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English
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Published:
2024-11-30
Completed:
2024-12-01
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1,948
Chapters:
3/3
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39
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Sautéed Shrimp

Summary:

Shrimpo has an addiction to self harm, so dangerous to the point he passes out due to severe bloodloss.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Shrimpo sat in his room.

 

Since he’d lost his closed door privileges, he’d had to wait until midnight. Of course, Astro and his insomniac self was still awake. Shrimpo scoffed and rolled over, his body facing the wall as his body ached with each moment for some kind of attention that wasn't people yelling at him—but he wasn't a loser, or anything. Hell, he wasn't even sad. Sure, maybe some … kind of emotion, but now he was happy. Happy he was feeling something other than anger.

 

He looked at the posters in his room, all reflections of himself, and he knew the descriptions were just forcing him into a mold he was never made to fit into. 

 

He wasn't a bully.

 

He was just someone tough. They had no clue what he’d been through, so it was natural for him to act this way! Forget whatever Dandy told him, whatever the directors said; He was just tough. But no, they made everyone hate him for their entertainment. So, why couldn't he hate back? He hated every utter second on that show and no one noticed.

 

Every reaction he had was normal! But no, no—No one could realize that maybe, just maybe he was upset because of them? It was all their fault and he had the right to hate them! He was allowed to hate them!! Every emotion he had was valid and–goddamnit, he was crying.

 

He wasn't meant to cry. Tough boys don't cry, tough boys don't—  

 

He sniffed, curling his legs in as his tail flopped over them. His feet kicked the blanket off, as the hot tears falling down his cheeks angrily left wet trails in their wake. 

Almost as if every part of him was destined to be angry. 

His rage was making him uncomfortable. Everything was bothering him– From his shirt to his socks to his pillow; He hated it all.

 

Especially that man Dandy said was Shrimpo’s handler.

 

Whatever that man had control over, he didn't have control over this–

 

Shrimpo opened his nightside drawer and opened the box to the right with a key around his neck. He pulled his earbuds out with his IPod and the blade.

 

He doesn't have control over this, Shrimpo’s least rebellious thought of the whole day.

 

Less rebellious than to ruin his body with stupid scars he knew would only remind him of his rage. His stupid unbridled rage which would never leave him.

 

The only fucking friends he had.

 

A blade and rage.

 

Pure

 

Unbridled

 

Rage.

 

But the pain felt so relieving in the moment, and that was what made him go back.

 

Each swipe unlocked a new layer of him other than anger. 

 

But those losers had to realize he was cutting when his scars weren't even scabbing. Just one random dinner, Teagan noticed and it all went to hell– 

"Shrimpo? What’s on your arm—” 

 

She dropped her plate in tears and started to try and get close to him, but he already hated every molecule of her being.

 

He was entirely numb. All of his emotions had then bled out and no one cared to notice just until now. 

 

He’d seen the glare Rodger gave him, the disappointment. The disgust from Glisten as he commented about a bear or some shit Shrimpo didn’t care about. 

 

“What did you do to yourself?”

 

“OH, because I was already so perfect!” He had yelled, the tears dripping down his cheeks shameful in nature.

 

In reality, he hated them. The twisted forms were more empathetic. At least the twisted forms had something to go through. He’d said that and Dandy said something about respect– 

 

It was all a blur.

 

But what he remembered is no one cared enough to bandage him up or take away the blade.

 

So they did hate him, he realized after too long. This was just concrete.

 

Shrimpo looked at his bedsheets, hoping for proof of his illness and to see black on red. The orangey-part of his arm gradient now purely black, red, and yellow from the wounds across his weak and skinny arms.

 

He raised the steel, now partially covered with ichor. He looked at his forearm and his hand and his underarm and all of his left arm.

 

He could always be worse.

 

So, he made himself look worse.

 

Every inch of his arm had ichor dripping down from one part or the other, and he felt lightheaded with how much he was losing. He’d missed an artery by a large point, so it wasn't like he was gonna die.

 

If he was he would've had two minutes.

 

He kicked the sheets off entirely and his socks met the generic floor as he ran to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with ichor falling behind like a black trail of breadcrumbs. God, he hated Hansel and Gretel.

 

He hated everything; and that was why he did it.

 

His arm dripped into the sink, staining the nice porcelain. He opened the cabinet with hurry and opened the box of bandages.

 

40 seconds.

 

He breathed heavily, trying to get his body to produce more blood as his chest rose and fell under his red tanktop for sleeping. 

 

He slapped on those bright blue bandaids with so much pressure and force he’d just about woken up the entire house.

 

He heard their footsteps.

 

10 seconds.

 

He was so much more woozy.

 

9 seconds. 

 

He gripped onto the sink for support.

 

7 seconds.

 

His tears fell and mixed with the black.

 

5 seconds.

 

His hand finally locked the door.

 

2 seconds.

 

And he had the revelation; he never wanted to die.

 

Save me--

 

His head hit the sink first.

 

If he was conscious enough to make a remark, he would’ve said something about how his head and arm were now ruined.

 

But it was all a blur.

 

Because it was nothing scripted. 

Chapter 2

Notes:

the song shrimpos listening to is 64 Little White Things by Cake Bake Betty btw !!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Come and get me out of this town, oh now–Shrimpo had music softly playing in his ear–come and save me.

 

He woke up a few minutes after he fell, but he instead stared at the ceiling with dread as they–whoever was outside— screamed for him to open the door. Their voice peaked on every vowel and it seemed to be breaking them.

 

Shrimpo made his way upwards, now sitting on the bathroom floor. His earbud had traveled to the outer wall of the bathtub, and he slowly stretched his back to reach it. He turned his volume up and they were finally muted.

 

He’d left a trail of ichor from the sink edge and it dripped down to his foot. A small puddle had collected, staining his light red socks. As if the scars weren't enough reminder… He thought, rolling his eyes.

 

He slowly blinked, looking down at his arm. Where was he? He knew he was in a house, but where and what—

 

“Shrimpo– Shrimpo open the damn door!” 

 

Jesus, their screech managed to reach over how many decibels his music was at. Considering  it wasn't full volume, shit–he had no clue how to do estimates. Dandy’s fault. 

 

“Rodger, Rodger get the door down!” A separate voice called out. Brightney or Poppy or Teagan or someone–

 

“I believe Goob is more fit for that than I am.”

 

“He’s not here!” The original voice replied. “You're good at lockpicking. Just do it!”

 

A mumbled complaint muffled through the door was heard as Shrimpo looked at it with worry. He didn't want them to see him so..vulnerable. Whoever it was, they didn't deserve to pity him–

 

The lock fidgeted with the tool Rodger had, but eventually, Shrimpo’s worst fear came true.

 

Sprout, Teagan, Rodger, and Cosmo were all staring at him. Worry, fear– hell, even disgust, but it was hard to tell if it was from the mess or from the wounds on his arm.

 

Teagan was the only one to step up. She shoved Rodger and immediately went to Shrimpo’s side. She rested on one knee and just looked at him. 

 

“You too worried about getting your boa dirty?” He whispered, looking at the ichor spread all over the floor. The once baby blue was now dotted with black and the two puddles– one from his head and the other from what was dripping from the edge of the sink. 

 

Teagan shook her head, quickly lowering said boa out of her range of sight to examine him. She looked at the bandages again and exhaled. She took a few seconds to regain her breath from the tears shed and nodded at Sprout.

 

He quickly sprinted over, tagging along with Cosmo.

 

“Get away from me–” He flinched away, now cornered as the three toons looked down on him like he was some loser who didn't have self control. In defense of himself, particularly to nothing spoken, “I can stop when I want to!”

 

“When will that be?” Cosmo asked, hand wrapped around his elbow as he pulled his arm closer to his core.

 

“I…m–” Shrimpo noticed his fidgeting. “Whenever you admit baking is what you do to replace the effects of SSRI’s.”

 

Cosmo looked away.

 

“Oh my gosh,” Sprout murmured, mainly a prayer as opposed to a sigh of annoyance. “Why can't we just help you without you lashing out at us?” The question peaked curiosity instead of criticism.

 

“I don't need your help. You want me to, though. Want and need are two different things!”

 

“Shrimpo, we’ll get into that later. Just let me patch you up.”

 

“What’re you, a medical professional?”

 

“...Yes.Yes,  I am.”

 

Well shit.

 

“Whatever,” Shrimpo rolled his eyes, raising slowly and maintaining eye contact with Sprout. “If you all listened to me, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation.”

 

Whatever, His words echoed in his head as he walked past them all, head low to the ground, and he walked across the stupid rainbow carpet as he slammed his door shut. Who cares if he wasn't allowed to, he’d been through enough in the past hour alone.

 

And he locked his door, ready to rinse and repeat the whole situation he’d just been through.

 

- - - 

 

“Shrimpo?” Someone knocked on the door.

 

Ugh, it was him. “What, Cosmo?”

 

“I wanna come in.” The door knob shook. “Uh…can I?”

 

“No.”

 

“Shrimpo, Sprout said you need medical attention. At the bare minimum, please just let me give you some cookies.”

 

…Maybe. He thought.

 

His footsteps gave Cosmo some kind of hope, only for it to be taken away with the plate of cookies. “I prefer brownies,” Shrimpo replied aggressively, then shut his door. 

 

- - -

 

Shrimpo woke up that morning with a little less rage than usual. Even if he wanted to label it as their kindness, that made his anger flare up. 

 

He knew it was from his relapse. 

 

He looked back at the box in his nightstand, the drawer never closed. The mahogany gaped at him, the drawer an invitation to cut again and make everyone give him pity.

 

Stupid pity he didn't deserve.

 

He slammed his drawer shut and walked up, opening his door. He stepped outside, ichor-stained socks grazing over the crossing line between wood and carpet. Looking over, he saw Cosmo in the kitchen with Sprout and Boxten, all of them helping each other cook. Shrimpo flexed his arms, clenching and unclenching his palms to wake his body up.

 

Before he ate, maybe he should go and ask for some help with bandages.

Notes:

thinking of making one more chapter about the bandaging up and the breakfast dinner after lmk

Chapter 3

Notes:

hey

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hello everyone!

I’d just like to announce that my Fiverr account, L3V11ATHANAX, is up and official, meaning you can now commission me for fanfics or short stories!

I will do any fandom, any characters, anything besides smut or anything illegal.

Thank you!

- L3V11ATHANAX

Notes:

sorry