#tw: implied/referenced abuse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aftgficrec · 7 days

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oh i caught you open! can we get some either andrew & kevin or neil & kevin being best friends and supporting each other? i feel like they're not explored enough and the potential is right there :)

Luckily, Kevin and Andrew’ friendship is a topic the fandom is pretty interested in. So much so that we’ve split this ask. In this post we’re concentrating entirely on Andrew and Kevin, Neil & Kevin’s friendship will be addressed in another ask. - S

Some previous recs:

Andrew & Kevin’s friendship here

Kevin & Andrew’s relationship here

Kevin as Andrew’s best friend here

Kevin’s friendship with Andreil here

‘Where The Wild Things Are’ here

‘I know that you'll come if you want’ here

‘N for nebulous’, ‘And Then There Was One’ and ‘Wear it to Eden's’ here

‘Reckless’ here

‘Trust Me’ here

‘Searchlights’ here

‘fugue in red’ here

splinters beneath our nails by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 3719 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew hasn’t decided what to do about Kevin Day. A few days ago, he’d have said that Kevin was dead to him. If things had gone differently, that might still be true. Today, he walks up to the car and throws open the door.

Not again by LetThemCuddle [Rated G, 698 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew circled the stony striker when silence answered him. “Hello? Anybody home? The answer is yes, a lot of nobodies, just one is missing. I’ll give you three guesses.” “Pass.” “Never took you for a quitter. This is quite refreshing.” The goalie quipped, lighting a smoke. “Come on, the cars’ still running.” “I’m going to stay here.” Kevin’s quiet voice echoed through the abandoned stadium. Somber, lacking the usual spiteful energy he towed.

right on time by dayurno [Not Rated, 10915 words, complete, Aftg Mixtape Exchange 2023]

"Has your Butcher called back yet?" Oh. “No,” Kevin replies, frowning slightly. “It’s understandable. He is a busy man.” “Kevin Day making excuses,” pulling away, Andrew puts down, “at this rate, you might just write his name on the margins of your books with hearts around it.” “What? No, why would I do that?” “Why wouldn’t you?” Kevin gives him a perplexed look. “Andrew, do you think I like the Butcher of Baltimore?” Alternatively, when the Butcher of Baltimore issues an order for his subordinates to bring him his childhood idol, he forgets what his choice of career entails. Kevin would hold it against him if he didn't find the man so fascinating.

tw: (accidental) kidnapping

Rescue Me by Demiwitchwoodwalker [Rated T, 4564 words, complete, 2022]

“I can protect you, from him and yourself,” Andrew said in a tone Kevin couldn’t quite place after a long moment filled with nothing but the muffled noise of the game playing on Kevin’s laptop. “I can help you stay instead of running further or back.” Kevin stared at him then, finally letting himself actually look at him, and the same feeling from before returned, feeling like a hand clenched itself around his lungs and heart. He pushed his laptop closed, the game’s audio abruptly cutting off, and turned slightly to face Andrew, whose expression had shifted back into the grin that seemed to constantly be present in the day and whose eyes looked almost dead. Kevin’s lips parted, words rising in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t get them past his tongue. How was he supposed to do this? The memory of Andrew the night before floated through his mind again, when he was as close to sober as he could get, more vulnerable than Kevin felt he’d ever seen a person despite the fact that Kevin was the one halfway through a breakdown. "Why?" --- Aka, how Kevin and Andrew make their deal. (Potential triggers are listed in the tags, please be careful!)

tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced suicidal thoughts

The Tide by zoeellendraws [Rated G, 20473 words, complete, 2022]

Kevin and Andrew participate in a showcase that could make or break their ballet careers and discover a promising new talent in the process. Or Mysterious Ballet AU

tw: implied/referenced violence

I came for the safety (stayed 'cause you made me feel) by Charcoalll [Rated M, 4621 words, complete, 2021]

“Day? We’re gonna get you out of here okay? Minyard’s gonna make sure you get out of here and down to the bus” Kevin looked over Wymack’s shoulder where he could see the figure of the small blonde man. Kevin nodded, how could he do anything but nod? These people were sticking out their neck for him in a way he couldn’t remember anyone doing before. No words could ever describe his thankfulness. Or: A little glimpse into Andrew and Kevin's relationship before, during and after AftG.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced alcohol abuse

biting down by vincevangothh [Rated T, 2257 words, complete, Aftg Exchange 2017]

kevin learns that in order to understand something, you have to allow yourself to learn, and talks to andrew about neil. '“Did I or did I not tell you that you have asked as many free questions as you are permitted to today?” This time, as Andrew snaps, Kevin hears it. “Free?” he asks around a mouthful of rice, swallowing hastily before he continues. “So if I give you something, I can ask more?” It's a rhetorical question, but Andrew grants him a small nod anyway. “Neil and I have - had - a thing.” Kevin agonisingly anticipates his next words as Andrew scoops up another mouthful of food. Static silence stretches out between them until he swallows again. “Truth for truth. For everything you ask me, I ask you something.” “Deal.”'

Reasons by orphan_account [Rated T, 1895 words, complete, 2016]

“You took me with you when you recruited him,” Andrew muttered, but he knew Kevin was listening. They both knew that it was the closest Andrew could get to a thank you, so they both kept quiet. A list of the times Andrew met Kevin, interwoven with the list of times Andrew met Neil.

Kevin, Andrew and their friendship by @andrews-jort-loving-pipe-dream [tumblr, 2023]

“Why are we here?” “I'm here because it's Josten's birthday next week. You're here because you can't be alone.”

Andrew and Kevin watching a movie together after one of them wakes up from a nightmare. by @foxesbettingpool [tumblr, 2018]

He’d been up the majority of the night, wasting away on a bean bag chair with textbooks, papers, and a mountain of notes surrounding him.

tw: nightmares

Future Andrew & Kevin hc by @thepalmtoptiger [tumblr, 2018]

Andrew and Kevin stay close friends after leaving the Foxes and going pro.

Kevin asks Andrew to be his best man hc by @palmettofoxden [tumblr, 2017]

Kevin asks Andrew to be his best man at his wedding and Andrew just stands up and walks out of the room without answering or even reacting.

Art

andrew & kevin brotp edit by @mint-and-memories

Andrew and Kevin meme art by @foxhole-doodles

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betweendisorders · 7 months

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(trigger warnings in tags)

Basil is folding origami.

The edge of the bathroom counter crests over Aubrey's hair.

It flows past her, like stagnant filth. Like her house was flooded in it, up to her eye level, and then past her hair. Gentle pressure on all her fragile bones.

A fluorescent bulb burns. Ugly, artificial yellow.

She reaches up. One hand fumbles over the cold linoleum. Slick, icy cold water. Small hairs. Shaved stubble. A prickle, a sticking. Venus fly trap.

Her other arm hangs limply by her side, all undone.

She pulls herself up. Clambers over the side, with pained little noises. Has to crumple her body, fold herself against knives' edges. Turn herself inside out. Make herself unnatural.

There's a clatter against the floor, as a razor falls off. She ignores it.

It's a fortune teller. It's made of notebook paper, torn to be square. A little uneven, so some of the teller's teeth are larger and more jagged than others.

He has a quiet sort of expression. Focused. He makes art from notebook paper, and glances across at her.

They're in his driveway.

Nobody's home. Not anymore.

She sits down. The counter is as cold as it is filthy. She's careful not to knock their toothbrushes off. There are two. Aubrey isn't completely sure which one is hers.

She opens the cabinet, with her good hand. The mirror cabinet. Like a magic door, all secret and tucked away. Right where she never would've guessed, last birthday, when she cut herself slicing a cupcake in half. Sliced her skin open on Mom's broken promises last year, about next year, which became this year too quickly for her to keep up with.

Last birthday, when there was nobody to tell her where the med kit was.

But that was last birthday. Next year is here, and all the secrets of the world reveal themselves, when Aubrey's arm comes undone.

He looks embarrassed, when he notices she's watching him. "It's, um. It's a fortune teller." He laughs, a little, to himself. At himself. "It's silly, I know."

"Yeah," Aubrey says, shortly.

He smiles, briefly, across at her. A little pained. Looked back down, and stopped smiling. "Yeah," he agrees, playing with the fortune teller. Putting his fingers through the gaps. Shaping it properly.

And then, he started unfolding it. Ruffling through his pockets, to fetch a scratched, rattling, cheap plastic mechanical pencil.

He glanced at her. Anxious in the eyes. Unable to ignore her. "What, um... what fortunes do you think I should put?" he asked.

The mirror is stained.

Old spittle. Flecks of toothpaste. Smears of something grey and thick, semi-solid. Indistinct streaks. Smudges. Scratches. All those things that marked it as uncared.

Aubrey looks through the mirror.

On the other side, there's a her that isn't her. Her tearstains are permanent. Snot dribbles down from a quivering lip. Blood covers her shirt, dries against her chin.

The bathroom beyond is indistinct. The foggy, dirty glass that covered the shower - no bathtub beneath - glittered faintly. Horoscopic. The linoleum lapped against the smudges on its surface.

Aubrey looks to the other side, and sees a beach. Wishes she could be there, because her reflection isn't her.

"Don't ask me," Aubrey says, shortly. "I don't have a clue."

Basil looked down again. "Okay," he said, quietly. Willingly.

He's stark pale. As pale as he was drowning.

Fuck. "Fuck," she says as much. "Something good, I guess." She sneered, at the horizon beyond him. Glanced away. "God knows we've earned it."

Basil hesitated, for just a beat. Looked like he wasn't so sure.

His pencil scrawled against the paper.

I love you, Mom lies. The stench of blood thick in Aubrey's nose. Warmth, sickly, cradled carefully against her chest. Bundled and fumblingly uncaring. A dying sun, never to collapse into something bigger, or brighter, or supermassive. Just... going away.

I love you, Mom promises, and breaks it next year, when it comes too quickly.

(Anger needed an outlet. Mom wasn't here.)

Aubrey's arm was undone, and her reflection looked scared. Empty in the eyes, quivering lip.

Happy birthday, Mom didn't bother to lie.

"Happiness is just around the corner," Aubrey read aloud.

She looked across at him. Glared flatly. "Did you put this on all the flaps," she asked, though her tone was more like a statement of fact.

"Um... No?" He looked uncomfortable. Vaguely pained. She couldn't tell if it was confusion, or nerves. At being caught.

If he'd done it, at least.

She was sure he had.

She dropped the fortune teller onto the concrete. Let it splay out of her hand, and slip down. Tumble onward, and onward, and onward. Land hard. Bite off its own tongue, so the bark of the future wouldn't warn her.

"Life's bullshit," she said.

Basil hummed, vaguely. Looked away.

"...And then it ends," he said, quietly. Made a feeble attempt at a shaky, pained smile. "Might as well make the most of it?" he offered, like a consolation prize.

And Aubrey, for just a moment, thought of the beach. Where the ocean met the land. Where the unknown met home. Where she could wade into the water and still be safe, and the sun shone so brightly.

The fortune teller crinkled.

The sound made Aubrey's arm ache, dully.

(cross-posted to ao3)

#tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied death #omori spoilers #omori basil #omori aubrey #omori fanfiction #tumblr fic #tw: injury #my writing

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riality-check · 1 year

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how max becomes part of the gang in my little bootlegging universe. parts 1, 2, and 3, if you'd like to read those as well.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, descriptions of minor injuries, and a brief reference to hypothetical animal death

Dustin has a knack for finding things. If asked, he says it’s because his mother is forgetful and he always has to remind her where she put her glasses or her checkbook or her purse. If asked by people he actually likes, he says he got it from Eddie, since Eddie is the one who found him.

But in reality?

Dustin’s brain is constantly bored. It’s restless and fast-moving, on to point D when everyone else is still sorting through A. So, while Dustin waits, he searches. He counts the windows of buildings and strains his ears to hear chatter from a street over. He busies himself with combing through the unobtrusive to help quell the feeling of restless pressure that constantly fills his skull.

It’s this need to do that has him spot the flash of lilac that turns the street corner.

People here don’t wear those kinds of clothes. People here wear dark coats and deep colored dresses. People here keep to themselves and do anything to not stand out. And a girl in a lilac dress just turned the corner at breakneck speed amidst all the slow-moving onlookers in drab shades of brown and green.

Here, Dustin thinks, is a pretty crappy place to be.

It’s outside of their usual territory, which is ill-advised at best and dangerous at worst. It’s not controlled by a rival, thank god, but it’s not under Upside Down control, either. It’s a part of town where the buildings look like they’re leaning on each other for support, where kids play barefoot on cobblestone streets, where beggars grace the stoop of every building until they’re chased off by gnarled, formidable old ladies with brooms.

Truthfully, it doesn’t really matter what it is. What matters is the fact that Mike said he was going out, and Dustin wasn’t going to let him go alone, not when he knew there was no chance in hell he’d be able to stop him.

Will has been missing for one day. If Dustin were to ask Mike, he’s sure the answer would be a hell of a lot more specific, but that’s all semantics he doesn’t really care for.

What he does care about is the lilac dress. It’s not like Will was wearing one, but, well Mom always did say Dustin’s curiosity would kill him one day.

“Hang on,” he says to Mike, who’s currently looking down an alleyway as if it’s not a surefire place to go in and not come out. He yanks him by the collar to a building ahead and puts his hands on Mike’s shoulders.

“What?” Mike grouches, and Dustin prays for a little bit of patience.

“I’m going a little bit ahead.”

“Why? Did you see him?”

“No, but I saw something out of the ordinary.”

“Not Will?”

Dustin resists the urge to sigh and shake Mike by the shoulders. “No, not Will. Just something curious.”

“Of course you did,” Mike mumbles without any of the usual humor in that comment.

Dustin wants to sock him in the face, but he says instead, “If I’m not back in five, come after me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike says, but even that’s more acknowledgement than Dustin was expecting. He’ll take it.

Dustin lets go of Mike’s shoulders and starts heading in the direction of the girl, bypassing couples on the sidewalk and throwing a group of kids their baseball when it rolls toward him. They ask if he wants to play with them, and while that honestly sounds fun, he’s got other things to worry about.

She can’t have gone far. She was moving fast, sure, but Dustin is pretty sure she was moving unsteadily, too. That fast with a limp? She’s running, and she’s hurt.

Dustin isn’t exactly sure why he cares. Well, that’s objectively a lie. Dustin knows he has a habit of finding strays and making sure they’re alright on their own. He doesn’t bother with trying to keep them; he can’t afford to, and a lot of the time, they’re too flea-ridden for his mother to let in the house. So, he feeds them and cares for them as best as he can until they move on to bigger and better things.

(Steve suggested once that maybe they died instead. When he said that, Dustin smacked him so hard he spat out his drink and dropped the glass he was holding. The amount Hopper made him shell out for the glass was worth taking Steve down a peg.

He might be their only consistent and best paying customer, but he can be such a prick sometimes, even if he is trying to get better.)

Dustin rounds the corner easy enough and looks for anything unusual in the alleyways. He makes his way through one block, then another, when finally he spots her.

She’s huddled, knees to her chest on top of a crate in an alley next to a grocer’s. She’s pale, real pale, with bright red hair that clashes with the lilac of her dress, which is stained black and slightly torn at the hem. Her limbs are small and skinny, and she’s not wearing shoes.

Her ankle is busted up pretty bad, and there’s bruises on her arms. When she straightens out her legs, Dustin sees blood crusted on her forehead and at the corner of her mouth.

Shit, he thinks to himself. This is the tuxedo cat on Maple all over again.

He takes his hat off and keeps his hands up, away from his body, as he enters the alley.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You alright?”

She flinches so subtly he would have missed it if it weren’t for his ever-cataloging brain. Her eyes, brilliant blue, flick toward him, and he isn’t sure if she relaxes or further tenses up, but the set of her shoulders changes.

“I don’t have time for this,” she says flatly, and she points a .22 straight at his chest.

“Woah, okay,” Dustin says, backing up a few steps. “I don’t think we need to do that.”

“I think we do.”

“Agree to disagree?” Dustin asks, trying for a smile.

He sees it, the moment she covers up her snort with a frown.

“Now, usually when someone asks if you’re alright, you answer with yes or no,” Dustin says.

“I’m fine,” the girl says.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your ankle is probably sprained.”

“Agree to disagree?” she says to him. Same words, but significantly nastier.

Dustin sighs. “Okay, let’s try again. I’m Dustin. What’s your name?”

She frowns, and her eyes dart all over the alleyway. Dustin wants to follow her gaze, wants to see what she’s looking at, but she still has that .22 trained at his chest, and even he knows that curiosity is absolutely not worth it in this case.

“Max,” she says finally.

“Max?” Dustin says. “That’s a man’s name.”

“Well, I’m a woman, and it’s my name, so I think that makes it a woman’s name,” she snaps.

Dustin shrugs. “I won’t argue with you on that.”

At that, she definitely relaxes. Strange.

“Who sent you?” she asks, changing the subject.

“No one,” Dustin says.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not polite to swear.”

“It’s not right to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Dustin says. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Max shrugs and leans back against the gray brick of the wall behind her, still keeping the gun trained on Dustin’s chest. “Can’t be me, then. I don’t even know your last name, Dustin.”

“It’s Henderson,” he says, even though that was probably a very stupid move, telling a girl he doesn’t know his full name when all his family and friends work for a speakeasy.

He’s starting to wish he nicked a pistol from behind the bar before they left, like Mike did.

Max, to her credit, seems just as stunned that Dustin said that as he is.

“Mayfield,” she says, lowering the gun an inch.

“Max Mayfield?” Dustin asks.

She nods and keeps lowering the gun. Dustin tries not to let the relief show on his face.

“It suits you,” he says, and he means it.

And there it is, ladies and gentlemen, the first smile he’s gotten out of her this entire time. It’s tiny, and it’s tense, but it’s there, and Dustin finds himself smiling because of it. The gun is almost down when-

“Dustin!” Mike calls and oh, shit.

“Mike, you son of a bitch,” Dustin swears because he looks over, and Mike has his pistol trained on Max.

“I knew you were pulling my leg,” Max says, bringing her gun back up to point at the center of Dustin’s chest.

“Curiosity? Really?” Mike says, annoyed. “Do I need to keep you on a leash?”

“No, but you need to learn how to time your entrances better,” Dustin mumbles, and Max snorts.

Good. Good. If she finds him funny, she’s less likely to pump him full of lead.

“Where’s Will?” Mike asks, keeping his pistol trained on Max.

Dustin fights the urge to roll his eyes. Mike doesn’t even have the hammer cocked.

“Who’s Will?” Max asks, swinging her gun over to Mike.

“Okay!” Dustin says, hopping between them. It does no good, not when Max is up on the crate and Mike is on the street and they both can just aim around him. He does, however, comfort himself with the fact that this will make Mike a lot less likely to shoot.

He’s hoping it’ll do the same for Max.

“Will’s our friend,” Mike says. “He’s missing, and we’re looking for him.”

“I don’t know a Will,” Max says moving her arms up to point the gun at the center of Mike’s forehead. “And I don’t care to. I’m gonna ask again: Who sent you?”

“No one sent us,” Dustin says again. “Why do you keep thinking that?”

“Because one of them always sends someone,” Max says. “They always do. But they can’t make me go back now. I’m eighteen, I’m an adult, and they can’t make me go back.”

Dustin gets the feeling that Max isn’t really talking about Mike and him anymore.

“So if you’re trying to bring me back, you’re gonna be shit out of luck and pumped full of lead.”

“I don’t care where you came from, I just want you to put your gun down and let us go back to finding our friend!” Mike says.

“And I want you to leave me the hell alone!” Max snaps.

“No,” Dustin says, and both of their heads whip toward him.

“What do you mean no?” they say in unison before they glare at each other again.

“Mike,” Dustin says slowly. “She’s hurt.”

“I have eyes.”

“So, let’s take her back to Joyce.”

“Who’s Joyce?” Max asks. Her voice is laced with suspicion, but she’s starting to lower the gun again.

“Our aunt,” Dustin says because it’s easier to say that than to explain everything to a random stranger.

Easier, and also a lot smarter, since he already gave her his last name. Then again, she gave him hers.

“And,” Dustin continues, “she can help us look for Will. If she wants.”

“She is right here,” Max says.

“Then what does she think?” Dustin asks.

Max shuts her mouth so fast her teeth click. She lowers her gun completely, and Mike, a full thirty seconds after he should have gotten the goddamn hint, does, too.

“I think,” Max says slowly, “that they don’t know a Joyce.”

Dustin nods and turns to Mike. “Well?”

Mike sighs and pockets his pistol. “It’s getting late, we should go back.”

It’s the answer Dustin expected, though not in the way he expected it. As good as he is at finding strays, Mike is a hell of a lot better at keeping them.

But before he can say anything, Mike walks away, leaving Dustin and Max alone in the alley.

He holds out a hand for her to take, but she pockets her handgun and jumps down off the crate, straight on to her sprained ankle.

“Don’t touch me,” she grits out, leaning on to the crate and breathing deeply.

“Do you want any help?” Dustin offers, holding out an arm to her.

“I’m fine.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree.”

She snorts and slowly stands up straight. Before Dustin can blink, she slings her arm around her shoulders.

“I can just carry you,” Dustin says, letting her start them off at a slow walk.

“You couldn’t carry a sack of potatoes half a block,” Max says. “And keep your hand above my waist and below my shoulder blades. If it moves, I’m using the handgun. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the street.”

“First, rude. Second, we’re technically on the sidewalk. And third, I’m not gonna move my hand.”

“You better not,” Max mumbles, but she doesn’t reach for her gun.

Dustin leads her back to Joyce’s and lets her set the pace. It’s slow going, and by the time they get there, the stars have been out for half an hour.

Mike waits for them outside, smoking a cigarette.

“You good?” he asks, pointedly looking at Dustin.

“We’re fine,” Dustin says, ignoring the fact that as they walked, Max slowly slumped into him. She’s basically sideways now and hasn’t said anything for the past five minutes.

“Sorry,” Mike says, and Dustin appreciates that he actually means it. “I just wanted to check out a few more places before we had to be back.”

Dustin sighs. “Any luck?”

Mike shakes his head.

Dustin rests his free hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll go out in the morning.”

Mike nods, and they both ignore the tears in his eyes, the way his shoulders scrunch all the way to his ears.

“Come on,” Dustin says to Max as he opens the door. “We’re gonna get you to Joyce and get you cleaned up.”

“I’m clean enough,” Max mumbles.

“I mean the blood,” Dustin says, leading them through the diner and to the back wall. He feels around for the switch and a little snick lets him know that he found it. He pushes the wall aside and lets it swing shut behind them once they’re in the back.

“I think it matches my hair,” Max says, eyes slipping shut.

“I think it clashes,” Dustin says, moving her to the stage. It’s Sunday, and while they’re never closed, they’re significantly less busy the one day of the week where most of the city likes to pretend they’re moral people.

It’s dead empty, save for Hopper at the bar.

“What-”

“Get Joyce,” Dustin tells him, and as much as he’ll grumble about it, he goes.

“I think it clashes just like that dress,” Dustin says, getting Max seated on the edge of the stage before hopping up after her. Where the band is, he doesn’t know.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Max jokes.

“The dress? Kinda.”

“Dresses,” she says, picking at the hem of her skirt, “in general.”

Dustin looks at her, assessing. They’d need some alterations, but-

“What,” Max snaps, and that’s when he realizes he’s been staring at her waist.

“I just went through a growth spurt,” he says.

“Congratulations?”

“I’ve got some pants that don’t fit anymore. If you want them.”

Max drops her skirt where she was fiddling with it. Dustin smiles in answer to her piercing stare, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re strange, Dustin Henderson.”

“I think you’re even stranger, Max Mayfield,” Dustin says, and the smile they share?

That’s the beginning of history.

#ria writes #bootleggers baby #dustin henderson #max mayfield #mike wheeler #stranger things #st #stranger things ficlet #st ficlet #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: referenced animal death

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cyberneticfandoms · 1 year

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"...My father never was the forgiving type."

#meta knight #kirby meta knight #kirby art #my art #nightmare #implied at least #young meta knight #kirby #kirby fanart #click for better quality #tw: abuse #tw abuse #tw: implied/referenced abuse #minor blood #tw blood #tw: blood #kinda sketchy but whatever #kirby nightmare #this is the demonbeast meta knight hc

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cavinginhisfvce · 1 year

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just a lil snippet of a one-shot im working on. :D it'll be harringrove, obviously. it's gonna be angst, since that's my brand, but it'll have a good ending for billy and steve <3

(might try to throw in some implied future harringroveson)

#billy antis dni #billy hargrove #billy hargrove deserved better #billy hargrove protection squad #harringrove #eventually #harringroveson in the future #snippet #billy hargrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfiction #fic snippet #tw: implied drugging #tw: implied/referenced abuse

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dr-george-ordell · 8 months

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Shame, Shame, Shame, The Scourge of a Perfect Nation. (To Rid of It With Poison.) TW IN TAGS.

The new democracy of Okos II saw Marlin as more of a nuisance. An annoyance and remnant of the old era of Partition. Marlin was regarded as no longer useful to their cause, a former relic of the past representing violence.

His angelic face, was now a deep mar upon the nation's pride. He was once referred to as the most "beautiful man" in the world, a mastermind of propaganda and media image. Presently, the man was only a shell reduced to a precautionary tale, a warning of what the Okosian rulers were willing to do to its people in order to survive. Saint Marlin had been an offering on a silver platter, to the avaricious, lecherous pig-men of the Chiendra bourgeoisie. His personhood, identity, and self, all stripped away and violated for a decade's worth of faux peace.

He represented rebellion to the new era, the question of who, and what, and why, questions that were destabilising and unpatriotic. His original use was to uplift the nation, to keep it together by moralising and rallying for The Cause but now? He only became the face of the question "What is a nation?" and "What is the purpose of a distrustful government?". And for that unintentional consequence, the nation punished Marlin by deeming the him a lusting whore who sold out his country, an ultimate traitor whom is to be blamed for all the faults of the nation. Yet again, the Saint's final use was a smeared smokescreen to cowardly appease, this time to allies instead of enemies, carried out by a guilty government, who's finger's always pointed at all but themselves.

But shame, shame, shame, it rings out like a deafening church bell through the nation haunting it, lingering like the miasmic radiation of Yavrillia. It remains in the forsaken places in the South where fear and hunger mutates, blooming into a horrific amalgamation of human suffering. The legacy of humiliation lives on in the existence of Saint Marlin, a tortured martyr who's eternal damnation came down to the fact that his body was simply one that used to be a woman.

(And so Abraham handed his son to a merciless God with little hesitance to obey, to worship a thing, an entity who sought out more destruction and devastation than any human, than any nation alive. -Tzipora Hórvath, on the Diary and Life of My Brother, Marlin Hórvath.)

#marlin hórvath #tzipora hórvath #original story #writing #original writing #original character #my ocs #ocs #original country #fictional country #okos ii #chiendra #Goodnight Evelyn #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied noncon #politics

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feralreason · 10 months

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(cont. @salvenged )

BUNNY RABBIT that they are, he dashes with a scream. A cry, a whimper, instinct protecting him. He never liked sudden movements, none ! Not since he failed a lesson. The lack of BLUNT FORCE brings him back down to earth, a tremble coursing through nerves at the realisation that he is here and is okay. It helps to remind himself that Henry is counting on him.

That voice is so strange too - Oh man, oh jeeze ! No time to really think about it when they're asking him a question.❝ Wh-What ?! ❞ A sniffle as William wipes their eyes. He straightens his posture just a bit, remembering the entertainer he was meant to be. ❝ Oh ! Yeah, that's my job ! Hehe . . . m-make kids smile. Make this place feel like a home for 'em. ❞

#tw: implied/referenced abuse #𝐈𝐂. — interactions : ❝ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴜɴ . ❞#𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. — diner era : ❝ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ˎ ᴏᴜʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ˎ ʜɪꜱ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ . ❞

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incredibleedibleoverthink · 2 years

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#supernatural #spn tiktok #dean winchester #kid!Dean #overlooked character details #character insights #john winchester’s a+ parenting #tw: implied/referenced abuse

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hawksheadcanonblog · 1 year

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Headcanon - Thomas Chestershire knows a lot of instruments from joining band in middle/high school and took ballroom dancing lessons on weekends at around the same time, anything to avoid having to go home at the end of the day.

#he just wasn't in a caring home growing up so he didn't want to be there #Thomas Chestershire #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied child abuse #headcanon #henry stickmin #henry stickmin collection #hsc #hsc headcanon

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paperbackpieces-makemewhole · 6 months

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Enzo feels like shit.

His throat burns from the heaving, everything is fuzzy, his ears are ringing, he can hardly see, he can hardly breathe—

He hates that this is happening again, hates that he can't fix it, hates this, hates it hates it hates it–

"Oh dear, Mr Pantazis..."

Shit.

"You really can't do anything right, can you? Tsk. Poor thing... Poor, useless little thing."

It's not real, he knows it's not real. He just has to wait for it to stop. Just don't acknowledge it.

"Maybe he should've killed you, hm? You wouldn't be such a burden then."

Each word cuts and burns like a hot sword through his chest. He almost feels a hand resting on his shoulder, but he knows that nothing, that no one is there.

"Think of how upset your mother would be if she saw you like this. Why, I'm sure she'd cry almost as much as you are right now."

He wants it to stop, wants all of it to be over, wants to be better, wants–

"You want to be loved, don't you? Then learn to do better. It's really quite easy, even for someone like you."

The voice is starting to sound like his mother. It hurts, tears a sob from his throat that stings and tastes of vomit and blood and the pills he'd really been trying to take, he promises he was trying to.

"Oh... Oh, that hurt, didn't it? Oh, I'm sorry... I'm only telling the truth: you have to earn love, because it's so hard to love you. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

He nods, slowly, meekly, as if there was an axe over his neck.

"See? I'm only here to help you. Who would you be without me?"

And the fact of the matter is: he doesn't know.

He hardly knows who he is now.

#typing files #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: emotional manipulation #ask to tag

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zonkedz · 1 year

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He’s the best the girls on Jig-Jig street ’ve got. He’s all we’ve got.

Just a day in the life of a joy toy getting by.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk photomode #cp2077 #The Joy Toy #fr though i always go out of my way to kill him #fingers can rot in piss :)#tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: coercion

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aftgficrec · 8 months

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just finished trouble’s always gonna find you baby (and so will i) by moonsock on ao3 & i’m obsesseddddd! space western + outlaw neil + bounty hunter andrew + pining

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49436659#main

Thank you so much for this fic rec, I really enjoyed reading it! It certainly captured that andreil dynamic (and Andrew’s pining). - S

trouble’s always gonna find you, baby (but so will i) by moonsock [Rated M, 4009 words, complete, 2023]

Neil’s been on the run for years. Minyard’s the only one who ever catches up to him. (or; Area Man Can’t Outrun His Feelings; Love Wins!)

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: body horror, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

#rec #reader submission #neil josten/andrew minyard #au: science fiction #au: androids & robots #au: western #theme: fluff & angst #theme: fluff & humour #theme: hopeful ending #theme: pining #theme: flirting #theme: enemies to lovers #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: body horror #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied/referenced torture

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captain-astors · 9 months

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#Someone made a new mutsuki playlist and they get it like no one has before. Whoever you are thank you.#Anyways #I referenced myself for the pose but I refuse to ask anyone to photograph me #so I ended up stacking like six copies of Dracula on top of eachother #I think that influenced the fangs #mutsuki tooru #my art #tokyo ghoul #implied abuse cw #implied abuse tw #ommetaphobia

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tildeathiwillwrite · 4 months

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Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas.

Part 1 | Part 2

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.”

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand.

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise.

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

#merry whumpmas #my writing #whump #whump scenario #hero #villain #hero x villain #surgery #painkillers #tw painkillers #stitches #staple gun #medical staple gun #implied abuse #old wounds #referenced torture

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