#tw// self starvation

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

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

Oh where to begin???

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Bonus-

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

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

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

[whump-queen]

In Relief and Reverie

continuation from this

Tags: vampire whump, creepy/intimate whumper, prettyboy vampire whumpee, starvation, worship and withdrawl ~ my usual nonsense

The vampire’s knees were starting to go numb.

He had no idea how long he’d been made to kneel there, at his owner's feet.

Aris didn’t move from where he’d been placed--the heavy rings of steel locked around his neck and his wrists weighed him down and tethered him to them.

Rowe leaned back in their seat, slowly wrapping one hand around the chain on the vampire’s collar. There was a tug on the chain, forcing a sharp exhale from Aris' throat as he was forced to lean in.

Rowe smiled.

The vampire’s eyes stayed locked to the floor, perhaps not willing to give Rowe the satisfaction. But Rowe was fine with that. They knew how to get the mutt’s attention. 

Rowe reached for their pocket, grinning wider. Fingers found what they were looking for; they slid a small shining object from the dark folds of fabric and flicked it open with practiced ease.

Sure enough, those red eyes darted up the moment he heard it—that all too familiar metallic shing that seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. 

It was the scalpel. 

Again. 

Aris flinched back, expecting the pain, before he saw his owner bring it to their own skin and his eyes went wide.

Rowe snickered and aligned the blade, smug eyes never leaving the vampire for long; they began to carefully drag the blade through the skin on their own shoulder. It slid painfully slowly through the uppermost layers of skin, and Aris’ held his breath–it was so silent he swore he could hear his master’s skin ripping.

He knew nothing cloud prepare him for what was about to happen.

The moment the first bead of blood hit the air, his eyes shot alarmingly wide—irises glowing a bright, hungry red. 

He was panting; his fangs extended to full length without him even realizing. He bit back a whine and exhaled sharply through gritted teeth—his breath was coming in hot and fast—his chest was heaving with desperation—he instantly lunged forward when—

Rowe’s foot moved just slightly, the toe of their boot pressing forward to firmly meet the vampire’s sternum.

The vampire froze instantly. His eyes snapped up to his owner—wide and terrified, yet still alight with that deep hungry red, shining like glowing tail lights.

Rowe just sat there, looking casual as ever. The sole of their boot pressed more firmly into Aris’ chest, pushing him back a bit, and allowing absolutely no room to move forward. It wasn’t a rough gesture, but the message was clear enough.

“Move one more inch without permission and this boot will be buried in your mouth.”

Rowe could feel Aris shudder at the threat– poorly hidden.

“I should whip your back to shreds for what you just did.”

The vampire cringed at the whine that escaped his own lips. He wanted to sink into the floor. He sounded utterly pathetic.

Rowe couldn't help but crack a smile, a low, pleased hum buzzing just behind their teeth.

“You’re lucky you make for such a nice view.”

Rowe sat back, getting comfortable, vowing themselves to enjoy this.

“Today I’m feeling… generous. I might give you a chance to prove you can control yourself before I decide just how badly you’ve fucked up.” 

They leaned casually against the armrest of the chair with their chin resting on their hand. An amused hum slipped past their lips; their features twisted into a narrow-eyed smile as the vampire desperately tried—and failed—to compose himself over and over. 

Rowe let the blood drip freely.

...

It was a losing game, really.

Aris knew it was.

He knew it had been weeks now.

Weeks since he had last been allowed to feed.

But the blood was right there—fresh, delicious, hot, red, human blood—god, his owner had the best blood he had ever tasted—and it was trickling down their collarbone right in front of him and—

He didn’t deserve it.

He had lunged.

Was this all just a trick?

Was he not going to be hurt for this?

He’d rather just get it over with, so he could stop waiting around and suffocating in whatever terrifying limbo this was. 

So he could just suffer and make it better.

Aris knew.

He knew.

He had lunged. He was so sorry.

God, he’d take the beating gratefully if it meant an end to this—to the twisting poisonous feeling that squeezed around his insides.

It was torture, to not know where he stood.

Maybe if Aris took it well, he’d be allowed to beg, to plead and apologize over and over, as many times as Rowe allowed.

But it was a losing game, wasn’t it? 

A game against his own hunger, his instincts, his desperation—against that smell.

And then he understood.

This was his punishment.

To be made to wait.

To be made to fail.

To be locked in an unwinnable battle against the part of his mind that was screaming at him to lunge, to bite, to gnash his teeth like a wild animal, to clamp his jaws around anything he could reach.

It was right there. It was right there— in front of his face.

Rowe held him there for what seemed like ages, watching him with a pleased smirk—pressing the sole of their boot into his chest and swirling around the trickling blood on their own shoulder until the vampire was fucking drooling and whining, ensnared by the smell wafting through the room and the screaming voices in his own head.

At last, Rowe was sure that the vampire had reached his breaking point, that he would say or do anything if it got him out of this. They relished in his pitiful expression when Aris raised his gaze—the defeat in his teary eyes—and God he was pleading—

“Please— it’s been so long since… since you fed me.”

Rowe snickered, uncrossing their legs for a better view.

Perfect.

“Beg properly, pretty thing, and maybe I won’t make your punishment worse.”

The vampire bit straight through his lip trying to stop the low pained whine that slipped out through gritted teeth when he heard them say it. 

’Beg.’

“Please — you— you can’t make me do this—”

“What do you think, another three weeks? Or should we do four? You know I can starve you as long as I want to. It's not like you’ll die.”

Aris choked on his words, his throat closed up at every attempt, and nothing came out but a pitiful, terrified whimper.

Oh, he loathed it. A prouder version of himself might have held out, just to spare himself the shame. But it had been weeks. It had been weeks and god—it was the smell of them.

It was the sound of Rowe’s heart beating.

The way he could feel the blood pulsing through his owner’s veins—it was driving him beyond insane—he could barely think at all—

Fuck it.

His voice cracked and he felt the tears spill over.

That was no time for pride.

A icy pang of dread accompanied the realization that he had never been allowed to beg for forgiveness like this. Not for something this bad.

He only had one chance.

What if he got it wrong?

What if Rowe changed their mind—and—

please, I don’t know what you—

I—I don’t—

I don’t know how to please you.

He gazed desperately at the cut on Rowe’s shoulder through teary, glistening eyes.

Please—this has to work.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, all the way down to Rowe’s shoes.

When that boot didn’t immediately rise up to crack across his face, he allowed himself to exhale, brushing his lips just barely against the cool leather.

The steel toe.

Kissing the thing that could slam into his face at any moment, that could shatter his entire jaw in a second, if Rowe so chose it. He was desperate.

He could only pray that this would please them.

His voice was a shaky whisper against the freshly shined leather—

”Please—please, please, please-”

Slowly but firmly, Rowe's boot hooked under his chin, forcing his head up to face them.

“Almost there, sweetheart.” A sickly sweet smile spread across their face. They could feel him shaking through the leather.

‘God, you're so gorgeous like this.’

“Please what... Come on, pet, tell me what you want.”

Rowe looped the chain that connected to his collar around in their palm once more, and Aris nearly choked when the metal tightened around his throat.

But he stayed down.

He knew better.

“Don’t be shy now, pretty. Tell me what you need.”

Every time Rowe opened their mouth, Aris felt another pang of humiliation hit his chest. He wanted to curl in on himself and cry.

But he knew better, and he pressed his lips once more against the leather of Rowe’s shoes, trailing slow kisses from the steel tip to the laces.

Though the thought of blood never faded from his mind, he started to drift into the task without realizing it.

His head felt fuzzy and so... heavy.

He heard Rowe give a pleased hum from somewhere above him, and felt his mind slowly melting into a foggy, desperate sludge—disorienting waves wrapped around his chest and his head until he was open-mouthed and tonguing at the laces and whining again.

Each breath was laced with an edge of something from deep within his chest. Something that had long since wound itself around his mind--a slow, slithering python that had now found its moment strike.

And when he felt the weight of Rowe’s other boot rest heavily on the back of his neck, he groaned.

It was bliss.

It was forgiveness.

It was a relief to be good.

To obey.

To have pleased them.

It was a relief dwarfed only by an imagined end to his hunger, but a relief he would take nonetheless.

Aris remained there, lips and tongue pressed to his owner’s shoe, worshiping in relief and in reverie, for as long as Rowe decided to keep him there.

—

Update 11/23: I did a rewrite of this I think its much better now <33

general taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday @emmettnet   @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot  @unorganisedalienrubbish  @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived @spooky-scary-vampires @burningkittypoet @veyroswin @painsandconfusion @skittles-the-whumpee @demondamage

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

dont come looking for me

[brown-little-robin]

okay so @quirkle2 sent me an ask about the aftermath of the Teru vs. Mob fight, and I went and wrote out the whole fight in the ask. I'm moving it to this post so that I can answer the Actual Question in the Actual Ask like a normal person. anyway here you go

Teru's Series of Really Bad Decisions

or, How Mob Came Out Of the Teru vs. Mob Fight Completely Unscathed

So here's the thing. Mob's zombie disease colony is pretty invested in keeping its host alive, so even while the fight is happening, he's healing really fast. And despite his top-dog persona, Teru doesn't actually enjoy injuring people. (The sensation of touching another person bothers him—that's why most of his attacks are things like slaps or punches, where he's only in contact with people for a moment before the force of the blow shoves them away. He'll kill or torture people, but he subtly avoids extended contact with them while doing so. It makes him nervous to resort to hands-on violence, because that's how a zombie fights and for his own survival, Teru HAS to act like he's above zombie behavior.)

So it takes Teru a while to work himself up to the point of actually committing to injuring Mob. At first, Teru is just punching him in the chest and stomach, shoving him (he pushes him into the school swimming pool at one point and then has to pull him back out because Mob never learned to swim and is drowning. major L for Teru's pride), taunting him, using blunt force and watching in disbelief while the other boy just takes it and breathes through the pain. He expected Mob to hit back right away, and then Teru would use a bit more strength and intimidate his opponent so much that he'd admit Teru's strength is way beyond him and then they'd be on amicable terms. But that doesn't happen.

Also, Dimple isn't back yet in this AU, so the fight takes place mostly in silence, which weirds Teru out. He's used to fighting with people yelling and screaming around him, and hearing nothing but pained noises and a few confused questions out of his opponent really bothers Teru. He grabs Mob and shakes him, asking why won't you fight back??. He's definitely like Teru! he's got the misty eyes and he's breathing out miasma and he has the healing ability to jerk his arms free of the ropes he was tied with and have the raw rope-scrapes on his arms heal over a minute later, but he won't! fight! back!!

Meanwhile, as Teru is shaking him by the shirt-collars, Mob is having flashbacks to his life wandering as a zombie before the cure. He's remembering Dimple clearer than he ever has before, and he's embracing those memories for once, clinging to his guilt over (he suspects) killing his friend. And, remembering how nice Dimple was to him and Ritsu, how Dimple shared strawberries with them, how he would coax Mob out of the rain, how Dimple reached for Mob's face while Mob's teeth were closing in his arm—he stares at Teru with all the loathing he feels toward himself, for killing Dimple.

Teru says, "What's with that look?"

Mob says, "I was just wondering, why do you feel the need to hurt people who are just trying to live? Do you think you have to, because you're a zombie?"

And Teru, who tries not to think of himself as a zombie, goes, "What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking—there was someone I knew who was a pretty good guy—compared to you. And I hurt him."

That makes Teru drop Mob like a hot potato. He doesn't want to fight like a zombie but he has to get this hypocrite who hurt his own friend and refuses to fight him to DO something—and they happen to be in the home ec room, right by the gas-powered generator for the home ec equipment, so Teru causes a gas explosion on purpose and blocks the door with his body, trying to force Mob to fight his way out to avoid burning alive. That's how Teru ends up losing his perfect hair—he may be special but he's still got zombie disease, his pain receptors don't work right and Mob is coughing too hard in the smoke to warn Teru that the fire ran along the ceiling and got to Teru's hair. The fire is how Mob's clothes get singed. He's not seriously burned, at least not by the time Teru sees him next (Teru rushed to the swimming pool when he realized his hair was on fire), but he's shaken and coughing and smells like smoke.

They both stumble out of the burning school building. Mob has his Moment Of Realization and correctly guesses that Teru's life is completely empty; Teru's acting like this because he's trying to ignore that he's a zombie and has no real friends because everyone is scared of him, and Teru isn't making any effort to live like a person instead of a monster.

That's when Teru just straight-up strangles Mob, throwing away his determination not to fight like a zombie. Mob has already ruined Teru's untouchable appearance and likely condemned Teru to being shot by his own people for causing all this property damage. Teru's life as a human is over already, he thinks. Mob refuses to fight back, passes out, ???% appears, you know how it goes.

And get this: Mob's zombie disease colony has expended a lot of its energy already (consuming its own drones for sheer power) to heal Mob from the blows and the burns, so when ???% puts his body into high gear, the colony registers EMERGENCY CONDITIONS and starts replenishing its energy using anything available—the colony deploys its own disease drones into the entire surrounding area and consumes all of the miasma in the air and water and, STILL not having enough energy for this, dives into Teru's body and eats 90% of Teru's colony. This is the equivalent of ???% absorbing all of the energy in the atmosphere AND Teru's psychic powers, which always makes me hold my breath in canon.

Teru can see this happening, by the way. Like Mob, he can sense the presence of zombie disease in all forms. He senses Kageyama's disease colony suddenly exploding from his body and eating all of the colonies in the area. what a sight to behold.

Anyway, so, yeah, Mob then wakes up with his body fully healed, in front of a burning school building, sensing absolute emptiness all around him.

He can't fix the school building. Not in this au. All he can do is kneel down and cry. He failed to change. He thought he was better now, he thought that he was in control of himself now, but he did it again—he hurt someone on accident again.

And then Teru stumbles over to him with his hip still spasming from where ???% threw him by his leg and goes, "Kageyama, you were right... without our power, we have nothing..."

and Mob looks up to see people stirring around them, and Teru is alive, he didn't kill Teru, he didn't kill anyone, and he goes back to Salt with the Body Improvement Club in a kind of shell-shocked daze.

[judging-will-wood-confessions]

skeleton appreciation day made me want to starve myself

Maybe don't do that

[the-post-crow]

Hey. Hey what if. What if Sebastian is severely malnourished from hating himself and loosing his will to live. And Sebastian escapes and finds people that care about him. And he gains some weight from learning to love himself after years of being considered lower than human.

[birchythemindless]

day 1 of starving myself until i feel happy again

i hope i starve i hope this shitty depression ends

[thelunarsystemwrites]

LusterrorTale

A horrortale x underlust AU!

(Lore below cut! TW for talk of: suicide, death, sex, sexual violence, starvation, depression, addiction!)

So the idea of LusterrorTale, is after a neutral run from Frisk—Toriel and Asgire are dead, as they killed both. So Undyne immediately became queen.

So... things play out, magic in the underground starts dying. They're trying to fix to core, food starts running low as magic does-

Dead. Alphys, who was keeping the core alive... killed herself. So the core kinda just.. breaks, with only Sans knowing how to fix it.

This sent Undyne into a deep depression with her lover dead. In a fit of rage, she blamed Sans for it and you know.. shattered his skull. (She blamed him because he was helping Alphys with the core, so she believes Sans should've seen the signs.)

Now, with the core dead and magic at an all time low—In this au, there's one natural way of making magic with two monsters—Which is uh, doing the deed. It causes magic to build up.

Sooooo basically all the monsters, since they're starving for magic, all kinda go sex crazy. They become addicted to it, since they're desperate for the magic that becomes like a high.

In this AU, it focuses more on sexual violence, depression, starvation—It's a blend of Horrortale and Underlust in the fact that it combines starvation with desire. The design for Sans here was originally intended for an AU I was making with a friend, but we changed it. So I decided to give this guy his own AU!

So yeah, SA is unfortunately, very common in the underground. So is Monsters offing themselves, it's INCREDIBLY depressing. The idea is the underground has reached its lowest, where everyone is scrapping for a bit more.

...Oh yeah, the human who falls is a therapist-

HorrorTale by sour-apple studios!

Underlust by NSFWshamecave!

LusterrorTale by me!

[lovelesslittleloser]

People should be more afraid of asexuals, because they’re the only people that are immune to one of the seven deadly sins

[quirkle2]

Hi!!! zombie au question, what's the scene where Mob snarls at Ritsu? Like what was the reason and what happened?

helloooo!!!! gives u a cool rock

he does it from hunger. it's the dead of winter where it's rly hard to traverse on foot, so they haven't been able to search as many places as they typically do. they're low on food and in a bad spot rn—practically in the middle of nowhere, on some country road, and even any food they could find in the woods is dead

all three of them are definitely starving by now, and they need food desperately. it's Very cold and while they have good coats to get them through most of it, it's reaching very dangerous temps. trudging through several feet of snow while you're shaky and tired and ur stomach feels like its eating itself,, it takes So much energy from u

tome Finally finds a couple bags of chips or smth somebody left behind at some gas station, so they settle in for the night there. ritsu hands mob a bag and he starts tearing at it, and remembering that he should open it for him first, he reaches over and says "oh sorry shige lemme—"

and mob rips the bag away and snarls. it's very loud and it's very sudden and ritsu jerks away from him and presses himself against the wall on instinct. there's genuine aggression to it and it's a real actual warning to not take his food away even for a second, and the way his eyes r alight with that animalistic desperation makes ritsu kinda sick to his stomach

tome watches in disbelief and neither of them can rly do anything except watch him bite at the bag with his teeth, pop it open, and eat some of the plastic along with the contents. he'd been growling more and more at littler and littler things for the past few days, but ritsu didn't think he was so desperate for food he'd snarl at him like that...

they both eat their share in silence and wonder what woulda happened if they hadn't found this place when they did

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

uhhh I kinda went crazy with this. might edit it for ao3 in the morrow bc I love it that much. the allium duo joint exile fic

tw: abuse, kidnapping, injuries, suicidal ideation, self hate, manipulation, brainwashing, vomiting, ableism (either unintentional or solely as a manipulation tool), mutilation, starvation, possessive behaviour, obsession, threats

it's raining, when they’re exiled.

ranboo has his suit jacket pulled over his head and when droplets slip through to the tips of his claws he hisses and jitters. sometimes, it looks like he'll almost disappear and reappear, like the endermen he so resembled, but instead he falls to the ground with a pained screech, the calves of his feet burning on impact with the sodden ground where his skirt isn’t long enough to protect.

still gripping painfully onto tommy's arm, dream slowly walks back to where he fell, and hits him with the butt of his axe. the screech of pain is distorted, almost otherworldly, and it’d be terrifying if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“get up,” he hisses. “or i'll fucking kill you, and then-“

dream doesn’t have to finish his sentence. shakingly, ranboo gets onto their talons, wincing as they try and match the brutal pace dream immediately sets back on.

(he'd tried to save ranboo. he really had. he'd said it was all him, he lied, but ranboo had confessed, trying to get him out of this mess, and now he was in it too.)

(tommy wants to be sick.)

he’s not quite sure when and why things happen. they’re on a boat at one point, cramped and barely afloat. water sinks in and burns the bottom of ranboo's feet. there’s shouting after that. an explosion. a beach. tommy drags a shaking ranboo under a tree to keep the rain from falling on him. more shouting. more explosions. pain.  blood on his collarbone. pain pain pain. blurring vision.

tommy drags himself under the tree and curls up next to ranboo and hopes he'll fucking bleed to death.

——

it rains far too much in logstedshire.

that is what tommy names it, the logs tell him too. they send their messages from the primes. maybe, if he listens, they'll accept him despite his sins.

he doubts it. he doesn’t deserve it.

he dug a den on the first day, for ranboo to hide under, but even the dirt under there grew too damp and after tending to burns all across his face, he'd spent what energy he had left with the aching scars and bruises and gnawing hunger in his gut to hang up a tent. it's only big enough for one of them, but that's okay. tommy doesn’t mind sleeping on the beach.

(it allows him to pretend maybe the tides will come in and he won’t wake up at all).

he pinches himself. dream wouldn’t like him having those thoughts.

honestly, tommy isn't sure what dream likes. it’s not like he and ranboo were stupid enough to break the rules- they’d learnt that painfully over the first week. it just seems like dream always favours the one of them, and who that was switched on a dime. one day, he'd bring ranboo chocolate (watching him like a hawk to prevent him giving any of it to tommy) and hit tommy for daring to look at him. another, he'd spend all day hanging out with tommy and shout at ranboo until he cried when he so much as said a word.

it was easy to resent ranboo, sometimes. when he got hugs and gifts and food and got to spend the day playing around instead of being forced to mine. but tommy remembers the times where dream extended that kindness to him and remembered how awful it made him feel when ranboo was being treated like shit. it was almost worse.

he just tries harder to be good. if he's good maybe he'll be able to get dream to stop. if dream likes them both maybe everything would be okay.

it never is.

——

when ranboo shows tommy his memory book for the first time, he really is sick.

which is annoying, because he'd only had scraps ranboo had hidden today, but fuck. it was bad.

tommy could recognise dream's handwriting from a mile away. even if he couldn’t, the pages blatantly ripped out would give the game away, along with what was in the book.

“my name is ranboo,” the first line read. “my home is logstedshire. my best friend dream keeps me and my friend tommy safe here. l'manberg kicked us out so dream is helping. if we follow dream's rules to protect us everything will be okay…”

ranboo rubs tommy's back, as gently as they can. “are you okay? are you sick? i'll ask dream for a potion.”

tommy shakes his head weakly. “no, it's…”

he can’t fucking break this spell for ranboo, though. his throat dries up when he tries. ranboo was always the happier of the two, excited in a way that was almost funny in each passing day. it was like ranboo had become the loud, excitable one and tommy had grown quieter and more distant.

and this was why. he didn’t have a fucking clue what was wrong, did he? he's happy because he thinks this is safe, thinks this is normal. and maybe it's selfish of tommy but prime he wishes he could live in that fantasy land where he doesn’t know it’s not normal for your best friend to hit you and starve you and never explain why. at least one of them should get to live that life.

“nowt. just hungry.”

ranboo furrows his brow in concern. “i'll be good today, then.”

tommy feels sicker at that. dream had started switching from his weird hot and cold game to being… nice. usually. it was weird, at first, but it was alright. dream was a good friend, even if he wasn’t as cool as ranboo. but the thing was, it was even worse when they actually fucked up.

they wouldn’t be hurt at all. dream wouldn’t change a thing with them. it was always the other who bore the full weight. no food, no privileges, any sort of thing they’d earned the right to keep taken away. if it was more serious, then they’d be hit, or shouted at, and dream still sometimes used the axe. they’d be abandoned to tend to themselves and do the tedious work of survival while the one who actually fucked up would have the guilt eat up at them as dream chatted like everything was normal.

ranboo forgot to make armour to destroy yesterday. a grievous enough sin, apparently, that now tommy's still smarting bruises.

he's not stupid. he knows that isn’t right. he likes dream, it’s better to have him as a friend than a jail or and he was pretty sure he was trying to help, but what dream does to them isn't okay.

but ranboo doesn’t need fo be burdened by that knowledge. they, at least, deserve happiness, even if it is fake.

——

ranboo moans in pain as tommy finishes up bandaging the stumps where his tails once lay.

he can still smell the enchantment on dream's axe, hanging in the air like pollen. it almost drowns out the stench of blood and the ash of the ruins around them. he’s not sure which is worse.

it’s all tommy's fault. it has to be. he tried to pretend like he could own things, and he knew ranboo would bear the brunt of that punishment. dream had just done what he always had done.

“it's okay, big man, it’s okay,” tommy tries to soothe, running fingers through the overgrown mop of hair that almost reached down to ranboo's waist. he just flinches more.

tommy just screwed everything up, didn’t he?

a week. that was what dream had said. he'd visit in a week, to watch them. until then, it was all tommy's responsibility to take care of ranboo, and he wasn’t sure he could. there was just so much blood.

he shudders, thinking about what dream will do to him if ranboo dies on them. being without his best friend was bad enough, but dream could make anything worse.

tommy sobs, trying to keep the tears from landing on ranboo's already scarred and tattered skin the best he can. he fails, and the faint smell of burning flesh joins the horrible mix and ranboo lets out another faint moan.

if dream could see him now. he'd always been there to watch over them, and what if when he came back to watch, there was only one of them left?

“well, watch me now,” tommy mumbles to the air. he was meant to be there to watch them.

watch them. watch them. that sits wrong. he's meant to be their friend, right?

“you were only here to watch us.”

tommy mouths it more than speaking it, but it feels like a proclamation. he was only there to watch them. just watch. he wasn’t their friend. he didn’t care about making them better. what he cares about is watching them.

and then what? would he even care if ranboo died?

would he kill him himself?

“ranboo.” tommy hisses. “can you stand?”

“tommy?” ranboo slurs, eyes half open.

“ranboo! fuckin'- this is important, okay?”

“i- i think so-“

“okay, then this is what you’re going to do, big man. there’s a cabin through the snow that way.” tommy points vaguely in the direction of techno's place. “there’s more bandages there than i have. i want you to run there, as fast as you can, and not look back.”

“but-“

“i don’t know how to do this,” tommy admits. “i've dealt with shit before but never like this. if you have those supplies you'll at least have a chance of surviving. now go, before you die.”

“but dream-“

tommy's throat constricts. “i'll explain. he'll understand. he's our friend, right?”

ranboo nods, before stumbling up to his feet, limping across the ruins towards the vague direction of the tundra. tommy whispers a silent prayer to the primes that he’ll make it. that at least one of them will survive.

ranboo deserves it more than him, at least.

——

dream, unfortunately, did not kill tommy. if only he’d be that merciful.

he pretends it’s mercy. he pretends to be concerned and he treats tommy with condescending kindness until he doesn’t. then, tommy sometimes swears he does die, but when he's better dream is even more smothering and the cycle continues.

he’s not stupid. tommy knows why he does it. he wanted two pawns, and if he lost one he'd do anything to keep the other. nothing personal.

it's easier to see it like that, at least. it's hard, sometimes. but it's easier.

dream does not call the room he’s in a cell, but it is. it’s in a prison, and he's locked in most of the day. the baby-blue wallpaper and fuzzy carpet he'd installed hadn’t changed that, nor had swapping out the sparse furniture for a million blankets and decor more suitable for someone half tommy's age. he almost misses the dark obsidian and lava- at least that didn’t treat him like a child.

because even if sixteen was a child- he could admit to that now, because ranboo was certainly just a child- what tommy had gone through had undoubtedly aged him out of that.

they train, sometimes. on days where dream doesn’t panic when tommy has so much as a paper cut, or on days when he's not beating tommy's head into the wall. sometimes, tommy helps repair dream's endless supply of cloaks. sometimes, he cleans blood off of dream's weapons and tries not to think about how it got there.

(sometimes it’s his, and that’s easier.)

dream, in almost paternal tones, calls tommy his protege. under his breath, tommy calls himself a glorified servant.

every day, his thoughts drift to ranboo. his kind smile, the scars that ran jagged lines over his entire body, how absurd he looked in his half-ripped suit and tiara, trying to keep his hair in an orderly braid and failing miserably. dream would help sometimes, if it was a good day. dream insists on braiding tommy's hair the same way now, and tommy almost wonders if he misses him too before he reminds himself that dream does not care for either of them at all, because the alternative is worse.

(either way, it’s clear tommy would be the favourite. dream says as much, saying how thankful he is that tommy is the one that stayed because he was far more fun and ranboo was boring. tommy reminds himself it’s a lie and it makes him feel less sick.)

maybe ranboo is dead. part of him hopes he is. that way, he was free. the primes would surely guide his way, and he'd be granted the happiness he deserved. fuck, even if they didn’t, there couldn’t be anything worse than this.

could there?

——

tommy doesn’t know how long he spends in the prison before dream decides to take him out on his “first mission.”

which is a meeting. of fucking course it is. because tommy’s mission has always to be a glorified page, hasn’t it.

tommy skims his fingers over the waters edge absently as dream rows. maybe they’re leaving the server. maybe if they didn’t tommy could make his own escape. if he sank to the bottom it’d be deep enough no one could save him in time, if he were to jump. and if dream didn't constantly shift from looking at the ocean to tommy, clearly aware of the same possibility.

dream always got so fucking mad if he tried to die and failed, so it was best to make sure that the opportunity wouldn’t fail.

they stop too quickly to have gone far. idly, tommy wonders how far they must be from-

logstedshire.

the ruins lie there, same as always. tommy hadn’t noticed how bloodstained those ruins are until now, red and green.

the skeletal remains of two tails still lay on the floor, undisrupted.

“what the fuck.” tommy says under his breath. “what the fuck.”

“aww, didn’t you like the surprise?” dream laughs, and tommy immediately prepares for the worst. “chill out, i'm kidding. you act like i'm gonna kill you. we're obviously not here for this, we're going to see techno.”

tommy feels an equal amount of hope and fear bloom in his chest at that. techno's cabin was this way. and if it was, then maybe…

suddenly determined, tommy walks as quickly as he can, trying to match dream's confident strides even with the limp in his leg. he can barely feel the humid awfulness of logstedshire shift into the equally awful ice of the tundra, all caught up in his thoughts.

maybe there would be a grave. or maybe ranboo would open the door, or he'd be in the cabin, because surely techno would take him in. he'd be wearing a cleaner suit, and he'd have cut his hair back to shoulder length. they liked it long, actually, so maybe they’d keep it. they’d be smiling, like always, and they’d greet him with a hug. “tommy, it’s been so long!” they’d say. and, he hoped, they’d add “i realised dream was a fucking bitch” and tell techno to punch his lights out.

or maybe there would be no hints at what happened. but tommy can hope, even if he really shouldn’t.

when they get to the house, techno's already standing outside, waiting. “i dunno why you had'ta keep me waitin’ this-“ he says, cutting himself off once his eyes drift to- “tommy?”

“i told you it was important, right?” dream laughs.

“he's dead.”

“prime, no. he's… he wasn’t well, y’know. not in that place. so i found somewhere better for him, and started helping when i couldn’t before.” dream shrugs. “of course, that’d be illegal even though it was the right thing to do, so i kept it quiet. don’t go telling l’manberg, though, or they’ll have my head for not killing him myself or something.”

liar. liar liar liar. tommy wants to scream the truth to the world, but dream wraps his arm around his shoulders tight and squeezes his bruises, a reminder to stay quiet and be good. so he nods.

techno growls. “i knew they were bad, but…”

“it’s okay. i just thought maybe tommy needed a change of scenery, y’know? he's… he's fragile, after everything. he’s not well, y’know, physically or mentally. so he might say some weird stuff, but i knew you'd be able to handle that.”

techno snorted. “yeah, i got my hands full with ranboo-“

“ranboo? ranboo's here?”

he was alive. he is alive. tommy feels more sick than he ever has in his life and he’s not sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“oh yeah, you two were in exile together, weren’t you? c'mon, he's in the livin-“

tommy pushes himself free of dream's grasp, excited to finally see his friend, practically his brother, again for the first time in- months, maybe. he could never even be sure. time felt like it dragged too long to tell.

bursting through the door, tommy sees them. he won’t miss them for the world. their hair's different, in a ponytail, and they're dressed in much more casual clothes than they’d normally be caught dead in, but he could recognise that face anywhere.

“ranboo!” tommy scoops ranboo into a warm hug, barely noticing how they remain limp. “oh, prime, i missed you so much-“

“do i know you?” ranboo squeaks, and tommy's heart breaks.

“ranboo, it’s me! we were in exile together, remember-“

“i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. but i- i don’t remember a thing.”

oh. of fucking course. because he didn’t have the memory book, he must have forgotten everything by the time he’d healed enough to really be cognisant again. tommy scans his face for the slightest hint of recognition, but there’s none.

tommy must be a fucking bitch, because he bursts into tears then and there.

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry!” ranboo cries out, desperately trying to find a way to salvage the situation, and tommy keeps sobbing. and sobbing, and sobbing. the floor falls underneath him, and he curls up, shaking, like a fucking pussy.

he didn’t even cry this hard when dream was at his worst. but the idea of ranboo not knowing who he was, his only friend, the only person who ever cared for him no longer being able to… it was stupid, but that must be his breaking point, he guesses. like a fucking idiot, that makes him cry harder.

“i'm so so sorry about this,” tommy vaguely hears dream say, “he's not mentally well, is there a spare room i can help him calm down in?”

“yeah, there’s one upstairs.”

tommy barely registers as he's lifted up like a child, carried away from ranboo, but he does when he hears dream whisper harshly in his ear.

“tommy, if you fuck this up i'm never letting you out again. ever. smile and play nice and act like l'manberg ruined your life, or you'll wish i'd let you die.”

tommy nods, still sobbing.

“and dry your eyes. you’re making me look bad. stop acting like an abused puppy, i practically spoil you.”

tommy tries to stop, but the tears refuse to stop, even as he tries to dry them with his hands desperately. dream's voice softens as he ruffles tommy's hair affectionately. “look, i know it’s tough, but this is for you and ranboo, y’know? if i'm able to make things right, you can be friends again. i'll make sure he remembers you, tommy. i know how to fix it, just let me, okay?”

tommy nods, finally managing to go from hysterical tears to a more reasonable level of crying.

“that’s good enough. just smile and pretend everything’s fine, okay? i'll even let you listen to your discs for a while when we get home if you’re good. and remember it’s for ranboo too.”

it hurts tommy's face to force a grin, hurts his heart to try and think of how to pretend to play along with dream's story and throw his home under the bus. but tommy isn’t stupid. he doesn’t believe dream’s bullshit, but he knows what he’s implying. behave and ranboo won’t get hurt.

that, at least, is a comfortingly familiar game to play.

[autobotmedic]

👻🥣

hcs

👻 for a headcanon about supernatural occurrences

[ answered, and I haven't thought of anything else I could add :<

🥣 for a food-themed headcanon

[ regardless of which of the "movie did or did not happen" timelines I apply, it takes many years post series for ratch's fueling habits to improve (significantly longer if he lost optimus). he spent eons essentially borderline starving himself more often than not, operating at the bare minimum whenever he did not feel there was enough energon available, and that is not something that is fixed quickly, even after it is available, even after there is no reason to be doing that, it is a horrible ingrained habit and slow to be broken.

[alexlestar]

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

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Foolish Dreams

TW: Implied past torture & captivity (choking, bruises, scratching), touch-starvation, being guarded due to past trauma, kinda emotional???

Full credit to @shywhumpauthor for this prompt. I hope this is a good read!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤♤♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They thought they were over it. That it was just another fleeting emotion they could ignore. A frivolous want they could quite easily live without. After all, Whumpee had managed to function even with a scarce amount of their basic needs.

Sure, they'd already been with Caretaker for well over six months, but that didn't mean that all the scars from their past had been completely erased. Time isn't magical enough to make everything fade. This time; however, it wasn't thet they were in physical pain, aside from the usual come-and-go tension in their muscles, partially from apprehension and totally from their past torment.

It was a different kind of ache, something that plagued their soul, a monster lurking in the darkest corners of their mind. It made their chest tighten and their breathing go shallow just thanking about it. Like an itch they couldn't scratch.

They longed for a gentle touch. They didn't have anything specific they wished for, just whatever they could get to cater to their insatiable craving. It was something they could never do for themselves. It made them feel weak and desperate. Much like an animal trapped in a cage trying to claw its way out to no avail.

All they had to do was ask Caretaker. They'd gotten better at that. But they'd only ever asked for things they'd needed. Like help with stitches where they couldn't reach because the consequence of attempting that by themselves would be their death or severe blood loss if they were fortunate. Dire needs.

Caretaker had managed to slowly coax some of their wants out of them, but there was a major difference between what they liked on their pancakes and. . .this.

It wasn't just their pride that stood in their way, rather, it was a much deeper concern. The thought of someone else touching them for longer than was needed, for something unnecessary, made their skin crawl. It felt far too reminiscent of their time with Whumper, where they would have given anything to be free of that monster's touch, of the nails that dug into their fresh cuts, the fingers that wrapped around their neck, leaving deep purple bruises in their wake. They'd come to make synonyms of the words 'touch' and 'pain'.

But today, even the memories of their captivity couldn't torture them out of this.

"Whumpee? Is everything alright, love?"

Caretaker's gentle voice snapped them back to reality, and they turned their attention to them instead of the movie they'd pretty much drowned out anyway.

"Yeah. I'm fine," they replied evenly, their voice a million times calmer than the crashing waves of an overwhelming amount of emotions in their head.

Caretaker sighed deeply, the look in their eyes a clear indication of the number of times they'd had to deal with Whumpee's well-feigned stoicism. "Whumpee, you know you can talk to me about anything that troubles you, right?"

"Yes, I know," they snapped, and it came out much harsher than they'd intended. "This is just. . ." they faltered, and finally whatever resistance inside of them was obliterated.

"I-I know you'll probably think I'm just pathetic, but I don't care. I'd do anything for it, but please, please just hold me. Just a touch beyond necessity, anything, please. I'm not picky, jus-just PLEASE DO IT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE, CARETAKER, PLEASE!"

Their lip quivered violently, and it had taken them a moment to register that they were crying as fresh, hot tears rolled down their cheeks and wet their shirt.

It had been so long since Caretaker had seen Whumpee's gaze fall downcast or heard them beg for something. It broke their heart, but they couldn't just watch.

Slowly, with just a small amount of trepidation, they reached out for them, pulling them close into their arms, letting them rest their head into the crook of their neck. As expected, Whumpee flinched violently, but they actually made no effort to leave Caretaker's embrace.

After a few solid minutes of crying, Whumpee let go, pulling out some tissue paper from the box near them and wiping their face.

Once they'd calmed down, Caretaker put each of their hands down on their shoulders, exchanging glances with them to silently ask if it was okay.

Whumpee flinched again, though less intense as the first time, but they nodded their affirmative, and Caretaker gently began to knead the corded tension out of their shoulders.

Even Whumpee themselves was shocked at how fast they melted into the touch. They couldn't actually believe what they'd been depriving themselves of, for so long, when it had been at their fingertips this whole time, all they had to do was ask. Okay, to their credit, maybe it wasn't that simple. It had felt like having to move mountains of trauma. But the way the tightness blissfully dissipated from their muscles and how Caretaker was concerned enough to ask what felt too soft to be relieving and what felt rough enough to be slightly too painful, just the fact that they genuinely cared made it seem all the more worthwhile.

Whumpee had relaxed enough to close their eyes, to go completely boneless under their touch. . .the same Whumpee that still slept with one eye open and a penknife near them on their worst days. It sparked a few tears of joy to prick at Caretaker's eyes.

Whumpee turned to them, and a rare smile found its way onto their lips. "Thank you," they breathed out, and they meant it with every fibre of their being.

"Don't mention it, lovely. Anytime you need this, just ask me. I've been meaning to for a while actually, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You're never a burden, Whumpee, especially not when it comes to something like this," they replied, voicing out Whumpee's internal fears.

"Besides, you look adorable like this, so why wouldn't I want to?" they added, grinning.

Whumpee laughed softly as Caretaker continued rubbing their shoulders.

Sometimes, it was okay to let down your guard. To break down reinforced concrete walls of indifference built by years of pain. With the right person, you could learn to live freely again, without the shackles of constant anxiety and apprehension. It is true that a simple touch does not possess the power to erase all the scars of the past, but it could tremendously improve the present.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[fatexbound]

- Yukari's mom is named Kayo (formerly) Takeba and Yukari is the spitting image of her in terms of her looks, but she gets her kindness and love for flowers from her dad.

- After seeing her mother basically lose everything, including her dignity, Yukari thought about moving many times, but she had nowhere else to go since her relatives lived out of Kyoto, her hometown.

- Due to her mother's emotional and narcissistic abuse, and the fact that she was away from home, she was forced to learn how to cook, however, she rarely ate as punishment for herself, for being such a selfish daughter. She still hated her mother.

- She's grateful she started going to a dorm as soon as she started high school because that's way better than being at home and being ignored.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Eclipse repenting huh? tw for self punishment, idk if I'd call it self harm exactly, but just in case, and refusing to eat

How about snuggle drunk Eclipse, during a snuggle session, realizing he never actually apologized for the things he did, like threatening to take over Sun and Moon's bodies. He startled babbling out apologies, and saying he'll make it up to them. he stops trying to cuddle and refusing meals cuz he feels like he doesn't deserve it even though he really wants to, and focuses way more on trying to help Moon with whatever projects he's doing, or helping Sun in the daycare, and giving the Blood twins bloodbags and toys that emulate live prey. He even tries to apologize to Roxy since it's been a few months after the maternity chip was removed, though she doesn't realize who he is at first.

Sun, Moon, Lunar, and even the twins are upset by this cuz he hasn't let them touch him affectionately in weeks and has only been charging via a charger and hasn't been taking time for himself. It's not like he needs those things, he'll be fine. They eventually manage to confront him about it tho and assure him that they forgive him and he doesn't need to do this to himself anymore.

<3

My poor boy. Please, Eclipse, just accept the love!