be classified as having chronic hypermetabolism. However, this is not a problem for Raph, Leo, or Mikey, since they have voracious appetites to compensate.

Donnie, however, being autistic, is cursed with poor interoception (or the sensory awareness of what is happening in the body, like hunger, thirst, tiredness, and even emotions-- and he is all-but-confirmed as alexithymic). He is unable to recognize the signs of hunger in his body. While he's good at eating routinely, he struggles with eating ENOUGH (he would think a bowl of crackers and juice was a good lunch), and if he doesn't satisfy his metabolism, it's quick to turn to his fat stores and muscles for more.

There was a terrifying time, when he was just starting puberty, where he wasn't growing and he was dangerously underweight. It terrified everyone, even Donnie. For a while, he was forced to calorie-count and keep a food diary so they could all track his eating habits and make sure he was getting enough. This also helped him learn his body's limits and how to properly take care of himself.

Nowadays, he's typically fine and can manage himself well. He only skips out if he's really anxious, which can make him feel nauseous and discourage eating even further, or if he's deep in hyperfixation and just forgets. He tries to push himself to remember, even having alarms telling him to eat set on his phone (and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. probably occasionally helps with this, when he's created). His brothers definitely stay alert to make sure he STAYS at a healthy weight range. If Donnie isn't eating, it's a cause for panic, mainly due to how sick he got when he was younger.

They classify it as a hypermetabolic disorder, or sometimes just call it hypermetabolism. Leo insists on calling it a 'weird eating disorder' despite everyone's protests. He believes that calling it an eating disorder emphasizes its seriousness (since it's just as terrifying as one). Whether or not he's brought up that reason to anyone else is not confirmed.

—————————

This has no grounds in canon at all. This is just something I made up, but is based on my actual experience. This purple turtle already has so many little things of mine, what's one more? Whatever I had was never as serious as Donnie, and I don't remember the full story, but I know there was a period of time where I wasn't gaining weight. I saw a doctor and was on appetite medication for a while, though I've long since moved on from both now. My theory, based on my spotty information, is that it was a missed sign of autism, with the poor interoception and whatnot.

I don't currently plan on tackling the actual narrative in a fic (mainly because I haven't had a strong vision for it), but it's just something I'll reference from time to time. However, as a sneak peak, one of my Bad Things Happen Bingo prompts will deal with this directly ("Denied Food as Punishment"). No promises on when that'll be out, though. I got 25 prompts and have started none.

(headcanons masterlist)

[sweetcloverheart]

Some people might not know this, but there's a difference between saying that Chloe has no excuse for her actions and saying that Chloe is responsible for her mental health, especially considering that the other kids in the show aren't yet expected to put food on their plates and a roof over their heads.

Precisely. While she's "old enough to know better" and bettering herself is ultimately Chloe's choice, that should not deny her any assistance should she need it. Things like this are a process, and the process can be made smoother with the right help. If I talk about how I wanted Chloe getting more direct help in getting out of her mindset, this isn't me saying she can't be blamed because "Mom bad" or needs Marinette and everyone else to keep forgiving when she continue to cause harm - this is me saying "Chloe's issues are clearly too big for the 'hope she realizes and makes a turnaround on her own' method and needs a different approach to nip them in the bud". Chloe should be held accountable for whatever harm she causes, yes, but it should be done in a way that at least helps pull her away from whatever mindset prompts these things or reduces the harm that can be caused (because going "Well Chloe won't change, nothing to be done" doesn't stop her from seeking out more victims and learning to hide her abuses better, especially when placed in environments where people are less willing to actively punish her for them.) Her biggest responsibility in a redemption scenario is rectifying whatever harm she's cause (if able) and continuing/maintaining whatever progress she makes.

[buckybarnesfanfiction]

August Of Whump - Day 1

Day 1: food / risk / overexertion

Alt. prompt: collapse

Title: home alone, tryin’ not to eat (i can’t stand the dialogue)

The title was inspired by the song 'Male Fantasy' by Billie Eilish. I know it has nothing to due with these prompts, but I don't care.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary:

Bucky stood in his small kitchen, staring at the untouched breakfast on the counter. The toast was cold by now, the butter having congealed into an unappetizing layer. His stomach churned, not with hunger, but with the familiar knot of anxiety that food always brought. With a sigh, he pushed the plate away and poured himself another cup of black coffee, hoping the bitter liquid would stave off the gnawing emptiness inside him.

Or,

Food had always been a struggle for Bucky. Even before the war, he was used to giving his portions to his sisters or Steve. They needed it more. During the war, rations were low, and he learned to get by on very little. HYDRA loved to torment their Asset by denying food and playing mind games. Now, even though he was free, HYDRA's ghost still haunted him, controlling his every meal.

ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Augustofwhump24/works/57836233

Wattpad link:

https://www.wattpad.com/1466487392-cigarettes-on-a-rainy-night-august-of-whump-day-1

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AUGUSTOFWHUMP '24 prompt list: https://www.tumblr.com/augustofwhump/749218851036790784/day-1-here-we-come?source=share

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WARNINGS‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️: Past Abuse, Mentioned (kinda) HYDRA Trash Party, Eating disorders, Violence, Hospitalization, Homophobia (very little), Hurt, WHUMP!!!, Overexertion, etc.

DON’T READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE TOPICS/TAGS!!!! ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

There is no sexual content in this btw….

Fanfic under cut:

Empty.

That’s all it felt. Empty.

No, no, no! The Asset doesn’t feel. Feelings are for humans, and It is not human.

But It is so empty. The Asset does not know why It feels empty. There is a gnawing at Its stomach, and the empty feeling only grows stronger, an insidious presence that twists and claws inside Its core.

Its Handlers haven’t fed—inserted a nutritional IV—into the Asset for a long time. They said It was very disobedient on the mission.

It tried to carry out the orders within mission parameters. It really did. But they don’t care.

They never do.

The Asset doesn’t know how It was bad. They never tell It why. They just punish.

“You were a very, very bad boy today, Soldat,” his Commander growled into his ear before locking It in the cell. The Commander’s breath was hot and foul, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. “You need to learn your lesson.”

It doesn’t want to be a bad boy. No, no, no, NO! The Asset doesn’t have wants. Or needs. Just orders.

And hunger.

It always had that.

Its Handlers said no food until It learned Its role as the Fist of HYDRA. The words echoed in Its mind, each syllable a hammer striking Its fragile sense of self.

Would It ever learn?

The Handlers said that It would.

It would.

Even if it meant being hungry.

All the time.

The cell was cold and dark, the only light coming from a flickering bulb outside the barred window. The concrete floor was rough against Its skin, the chains binding Its wrists and ankles biting into flesh.

Every movement was agony, but staying still was worse. The hunger gnawed relentlessly, a savage beast that would not be tamed.

The Asset curled into a ball, trying to make itself as small as possible. Memories, or fragments of them, flitted through Its mind. A different time, a different place.

Faces without names, voices without context. Warmth, laughter, love. Things that seemed alien now.

It squeezed Its eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts. They were dangerous. They made It weak.

But the emptiness remained, a void that threatened to consume everything. The Asset’s stomach growled, a pitiful sound in the oppressive silence. I

t was a constant reminder of Its failure, Its inadequacy. It would never be enough. Never good enough. Never obedient enough.

“Please,” It whispered, though It didn’t know to whom. The words were a desperate plea, barely audible. “Please, I’ll do better.”

But there was no response. There never was.

The Asset’s world was pain and darkness and hunger. It had forgotten what it meant to be anything else. The hollow ache in Its gut was a familiar companion, a twisted comfort in its constancy.

It clung to the hope that someday, somehow, it would be enough. That the emptiness would be filled. That the hunger would be sated.

But until then, It would endure. Because that’s all It knew how to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky stood in his small kitchen, staring at the untouched breakfast on the counter. The toast was cold by now, the butter having congealed into an unappetizing layer. 

His stomach churned, not with hunger, but with the familiar knot of anxiety that food always brought. 

His stomach churned, not with hunger, but with the familiar knot of anxiety that food always brought.

With a sigh, he pushed the plate away and poured himself another cup of black coffee, hoping the bitter liquid would stave off the gnawing emptiness inside him.

The emptiness hurt. The pain was bone deep, and always have been.

But the feeling of being full was worse. So, so much worse. It was unnatural, inhuman. But he’s never truly been human, has he?

Looking back down at the forgotten toast and butter, he gagged. He felt disgusting even considering eating. He was not worthy of food. Of joy. Not after the stuff he had done. Not after the people he killed.

And Bucky understood that it ‘wasn’t him’, but it was. He was the one who pulled the trigger.

The doorbell cut through his horrid thoughts. Bucky’s head snapped up, gazing down the sparse hallway to the front door. 

Get the door, you fucking piece of shit, barked a cruel voice in his head.

Breaking out of his trance, Bucky scrambled for the door. The vibrainum fingers fumbled with the many locks that would not hold during an attack, attempting to wrench the door open. 

The doorbell went off again, and Bucky tried to go faster. He internally cursed these stupid ten dollar locks from the store around the block. Looking down, he realized his left hand had dented the metal holding the door shut.

With the locks finally disabled, he grasped the now-ruined handle and yanked it open. Sam’s face greeted him.

“I’ve been knocking for five minutes now, old man, what took so long? You doin’ the daily crossword?” Of course. Sam and his constant need to be a smartass. 

“Jus’ come in,” he gave in response. Sam brushed past him and strutted into the apartment. Bucky regretted having the pre-mission debriefing at his apartment.

“Man, you have like, no stuff in here!” Yelled Sam from his ‘living room’. Sighing, Bucky went to join him.

The feeling of hunger never faded. It never did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mission was simple enough. An easy in-and-out. There was supposed to be minimal guards and agents. Key word: supposed to be.

In reality, there are dozens of soldiers running at them when they were told there was going to be roughly twenty.

Which was… fine. Bucky and Sam could take them. Bucky was just so tired. 

He was sluggish in his attacks, worse in the defensive field. And Sam noticed. Of course he did.

Fuck Sam and his ability to notice all the little 'problems' in Bucky's life.

Sam's face scrunched up. "Are you ok, Buck?" he said, punching the guy that tried to get the jump on him.

Bucky forced a tight smile, throwing a punch that lacked his usual strength. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth. The truth was, every movement felt like it was dragging him deeper into a pit of exhaustion.

Sam didn’t buy it. He never did. “You sure? You look like hell, man.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to let Sam in on how bad it really was. Not now, not ever. Instead, he focused on the fight, trying to keep up with the wave of enemies swarming them.

But his body betrayed him. A sudden dizzy spell hit, and Bucky’s vision blurred. He stumbled, nearly missing a knife aimed at his gut. Sam swooped in, disarming the attacker with ease.

“Watch it, Buck!” Sam shouted, concern lacing his voice. “What’s going on with you?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear the fog. “Just a bad day,” he muttered, pushing himself to keep going. But his movements were becoming more erratic, less controlled. He could feel his strength waning with each passing second.

Sam, always the protector, took a defensive stance in front of him. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. Bucky hated it. Hated feeling weak, hated needing help. But he couldn’t deny that he needed it.

The remaining guards were quickly dispatched, and the room fell silent. Sam turned to Bucky, his eyes filled with worry. “We need to get you out of here,” he said firmly. “You’re not in any shape to keep fighting.”

Bucky wanted to protest, but his body was betraying him. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Sam wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, helping him stay upright as they made their way out of the compound. Each step was a struggle, the world around him spinning.

“You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself, Buck,” Sam said quietly. “This isn’t sustainable.”

"I'm fine, Sam," Bucky whispered.

Sam didn’t buy it. He never did. “You sure? You look like hell, man.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to let Sam in on how bad it really was. Not now, not ever. Instead, he focused on the fight, trying to keep up with the wave of enemies swarming them.

If Sam found out what a disgusting piece of shit Bucky was, he wouldn't want to be around him.

Who would want to be around a person who couldn't even eat? He was pathetic. Sam couldn't know. He just couldn't.

But his body betrayed him. A sudden dizzy spell hit, and Bucky’s vision blurred. He stumbled, nearly missing a knife aimed at his gut. Sam swooped in, disarming the attacker with ease.

“Watch it, Buck!” Sam shouted, concern lacing his voice. “What’s going on with you?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear the fog. “I’m good,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sam. He threw another punch, but his strength was waning fast.

The next wave of attackers came, and Bucky was slower than ever. A heavy blow to his side made him double over in pain. He barely had time to register the punch that followed, knocking the wind out of him.

Sam was fighting off multiple opponents, but his eyes kept darting to Bucky, worry etched on his face. “Bucky, fall back! You’re not right!”

Bucky wanted to argue, to push through, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Another dizzy spell hit, and he stumbled backward, his vision narrowing. The world around him turned into a blur of colors and sounds.

The last thing he heard before darkness consumed him was Sam’s frantic shout. “Bucky!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the corners like specters. The cold metal table in the center of the room was stark and unforgiving, much like the men who stood around it. The Asset was strapped to a chair, its wrists and ankles bound with heavy chains. The clinking of the chains was the only sound in the oppressive silence.

The Commander entered the room, a sinister smile playing on his lips. He carried a tray covered with a metal dome, and the faint aroma of food wafted through the air. The Asset's stomach growled involuntarily, a reminder of the gnawing emptiness that had become a constant companion.

“Ah, Soldat,” the Commander said, placing the tray on the table. “You must be hungry.”

The Asset didn’t respond. It had learned long ago that speaking out of turn only brought more pain. The Commander lifted the dome, revealing a steaming plate of food—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans. The sight of it made the Asset’s mouth water, but it kept its gaze fixed on the floor.

“You’ve been very disobedient,” the Commander continued, cutting a piece of chicken and holding it up with a fork. “But we believe in positive reinforcement. Do as you’re told, and you’ll be rewarded.”

The Asset’s eyes flicked to the fork, then back to the floor. It knew this game. It had played it many times before. The hunger was unbearable, a constant, aching void that seemed to grow with each passing second.

The Commander moved closer, the fork tantalizingly close to the Asset’s lips. “Open your mouth,” he commanded.

The Asset hesitated, then obeyed. The taste of the chicken was overwhelming, a burst of flavor that brought tears to Its eyes. It chewed slowly, savoring every moment, every bite a cruel reminder of its captivity.

“Good,” the Commander said, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “See how easy it is? Follow orders, and you get to eat.”

The Asset swallowed, the taste lingering on Its tongue. The Commander cut another piece of chicken, but this time, he didn’t offer it immediately. Instead, he held it just out of reach, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

“But disobey,” he said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, “and you’ll starve.”

The Asset’s stomach twisted with a mix of hunger and fear. It knew the Commander’s threats were not empty. It had spent days, sometimes weeks, without food, the agony of starvation used as a weapon to break Its will.

“Please,” the Asset whispered, its voice raw with desperation. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

The Commander’s smile widened. “That’s what I like to hear.” He fed the Asset another piece of chicken, then set the fork down. “Now, let’s discuss your next mission.”

The words were a hollow echo in the Asset’s mind. All It could think about was the food, the promise of more if It obeyed. The Commander detailed the mission parameters, the Asset nodding mechanically, its thoughts consumed by the gnawing hunger and the brief relief that obedience would bring.

“Remember,” the Commander said, leaning in close, his breath hot against the Asset’s ear. “You are nothing without us. We control whether you eat, whether you starve. Your life is in our hands.”

The Asset nodded again, the weight of the chains digging into its skin. It understood all too well. HYDRA owned It, body and soul. The food was just another tool of control, a reminder that even the most basic human needs were not Its own.

The Commander left the room, leaving the half-finished plate of food on the table. The Asset stared at it, the hunger clawing at Its insides. It knew better than to reach for it. It would only be fed if It performed well on the mission.

The room grew colder as the minutes passed, the scent of the food a cruel torment. The Asset closed Its eyes, trying to block out the hunger, the emptiness. It was a weapon, a tool, nothing more. And HYDRA would use every means necessary to ensure It never forgot that.

The Asset steeled Itself, knowing that the only way to survive was to comply, to follow orders, to endure. The hunger would always be there, a constant reminder of Its place. But as long as It obeyed, there would be moments of relief, fleeting as they were.

And so It waited, chained and starving, for the next mission, for the next bite, for the next test of Its obedience. The cycle of control and hunger, of pain and fleeting relief, would never end. Not until HYDRA decided It was no longer useful.

But they never did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical monitors. His head felt heavy, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright lights of the hospital room.

He blinked, trying to piece together what had happened. The mission. The fight. The pain. And then… nothing.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Sam’s voice was soft, but it held an edge of relief.

Bucky turned his head to see Sam sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking exhausted but relieved.

“Where am I?” Bucky croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.

“Hospital,” Sam replied. “You passed out during the mission. Scared the hell outta me.”

Bucky tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side made him wince. Sam was quick to place a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down.

“Easy, Buck. You’re pretty banged up. Docs said you were dehydrated, malnourished, and running on fumes. What the hell were you thinking?”

Bucky closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Sam’s words. “I wasn’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… couldn’t.”

Sam sighed, the sound filled with frustration and concern. “You need to take care of yourself, Bucky. You can’t keep running on empty.”

Bucky nodded slightly, knowing Sam was right but feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The thought of eating, of trying to fill that emptiness, was still too much to bear.

Look how revolting you are, the voice in his head said, viciously. Even Sam knows it now. He'll most likely leave your fat ass behind where you belong.

Bucky shook his head, as if that could dispel the voices in his head. It didn't work.

You are nothing, the voice screamed. You are worthless. Do you actually think Sam wants to be around you? You can't even EAT, you little bitch.

“Bucky?” Sam’s voice cut through the dark thoughts. “You okay?”

Bucky forced his eyes open, focusing on Sam’s worried expression. “Yeah, I’m just… tired,” he said, though the exhaustion he felt went far beyond the physical.

Sam studied him for a moment before nodding. “I get it. But you’ve got to let us help you. You’re not alone in this.”

Bucky wanted to believe that, but the voices in his head were relentless. He looked away, unable to meet Sam’s gaze. “It’s not that simple, Sam.”

“I know it’s not,” Sam replied gently. “But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve survived this long, and you’ll keep surviving. But you’ve got to start taking care of yourself.”

The sincerity in Sam’s voice chipped away at the walls Bucky had built around himself. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to retreat into his shell. “I’ll try,” he whispered again, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.

Sam nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s all I’m asking, Buck. Just try. One step at a time.”

Bucky closed his eyes again, letting Sam’s words sink in. Maybe he could try. Maybe, with time, he could start to push back against the darkness that had been consuming him for so long.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Bucky looked up to see a nurse entering the room with a tray of food. The sight of it made his stomach clench with anxiety, but he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s important you eat something,” the nurse said kindly, placing the tray on the table beside his bed.

Bucky glanced at Sam, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Just a little,” Sam said. “You’ve got to start somewhere.”

With trembling hands, Bucky reached for the tray. The food looked unappetizing, but he knew he had to try. He picked up a piece of bread, forcing himself to take a small bite. It felt like swallowing sand, but he managed to get it down.

“There you go,” Sam said, his voice filled with pride. “One step at a time.”

Bucky nodded, chewing slowly. The voices in his head were still there, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could start to heal.

As he took another bite, he glanced at Sam, who was watching him with a mixture of relief and determination. Bucky knew he had a long road ahead, but with Sam by his side, he felt like he could face whatever came next.

“Thanks, Sam,” he said softly, and for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that things could get better.

Sam smiled, reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder. “Anytime, Buck. We’re in this together.”

And for the first time, Bucky truly believed it.

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@augustofwhump

@painonthebrain

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Thank you for reading (if you did), I appreciate it! Any and all criticism is accepted. I want to become a better writer! I know I didn't really add a lot of RISK and OVEREXERTION but whatever. Thank you all!!!