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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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fairydares · 13 days

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WIP Wednesday

This is from a oneshot I'm working on when I can about Acnologia, just some fanon history/background i came up with. [Please check the tags before reading.]

He tread the cracked and searing earth, and became agitated whenever the scent of blood dissipated. He swelled through dark skies and light ones, and seethed when they were not red.

He inhaled hatred, exhaled boredom, and pursued chances to quench the parched thirst he had become like iron pursues north. Dimly, like a person might recall their first memory, he could remember when the thirst came on. He could remember hating it—fearing it, really, as all weak things fear power. It had been when he soaked in the blood of that she-dragon who tried to heal her disgusting spawn with the last of her strength, inciting a wrath that ripped a hole in his memory (there were fewer holes back then, when ages were still ages).

It was one of the few baths that didn’t haze together with the rest. She’d been weak, especially for a dragon, but her final conviction had caused far more magic than usual to pulse and flood into his body. He’d opened his eyes to find a girl’s broken, dying body at his feet, one of the ghosts he trailed constantly, and realized, in all his unshed weakness, that he could not remember her.

Was she a stranger? His daughter? Had she known the name he went by once—a name he also couldn’t remember, or remember forgetting?

He’d roared, destroying everything that was left of the she-dragon and her spawn before storming away from the site.

#posts i actually wrote #my writing #acnologia #fairy tail #horror elements #dark elements #implied/referenced child harm/death #implied/referenced animal harm/death #cw blood #tw horror #fairy tail fanfiction #that's all i have now...much more of the next chasing tails chap

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sometimesrufus · 10 months

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youtube

AMVs are the reason I'm so slow to respond these days. If you're interested in what I've been up to, check out my channel!

#ooc #verrrrry ooc #Youtube #given anime #mafuyama #mafuyu sato #uenoyama ritsuka #mafuyu given #uenoyama given #uenoyama x mafuyu #amv #anime amv #my edit #resyamv #this amv isn't dark but there is an implied suicide in the show that is referenced #tw: implied death

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supernovaa-remnant · 14 days

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a small drabble for @sixteenth-day-event with the prompt "a silent grave"

tw for implied/referenced torture because, well, torture box, y'know? also potential slight suicide ideation

Sleep in Pandora’s Vault is fleeting, coming in flashes, quick increments that leave Dream more dazed and restless than before. It’s never an escape—even in his bursts of sleep, the incessant dripping of the crying obsidian plays the role of a backing symphony, and the ache of his body never leaves him for a moment. He’s never sure how long the sleep lasts—the last clock he burnt still hasn’t been replaced—but with how tired he feels, he can’t imagine it’s that long.

Before, he used to shift around between his moments of slumber. He’d walk up and wander around the cell, settling down in a different corner as if searching for a more comfortable spot. Now, though, his vision swims as rushes of vertigo overcome him whenever he tries to sit up, let alone walk around. He definitely got a head injury of some sorts a few visits ago, and not even healing potions provide an instant fix to those. But, even before he became afflicted with light-headedness, the prospect of moving lost all appeal, considering how his entire body flares with pain at any sort of motion. So, he stays still, even as the jagged obsidian digs into his back, aggravating the wounds there.

Sometimes, rarely, he’s granted true sleep, and he dreams. The dreams are never pleasant—it’s as though his mind only wishes to cycle through a few dreams, including recounts of sir’s visits, that day in the attachment vault, George and Sapnap, and more. Most of the time, he’s unaware that he’s dreaming, but this time he finds himself in the one dream he’s always lucid for.

He’s sitting beside a small, unremarkable grave, unable to move, as though he were tethered to it. It’s always silent. Not even the creatures of the world venture close, and it makes something perhaps akin to bitterness coil in his heart, that even the animals of his world that had been his steady companions don’t bother to visit him in death.

But, all things considered, it’s not the worst dream. Sure, the laughter of his friends the server members that echo from outside his vision grate on him, and their obvious joy in the world post-his demise is unsurprising but stings nonetheless, but it’s not painful. It’s not limbo nor Pandora, and sure he can’t feel the sun, and he’s not entirely sure his mind is conjuring the apparitions of the sky and trees correctly, but it’s still peaceful, in a way. He thinks if death were like this, maybe solving its mysteries wouldn’t be such a necessity.

And when he awakes to the sound of pistons, he thinks that maybe spending eternity in a silent grave wouldn’t be so bad.

#sixteenthdayevent #dreblr #I would've written more but I got distracted lol so just a short drabble this time #writing from the void

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ofallthingsnasty · 5 months

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Please indulge me with what the life of being arlong’s human pet entails

Gladly 😏 Sorry this took so long, I just couldn't write this without re-reading the Arlong Park arc and Jinbei's flashback. (But I have to say it gave me so, so much inspo for more stuff with him hehe - he just ticks off every violence and degradation box there is, what a character 🤭) anon is referencing this post tw. gn reader, violence, noncon, torture, free use mention, dead dove: do not eat, dehumanization, (inevitable) death, minors dni, read the tags and read them twice

Nothing good, I can tell you that.

I know I talked about being his pet - but really, the term 'pet' is already way too generous. It implies that you’re in some favored position, maybe even loved - and really, you aren’t. You see, Nami is of use to him, is a valuable member of the Arlong Pirates due to her skills - and you? What exactly do you have that could gain you any favors with him?

Nothing. You’ve got nothing but a too-soft body and a broken down spirit. Entirely useless for his endeavors as a pirate - but perfect for kicking, abusing, tormenting and blowing off steam. (And, he finds, you’re actually a nice example - much better than expected, especially when he parades you around in his towns, beaten and eyes utterly empty. When he’s feeling particularly foul, he makes you crawl in front of the villagers just like the World Nobles do. Just to show those little humans what he’s capable of. Nothing better to make them see how weak they are when he can just make you wipe your feet with your own dignity.) What he likes best about you is your fear, your terror - it’s probably what made him take you in the first place, because you becoming his little pet was more of a spontaneous thing, not planned. (He should have made an example out of you but your eyes... The way you cowered in front of him in nothing but raw, visceral fear was delicious back then and still is.) His personal little punching bag and stress relief rolled into one measly fucking human who does as he says because they’ve been scared into submission by his rampages and abuse. Still, I think he didn’t start out as severe as he treats you now - at first, you were shoved into some corner and unsure what to actually do with you, he just made you clean and serve his crew. To wring some measly fucking use out of you. To have some sort of justification for housing you at Arlong Park - because keeping you like this is just a waste of money. But there is a big difference between scrubbing the floor until your knees are raw to ‘earn’ a living and being forced to lick it sparkly clean with a foot on the back of your head - somehow, you end up down there all the same, each day you spent with him and his crew melting away their (already incredibly small) inhibitions as soon they realized no one is going to stop them from doing… just about anything to you. (And that’s one of the worst parts about this, really. That you’re free to anyone, with just a couple of privileges reserved for Arlong. Half of them spit in your face in disgust, the rest are more physical, for better or for worse.) I think he is a big fan of all things utterly degrading, just to put you in your place for the fun of it: addressing you like you’re an animal and not a person, having you crawl around Arlong Park (naked or not - really, that’s up to him), using you as furniture, strangling or pushing your head into his little pool long enough for your legs to give out - you’re so easily overpowered and always surprised when he catches you, it’s such a sight. And of course, you have other uses as well - and he doesn’t give a shit when he makes you vomit by forcing himself down your throat or you tearing when he’s too rough. You’re there for his entertainment only. It’s like someone giving a kid an inflated sword toy to hit their friends with: once he sees how far he can take it, there is no stopping him. His hatred for humans has few exceptions and you don’t fill any of them, not even when you try your best to be well-behaved.

And one day, he’s going to kill you, intentionally or not. Like some threadbare teddy bear, your head is simply going to pop off, played with a little too hard, for too long. Be it some nasty infection you caught from a cut too deep or him holding your head underwater for too long or him simply kicking you too hard in the face - whatever it is, you’ll be wishing it had been the barrel of a gun instead.

#arlong x reader #/arlong #/one piece #tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.violence #one piece x reader

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yes-i-have-thoughts · 9 months

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Despairduo

I watched one scene of 'Presto' and decided to make an entire poem about it. TW: source events referenced, implied attempted suicide

He's wheezing.

Small wonder as to why, with what he put himself through.

It's amazing I got him into the car.

i've forgotten what cars feel like

riding in the back was nice

He was screaming until I got him out the door,

Clinging to the doorframe like it was a lifeline,

begging me to just end him then and there.

like a wounded animal, we prayed for death

but nobody ever gave us that mercy, huh?

Now in the car, he hasn't said a word.

I wonder if he's still alive

Or if the breathing is just the alternate trying to fool me into thinking he's still here.

I think I should have killed him

But I haven't got the heart

And it wouldn't work anyway.

He's already tried that himself.

i know you're afraid of me

no matter what you may say

you look back at me in the rear-view mirror

every time you stop

like a concerned dad looking at his sick kid.

stop that.

He's not a human being.

i'm not a little child

But I can't bring myself to see him as one of those creatures.

you shot my kind on sight before

I drove past my house.

where are you taking me?

Where am I taking him?

The police station.

of course.

Nobody else is here.

i'm wanted, after all

Maybe I can talk to him.

We'll be alone.

Will he talk to me?

The breathing has stopped.

He's looking at me.

Or at least I think he is. His eyes are pitch black.

It's like being watched by a child

I've just removed from a bad household.

He's watching every move I make. Curious. Distrusting.

I don't want to move too quickly.

you take me out of the car

with care i don't deserve

you lead me inside

like i'm a frightened child

in a way i am

but i hate being treated like this

it hurts something i can't reach

something akin to the bleach and the cinder block

you want something from me

why are you being so nice?

#TMC #the mandela catalogue #Adam Murray #Thatcher Davis #El Writes #tw sui attempt #poem #poetry

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 6 months

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You can't Follow Your Heart if there's a Stake Through It part seven

TW: minor character death, decapitation, blood, murder in self defense, panic attack, claustrophobia, misgendering, emotional manipulation, referenced necrophilia, referenced child death, referenced taxidermy of a sentient species, implied domestic violence, human whumper, vampire whumpee

Jacob took Sydney's words to heart, and decided to get Rurik a pet that wasn't some creepy crawly thing. He wasn't huge on animals, but cats were more tolerable than dogs, so he made up his mind to adopt one from the local shelter.

One caught his attention, running up to him as soon as he walked into the cat room. It rubbed its forehead against his leg, purring loudly enough to be heard over the meows permeating the room. It looked so much like when Rurik took on the form of a cat, only smaller, with bright orange eyes and a fluffy black tail.

Jacob scooped up the little black fur-ball in one hand. It meowed at him, and settled down immediately, still purring much louder than seemed possible from a cat so tiny. He carried it ever so carefully as he found a shelter volunteer.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said politely. "I'd like to adopt this kitten."

"Of course." She gently took the kitten from him. "This is Roselita. But she doesn't answer to her name, so you can change it if you like."

"Mhm."

Jacob followed her from the room and watched her get the kitten situated in the carrier. He didn't particularly like the name Roselita, but was glad to know the kitten was a girl. He didn't know what Rurik would name her. Maybe something fancy, like he had named Victoria.

There were papers to sign, of course. Not to mention the need to buy food, a litter box, and a few toys for her to play with. But Jacob didn't mind the hassle. This was the perfect gift for his beloved, and nothing could discourage him at this juncture.

He set the carrier on the floor in front of his passenger seat, where its occupant hopefully wouldn't get jostled too much. His driving was much more cautious than usual, and he winced every time he heard a disgruntled meow during sharp turns.

When he returned to his quarters, he found a sight that should have been appalling. But he was far too desensitized to violence to feel anything but mild surprise. After taking in the full scene, he locked the door behind him and gently laid the cat carrier down on his bed.

A dead body laid on the ground in a suspiciously small pool of blood. The head had been cleanly severed off, and laid two feet away from the body itself. Shards of broken spine laid on the ground around a coiled esophagus. But otherwise, it was in pretty good condition for a murder victim.

Jacob was far more concerned with how terrified Rurik looked, rocking back and forth with his head buried in his knees. He sat down beside him, listening to his pathetic sobbing. It hurt to know he was this distressed, but it was hard for Jacob to pay heed to the danger of the situation when he was so turned on by the dead body.

"What happened?" Jacob asked gently. "Did they hurt you?"

"I am sorry. I didn't- He- I am sorry." He looked up at Jacob, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes. "Please- Please don't kill me, Jacob Amity."

Jacob pulled Rurik into a hug. "It's okay. I'm not gonna tell anyone what happened. I'll just leave the body in a field and, if anyone finds it, they'll assume somebody else attacked him. No big deal. I do taxidermy of vampires, so I'm always dragging body-bags in and out of here. It isn't suspicious."

Rurik got ahold of himself while Jacob was speaking, taking deep breaths with his face buried in Jacob's shirt. His voice was still shaky, but he didn't seem on the verge of panic anymore.

"You are not angry?" he asked, a brass colored hint of hope in his voice. "He- he hurt me. I woke when he-" Rurik broke off, and pointed at the stake on the ground next to the hunter's body. "He kill me."

"I don't know why he couldn't mind his own business," Jacob growled. "I'm angry with him, not you. I know you were just defending yourself. Now let me take care of the body, and we can have a nice afternoon. Unless you want to get back to bed."

"I will not sleep."

Jacob stood up, and left Rurik curled up in his little corner. Cleaning up the dead body was just as easy as he had assumed. And while the blood took awhile to mop up, getting the body itself into a trash bag and hauling it out the door wasn't a problem in the slightest.

One person stopped to snicker at him, jumping to conclusions for why Jacob was lugging around a dead body, but he ignored her. He was too worried about Rurik to start any fights. Perhaps he should talk to Angelique about keeping random hunters out of his private quarters.

Half an hour later, he found Rurik in much the same position he had left him. This man apparently didn't move as much indoors as he did outdoors. Maybe he was exhausted from interrupted sleep, or maybe the lack of room to pace made him feel all the more claustrophobic.

"I've got something for you," Jacob said. "A pet. Would you like to meet her?"

Rurik sat up, looking far less distressed than when Jacob had left him. His tears had dried along with the blood on his mouth.

Jacob retrieved the kitten from her carrier, hoping she wasn't too upset by being left in it for an hour. Judging by her purring, she was not.

Rurik's eyes widened at the sight of his newest pet, and a small smile bloomed on his face. He reached out to take her from Jacob, and scratched behind her tiny triangular ears.

"I got her for you," Jacob said with a smile. "I hope you like her. She seemed like a good cat."

"Murzik," Rurik said happily, watching the kitten on his lap with rapt attention. "Yes. She good cat."

"Is that what you want to name her?" Jacob asked. "Murzik?"

Rurik looked at Jacob as though he had said something funny, but Jacob didn't get the joke. Murzik was clearly a Russian name, so this had to be some weird pun he wasn't privy to.

"Yes," Rurik decided. "My kitten Murzik. Pretty cat. Good cat. Murzik cat."

Jacob was very happy that his thinking about the box really did help win Rurik over. The love of his life may not respond to pretty words, but he did appreciate having his murders covered up and being given kittens. Truly the perfect man.

Jacob set up the litter box and left out bowls of food and water for Murzik. Hopefully she wouldn't be overly fond of leaving Jacob mice heads, like the cat he had owned as a child. But even if she was, it couldn't be any worse than Rurik leaving dead human bodies lying around.

"Rurik?" Jacob asked.

"Jacob?" Rurik asked in return.

"Do you love me?" Jacob blurted out, before he could lose his nerve. "I- I want you to love me. Like you love animals." He licked his lips nervously. "I'll do anything to make you love me. You know that."

"I never loved husband-men," Rurik admitted, avoiding Jacob's eye. "I loved my children… They died. Long time before. I did not love husband."

"I didn't know you had children."

Rurik held up four fingers. "Daughters." He closed his fist, then held up five fingers. "Sons." He held up a single finger. "Husband."

Jacob's snap assumptions on Rurik's life based on this information explained a lot. Rurik had been a father. Or, at that point in his life, a mother. With no less than nine children, all from a loveless marriage. And he had outlived all of them as a vampire. His cautiousness around men was clearly for good reason, even if he was wrong to apply it to Jacob.

"I'm sorry," Jacob said. "It must be hard to lose your own children. My only family was my parents, and they're dead now. That was hard too, since I was just a kid."

Rurik nodded, watching Murzik run across the floor in pursuit of her food bowl. "I am sorry, Jacob Amity. But I do not love husband-men. You are not kind."

"I promise to be different." Jacob held Rurik's hand. "Your husband died a long time before I could have met him. But I know I'm nothing like him."

"You want children and garden and- and house." Silent tears rolled down Rurik's cheeks. "You want wife. I am not good wife."

There it was. At long last. The root cause of Rurik's discontent. It hadn't really been how Jacob treated him, other than a few mistakes here and there, but how Rurik perceived his advances. Sure, there was something alluring about how Rurik used to be a woman, but that allure was heavily dependent on Jacob's desire to make him feel loved and respected.

"I don't want you to be my wife," Jacob said firmly. "I want you to be my husband. And I don't think it's possible for us to have children, because most vampires either can't have children at all or can't have children with humans. So you don't need to worry about that."

"But- but you are husband. I can not be."q

"Why can't we both be husbands? I know that didn't exist when you were alive, but now two men can marry each other. Or two women. It isn't weird at all. We're both men, so we're both husbands, right?"

"I not know new man take me after husband died," Rurik said, struggling to string together the English sentence. "I thought I was alone."

"And you were alone. But now you aren't." Jacob kissed Rurik's cheek. "Because being alone is a horrible thing. And I want us to be together. Forever."

"I wish we were together in forest. I wish I made you crown of flowers and you saw my animals." Murzik crawled back onto Rurik's lap, and he smiled sadly at her. "I wish to return home. I wish always be home."

"You would have run away. You always ran away from people, or killed them on sight. I couldn't risk that. But I'll take you back, when I can trust you. I would like all that stuff too. Sounds nice."

"Will your friends kill me again?"

This was a rather sudden question, and Jacob wasn't quite sure how to respond. Clearly Rurik meant to ask if they would try to kill him again. And how could Jacob account for other people's actions?

As always, he chose a comforting lie over the harsh truth.

"I won't let them. No chance in hell. But if they do, I'll kill them so you don't have to."

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @heavenlyeden @whumpsday @whumpshaped @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whumpytine

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #You can't Follow Your Heart if there's a Stake Through It #minor character death #decapitation #blood #murder in self defense #panic attack #claustrophobia #emotional manipulation #human whumper #vampire whumpee #Whump writing #Vampire whump #Whump series

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macabre-macaroni · 1 year

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I’ve got gore on the mind. Specifically Eyeless Jack! Tws before I get into anything, cults, gore, referenced/implied human death, explicit animal death in the context of hunting for food, I’m going to get pretty descriptive of viscera (because I’m autistic and if I don’t verbalize my brain soup in excruciating detail I will burst into flames) Go ahead and scroll if none of that’s your thing, and have a cookie on your way out! 🍪

So this sign came across my Pinterest recently, and my immediate thought was Eyeless Jack. He is occupying 102% of my brain space and the other .3% is the 1994 Frankenstein movie.

Anyway. Medical murder man. Imagine if you will, recently a med student, freshly traumatized, your friend’s blood on your hands and it just smells so good. The story I read had the cult sacrifice in a forest clearing; rather than try to stumble back to a college campus where there will be…consequences of some kind, why not just stay in the forest. At least until your stomach stops growling.

Blood on your hands, your cheeks, sticky on your lips and teeth, and something moves. It doesn’t take long to actually catch up to the deer and the bite out of its neck stops it thrashing pretty soon.

Okay hard stop narrative flow, an average deer weighs between 120 and 160 pounds (abt 54-72 kg), in “edible meat” alone an Ohio whitetail averages 55 lbs per deer (25kg). I’ve picked up roadkill before and I will confidently say, intestines are one of the heaviest organs, partly because they’re so long and part because of what they are and what they hold. I can imagine a starving freshly undead something finding deer, stopping it, tearing through the flesh (taking good bites out of it at the same time), and recognizing the slimy things in his hands and which ones will hold the most blood.

Kidneys filter out the blood, taking excess water and waste and running it to the bladder. There are plenty of organs that hold plenty of blood; the heart obviously, the spleen acts as a reserve for blood and discards old blood cells, or just based on surface area and the amount of blood it would need to run. But, when you gut a deer, the intestines practically fall out and the kidneys take significantly less digging and bone breaking than the spleen or the heart.

I also just have a mental image of Jack dragging a gutted deer carcass up a tree with him and pulling off a whole leg to eat like a drumstick. Kicking his feet and everything , blood up to his elbows and no longer starving.

Thanks for reading this whole thing! Have a cupcake!🧁

#eyeless jack #creepypasta #eyeless jack headcanon #creepypasta headcanon

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tbb-appreciation-week · 1 year

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TAGS ARE YOUR BEST FRIENDS

Hello there!

In the pursuit of giving the participants tools for tagging their works correctly, thus allowing everyone else to curate their experience, I’ve put a non-comprehensive list of tags together that should be used if they apply to your work, during the event (and afterward, if you want).

There are gazillion other things that could be tagged too, but let’s be honest, it’s impossible to tag warnings for every single squick or trigger of every person in the world. So, I collected a list of the most common ones below. Like I said, this barely scratches the surface. It’s just a small guide for themes and things that you should warn about. If there’s anything else you think it needs tagging in your work, do it, please!

As the title says, tags are the best friends of both writers and readers. Use them to warn and/or block the content you write/read. Not only that! They also serve to finding the content you want to consume! You got the power. Use it!

I classify the tags into broad themes or issues, and then give some examples of specific tags within each theme. Those are just a few examples, not a complete list. Use your judgment to add others if your work requires them.

#️⃣ Explicit Language - For stories with excessive use of curse words

Curse words, foul language, profanity, etc.

#️⃣ Sexual Content - For fics where sexual content is explored and described in detail.

NSFW, Smut, kinks (specify which ones), mild/explicit depiction of sex, etc.

#️⃣ Underage: This is NOT for hand holding and sweet pecks on the cheek. It's for detailed depictions of sexual activity by characters under the age of eighteen.

#️⃣ Mental Health Issues: If your work depicts or implies/mentions the characters' mental/emotional struggles.

Paranoia-Inducing, Intrusive Thoughts, Medication, PTSD, Eating Disorder, suicide ideation, self harm, trauma, etc.

#️⃣ Violence: For stories that contain all kinds of violence.

Graphic Depiction of Violence, (implied/referenced, psychological) torture, gore, (mention of) weapons, (gun, domestic, canon-typical) violence, murder, etc.

#️⃣ Whump: For works that rely heavily on the hurt, and might or might not have comfort, especially when it's physical. Almost always, it goes hand in hand with violence and/or abuse.

Whump, injuries, blood, CPR, darkfic, sick fic, brainwashing, kidnapping, broken bones, etc.

#️⃣ Abuse: For works that mention, imply, and/or depict acts of abuse.

Domestic, physical, psychological, gaslighting, emotional, verbal.

#️⃣ Substances use: For when there's use or abuse of legal or illegal substances.

Mention of drugs/alcohol, recreational drug use, drug/alcohol addition, overdose, etc.

#️⃣ Death: For when the dead of a character is part of your work.

Mention of death, Main character death, side/background character death, Child Death, (implied, notes of) Suicide, Graphic Death, Animal Death, etc.

#️⃣ Type of relationship: Let your readers know what kind of relationship is explored in your work.

Platonic, romantic, x reader, clone shipping, father-daughter relationship, sibling rivalry, friendship, etc.

And the list goes on and on and on…

Now that you have some idea of what to warn about, let me remind you how you should tag your work. Be sure to @ this blog and add the following hashtags:

#tbbaw2023

#the character of the day (hunter, tbb crosshair, oc, etc.)

#day 1, #day 2, #day 3, etc… (the corresponding day)

#medium (gifset, fic, podcast, fanart, etc.)

#trigger warnings, if applies. (see list above)

#prompt(s) used

#nsfw (only for NSFW content)

#any other relevant tags go here

More recommendations:

Please, don’t, I repeat, DO NOT put “tw” if front or at the end of your warning tag. Why, you ask? Because using just the word or phrase is much simpler for readers to block the thing. It’s because of the way the blocking feature works on Tumblr that blocks only the exact wording and not all the tags containing X or Y or Z word (it sucks, I know. I agree!). Let’s use PTSD as an example. I’ve seen #ptsd, #tw ptsd, #ptsd tw, #tw; ptsd, #tw:ptsd and more. So, you see the problem, right? Instead of just PTSD as a tag, people need to block every iteration of the tag that other people come up with, and that happens with every other single tag. Let keep it simple. That will be easier for everyone.

Tumblr veterans know this, but you should neither censor your tags, replacing letters with numbers or symbols. That takes out the very function of the tag, which is mainly to allow people to avoid topics they don’t like for whatever reason. Nothing of su¡cid3 or unalive, please! This is not TikTok or Insta; here on Tumblr, we tag using the actual words like human beings that we are.

Use Keep Reading break and/or Community labels to hide NSFW, violence, substance use and/or dark themes, and tag it properly.

For any piece where the creator pairs the reader with a canon character, please use the tag #x reader alone, without canon characters or modifier for the reader. If you want to include also the specific tag of the character x reader, you can add it. That’s fine. An alternative is specifying what kind of reader is in the post text. Because since the combinations of canon characters and several types of reader is virtually endless, it’s easier for anyone who don’t enjoy reading fics in second-person POV to filter out these fics if writers use a wide-spectrum, nonspecific tag for it. It’s the same problem as with the warning tags.

Likewise, writers who do a piece pairing clones romantically, please tag your work as #clone shipping, so people can block the tag if those works aren't their cup of tea for whatever reason.

Gifmakers, if applies, please tag your gifsets #flashing gif to warn photosensitive folks about it.

Use #dead dove do not eat for when you go hardcore, very dark, and/or graphic in the themes of your work and also have tagged everything you're presenting in it, to indicate simply that this fic is clearly labelled and fully warned for, so if you open it, you know what you are getting. If you heed the tags, then there will be no surprises.

I understand why some writers are wary of tagging some things, fearing spoiling the story among other reasons, but it's better sinning of over tagging than missing a delicate issue that could disturb a large portion of your audience.

But if you're still insisting of not tagging some things, please use Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings if you add your work to the collection on Ao3. As it says on the site's warning help (x): "Use this if you don't want to warn for anything. You may also choose this option if you don't know what you should warn for; if you don't like warning for certain topics or warnings in general; if you want to avoid some spoilers, but not others; etc.". It's a wordy way to say to your readers: "Read at your own risk because there could be unpleasant surprises".

Also, you can add the tag TBBAW2023 while posting on the Ao3 Collection, if you want. This is optional, not mandatory.

And last, but not least, readers, please curate your own experience. Be sure to block the tags AND post content for the things you find disturbing or could trigger you. Take control of what you interact with.

Two more suggestions, even if they're not exactly tagging related: The first one, let’s make art more accessible to disabled folks, so it’d be nice that fan artists (including artists, gifmakers and graphic manipulators) included image descriptions to their works. You can add those both on the web and the app. Just click on the 3 dots that appear in the bottom right corner once you have uploaded your image/gif, then click on Update image description (on the web) or Add Alt text (on the app), and write your description. Also, there's the option to put it directly in the body of your post.

The second one is also using Keep Reading break to shorten the length of your post if it's too long. It's annoying having to scroll down what feels like forever when you're not interested in said post. Also, you can add the tag #long post, if you want.

This turned out to be longer than I expected, so I'll leave it here. If you got suggestions or questions, please contact me through the ask box or chat, either in this blog or on @nimata-beroya.

And remember: tags, tags, TAGS!!!

#tbbaw2023 #tbb appreciation week 2023 #warning tags list #tags post #tbb #the bad batch

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aftgficrec · 3 months

Note

hi besties! can i be a bit weird and ask for sick fics here? old/new/favorites, any will do! just some big ol’ hurt/ comfort, especially if combined with some emotional hurt/comfort 🥰

There’s nothing weird about this at all! Apart from the fics below, there’s also our sickfic tag as well as our hurt/comfort tag for more (see our tag page under the heading ‘themes - injuries/illnesses/conditions’). - S

Previous recs:

cool andreil sick fics here

sick fics here

foxes with headaches/sick fics here

10k+ sick fics here

Andreil in hospital here

Neil with major injury here

Neil gets injured (post canon) here

Neil & car accidents here

accident-prone Neil here

Andreil with amnesia here

medical Andreil/Aaron & Neil here

Neil getting roofied here

Also see…

‘we're one (there's nothing to be done)’ here

‘Just like that day’ here

‘head case (what to do with you)’ here

‘Such Stuff as Dreams are Made’ here

‘Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man’ here

‘Broken’ here

‘If Only I Were Enough’ (completed) here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

‘glass in the trees (objects in the rearview)’ here

‘Running Ragged’ here

‘To Love and Be Loved’ here

‘all that looking down’ here

‘next best thing’, keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ and ‘no matter when and where, we’ll be alright’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’, ‘I remeber tears streaming down your face (for me to wipe them away)’, ‘you crawled inside my head’, ‘living leaves so many holes in us’, ‘Ciggarette Smoke Cure’, ‘Breathless’, ‘i've done my time’ and ‘cats and close calls’ here

‘The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors' here (Aaron)

‘Hold My Hand?’ here

‘Echo’ here

I’m More Than This Body of Mine by yall_send_help [Rated M, 88811 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?” The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?” Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.” Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found. “The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.” or - the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

tw: torture, tw: amputation, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: blood, tw: animal cruelty, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose

fireproof by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 2097 words, complete, 2024]

Andrew gets his flu shot.

Things Always Gets Worse Before They Gets Better series by Renee_Walker_09 [Rated G, 40141 words, incomplete, 3 complete works, 2024]

Part 1: Beginnings & Endings (G, 1083 words)

It's 1:30 in the morning. The Foxes are celebrating their championship win against the Ravens the only way they know how to: booze, partying, and a little bit more booze. Nothing could possibly ruin this?

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury

Part 2: You Mean Everything To Me (G, 12767 words)

There are two crashed cars. There’s blood on the floor. Lights are flashing all around. Andrew is standing in the middle of the crash site with a blanket draped across his shoulders as he stares straight at Neil, lying on the floor.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: suicide attempt, tw: drug overdose, tw: blood, tw: self harm

Part 3: Hours, Days, Weeks (G, 26299 words)

Andrew is lying in a coma following the accident. His condition is critical. And Neil and Aaron have to find a way to cope. Neil and Aaron’s POVs of the crash and the past 6 weeks

tw: car accident, tw: blood, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: seizures

NB: find art for the fics by the author here as well as embedded in the fics

Even goalkeepers can’t block sickness by BlowingYourMind [Rated G, 12768 words, complete, 2024]

“Rabbit,” Andrew peered up at him with half lidded eyes, “Yes or no?” “Yes ‘Drew,” Neil clasped his hands at Andrew’s elbows, “it’s always a yes, you know that.” “No ‘s not,” Andrew weakly argued as he took hold of Neil’s chest pad, using it to leverage himself upwards. It was awkward work of walking half-delirious Andrew back to the locker room, shielding him from the crowd while keeping him on his feet, but they managed. Or Andrew becomes very sick at an away game, and Neil and the foxes take care of him.

tw: vomit

the upswing by missgivings [Not Rated, 45569 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The next universe over, life has gone a bit easier on Andrew. He’s gainfully employed as a nurse of all things, working beside his best friend Renee, and living in relative harmony with his brother, the recently graduated Dr. Aaron Minyard. Everything’s fine. It’s fine that he hasn’t spoken to Kevin in person for three years. It’s fine if Aaron’s leaving him to marry his stupid doctor girlfriend. It’s fine until the boy with the box-dyed hair stumbles into the ER and passes out at his feet, bringing a world of secrets and trouble with him. And Neil? Neil’s looking for any port in a storm.

tw: major character injury, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm

please (don't bite) by Major_816 [Rated M, 5478 words, complete, 2024]

Genioglossus. It’s a fan-shaped muscle and forms the bulk of the inferior part of the tongue. It stretches to the hyoid bone too. ~ Neil wakes up to a bad day and it just gets worse.

tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: flashbacks, tw: vomit

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring [Rated T, 1580 words, complete, 2024]

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Your Needs, My Needs by TogeMythia [Rated T, 1073 words, complete, 2023]

‘Neil.’ He whined, his face still buried under the blankets. ‘Hrmph?’ Neil responded with a confused noise from somewhere across the bed. ‘Do you feel as shit as you sound?’ - Or Neil and Andrew wake up sick on Christmas day.

tw: vomit

To be safe by HushedStars [Rated G, 2116 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is feeling unwell. He seeks comfort from Matt. It was late at night. Neil stood in the kitchen, deep in thought but still with one ear alert for any movement of his roommates. He shifted from foot to foot, hands digging into his sore neck

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Safe with him by 1mNot4Hum4n [Not Rated, 2434 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick but doesn't want to admit it. He can't be sick. He can't be weak. Luckily Andrew is there to make sure his junkie is okay, and remind him that he has people around him who are willing to do anything to protect him.

'tis the season by moonix [Rated T, 5579 words, complete, 2023]

Five holidays Andrew had to let Kevin take care of him and one time he got to return the favour.

i called your name ‘til the fever broke by cyanica [Rated T, 5632 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2023]

Neil’s breath is hot and awful against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t be sick on your birthday,” he says, like it’s that simple. “I can’t be sick on you on your birthday.” “How considerate,” Andrew’s voice is a bland murmur, and he is left watching Neil’s bloodless, wet lips, as he curls into Andrew’s lap. Neil gently pulls away after a moment, leaning back into Andrew’s hand on his neck. “Is me being sick still making you anxious?” he asks. Fever-stricken with dizzied-eyes and delirious thoughts, he knows Andrew without more than a moment beside him, a look into his eyes that makes Andrew feel undone, found. Or Neil is sick and Andrew isn’t coping well.

tw: vomit, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: anxiety

You Know I'm Good On My Own by sambutwithbooks [Rated G, 4568 words, complete, Aftg Then And Now 2023]

Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.)

tw: major character injury

that's my line by sillyunicorn6154 [Rated G, 1291 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew is definitely not sick. But he is a little stubborn.

You're not fine, but you will be by karmenvi [Not Rated, 616 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick, so Andrew takes care of him. So it was supposed to be a sickfic, but it turned into 'Andrew stares at Neil and thinks his boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the world.' Anyway, enjoy some fluff.

I'll be okay if he's here by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1673 words, complete, 2023]

“Thank you, Drew,” Neil says for the twentieth time, feeling so lucky to have someone take care of him. “Say it again and I will kill you.” “You’re just so nice to me,” Neil says a bit deliriously, “I’ve never had someone take care of me when I’m sick.”

If it means losing you, then no by LostMess_24 [Rated T, 6712 words, complete, 2023]

There was something against his hand, a pressure he knew too well, a hand that fit so perfectly against his, making Andrew’s presence known, making Neil’s entire body relax, slowing his breathing a bit. But before Neil could see the man at his side, it hit him. He was starting to feel it, all around him. Those white walls, the mattress he was in, the soft yet old sheets, the pressure on his arm. And finally, unmistakably, the regular and aggressive beeps, signs of a life that was his own. He was in a hospital bed. There’s an accident. Those idiots would do anything and everything to protect each other.

tw: major character injury, tw: car accidents

cause and effect by mistyrie [Rated M, 13107 words, complete, 2023]

"Andrew realized what he was seeing but he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t know how to help. There was no enemy to deal with – there was just Neil seizing on the floor and Andrew didn’t know what to do." Neil starts having seizures and Andrew tries to help.

tw: seizures (epilepsy)

how the foxes act when they're sick by @detectivebambam [tumblr, 2024]

headcanons on the foxes and illness

headcanons on Neil getting sick by @24-0z [tumblr, 2022]

Neil doesn't get sick very often, so when he finally catches the bug that had been going around campus, he's suddenly 8 years old again, sweating and trembling with fever

SICK!Neil for my soul. by @satan-in-a-v-neck [tumblr, 2021]

Neil is acting strange. Ask every fox and they'll tell you that for the past three days Neil Josten wasn't acting very Neil Josteny.

tw: vomit

illness/injuries as background event:

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80075 words, complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music. In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies. When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to find a way to escape his fate and bring Andrew back. As he gets closer to losing the man he loves the most, Neil will realize that sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, truth is the only weapon he can use. Another Band!AU. This time extra angsty.

tw: torture, tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence

NB: find art for this fic by @doodlingstuff here

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manor-tea-time · 8 months

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Dear Detectives,

For the "Key-Master's" birthday, let us celebrate with a hike! Along the wildflowers, trees, and shrubbery it's hard to not let nature capture our hearts and spirits. As you explore the wilderness around you, we ask; what is your favorite plant detectives?

ONCE Skin appearance - Scout's Honor

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Birthday Letter TWs/CWs: Referenced Death/Injury of a character, disappearances, implied/possible stalking, ect.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A discarded audio transcription was found in a cabin in Rosewood National Park. Multiple tears, creases, and weathering littler the paper from its exposure to the vast foliage and animal life that had found its way into the cabin. Only a simple note labels it. "Rosewood Investigation Interview - L. Smith"

Q: Is there anyone you believe would wish to harm Mrs. Marigold?

A: Heavens no! I don't think she had a mean bone in her body. Unless she was truly caught up in something she shouldn't have been, then I can't see who would sincerely wish her ill intent.

Q: Leading up to the first disappearance, did you notice anything strange?

A: Yes. People kept receiving strange notes and plants. It was keeping a lot of people on edge! No one was entirely sure if they were meant to be threats or strange gifts. I'm fairly certain it caused a few arguments between coworkers.

Q: Can you tell me what the notes consisted of?

A: Most of them were only a few words. Like "Wither", "Rot", or in Mrs. Marigold's case, "Bloom". It was typed out so it made it difficult to narrow down who it might be.

Q: What of the plants?

A: Ah yes! They were some sort of root I think. They had strange thorns on them like a rose. We haven't been able to identify them yet, but Mrs. Marigold seemed to recognize them.

Q: Did Mrs. Marigold say anything about how she recognized these notes or plants before her disappearance?

A: Yes. She said they matched something she'd seen Mr. Eldrich watering in his office.

Q: What was Mr. Eldrich's reaction to this?

A: Surprisingly, calm. He told us that whoever must have done it must have taken the root from his office. Although, I do have to admit that sounds... too convenient.

Q: Do you believe that Mr. Eldrich may have been lying?

A: I'm not sure.

The rest of the transcript appears to be lost to time as the rest of the page is either torn away or has gotten too faded to be legible.

#identity v #idv ocs #idv oc ask blog #idv askblog #oc #“key-master”#Character Day #LeRoy's weirdly specific traumas moment

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buttercupsandboys · 2 years

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Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 10

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 10: bad fucking men

Word count: 3642

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, implied/referenced sexual assault, implied/referenced child abuse

Alfie and Livy have been keeping secrets from each other, and it’s time to come clean.

A/N: this is another dark chapter, so mind the tags! Send me a message if you need an edited version. (*things get fluffier soon, I promise!)

If he wasn't sure before, he is now—and it can only mean one thing.

He's utterly and totally fucked.

Alfie exhales, dragging a hand down his face as he collapses against the pillows. His eyes are heavy, but every time he closes them, the day's events flash like he's watching a film, and all hope of sleep goes out the window.

It's strange because violence—even death—rarely keeps him up at night. At least, not anymore. Ghosts haunt his dreams, but they're familiar friends, and the only evidence of their visit is sweat-soaked sheets in the morning.

But this is something new.

When he pictures Livy, curled in the corner like a wounded animal, painted head to toe in fresh blood, it causes him physical fucking pain—like ripping his heart out of his chest and leaving it for the crows to tear apart.

He's never felt anything like it, and that's saying something. After all, it only takes one look at the myriad of scars littering his chest, like points on a treasure map, to know that Alfie's no stranger to suffering. There have been bullets and blades and burns, but nothing from his past has prepared him for what he's going through right now.

Witnessing her pain and her terror cracks him open in new and horrible ways, and deep down, he knows it can only mean one thing.

He's fucking fallen in love with the girl.

Head over heels in love, and it's un-fucking-deniable. Despite his limited experience with the emotion—due mainly to his unwillingness to let anyone into his fucking life—Alfie is discerning enough to know that he's in deep. Livy has found her way into his heart the same way the morning sun seeks out the shadows, and he can't help but love her for it.

This is a problem.

It's a big fucking problem because Alfie is a bad fucking man who does bad things to good people, and it's only a matter of time until she finds out.

Or worse, gets caught in the middle.

Actually, scratch that. Livy's already in the crossfire; she just doesn't know it yet.

Alfie shakes his head, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles as he looks her over. Livy is sleeping soundly beside him, tangled in the crisp sheets, wearing a soft cotton nightgown that makes her look far too fucking young.

Her breath is calm and steady, and he almost smiles as he adjusts a thin strap, dragging the delicate fabric up the gentle slope of her shoulder. After so many nights spent thinking of her, here, in his bed, he almost can't believe that it's finally real.

But it must be, or else this "dream" is a fucking nightmare.

Reality hits hard, and he curses at the sight of her beautiful face, swollen and bruised like a ripe plum. The doctor said it's just a concussion, nothing broken, but advised Alfie to stay close for further observation.

Not that he'd let her out of his sight anyway. Right now, he needs to be where he can see her, even if the guilt nearly tears him apart.

She could have died tonight, and he knows it's all his fault. He had a choice, and he let this fucking happen. Now the least he can do is be honest about it.

Soon, he promises as he brushes a stray hair from her forehead. Once she's recovered, he'll sit her down and explain everything.

It will hurt, and she'll hate him afterwards, but in the end, it's best for everyone. It's the only way he can guarantee that what happened today will never happen again.

But until then ….

Alfie's never been one to hide from the truth, but just this once, he gives in and pulls her close. As his fingers trail down her side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip, he shuts his eyes and tries to imagine that he's a good man, wrapped in the arms of a good woman who loves him.

— • — • —

Three days later

"The men have been looking day and night, sir. But so far, there's no sign of—"

Ollie is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening. No one from the bakery would enter without knocking, and Alfie instinctively reaches for his gun. The cool steel is heavy in his palm as he removes the safety, but then a familiar voice rings out, and he flicks it back on.

"Hello, darlings! Did you miss me?"

"Livy, what the fuck are you doing here?" demands Alfie, as he puts the gun down and slams his drawer shut. "I told Edna that you need to stay in your fucking bed."

"Well, it's nice to see you too, Alfie," scoffs Livy as she turns away, removing her gloves and hanging her coat on the rack by the door. "I'm perfectly fine now, thank you for asking, and leave Edna out of this. Your poor housekeeper has enough on her plate already.

"What about you, Ollie?" she asks, crossing the room and pressing a small kiss to his cheek, ignoring Alfie's emphatic grunt of disapproval. "Is he giving you trouble, or has he finally snapped out of that mood he's been in lately?"

"I'm good, but—"

"Oi, fuck off," barks Alfie, abruptly dismissing his second-in-command before he puts a foot in his fucking mouth. "As for you, treacle," he continues, shaking a thick finger in her direction, "If I'm in a mood, it's because you're wandering around town with a fucking concussion. Did Ishmael drive you here? I'm going to beat that fucker—"

"It's been three days, darling. I'm fine," she argues, sounding bored as she twists around to give Ollie a wave goodbye.

Humph. Alfie furrows his brows and glares at the back of her head. Why is she paying Ollie so much fucking attention? What is she doing out of bed? And most importantly, why the fuck hasn't HE been kissed yet?

Livy turns back and is halfway around the desk when her eyes suddenly widen. "Alfie Solomons!" she cries out, with a hand to her mouth as she struggles to contain her laughter. "Are you fucking pouting?"

"What?" he huffs, gently smacking away her hand when she reaches for his arm. "No, I'm not fucking pouting. I'm just worried about you, aren't I? But apparently, a man can't do that without getting laughed at."

He grunts and continues to fidget under her touch, but Livy's grip is surprisingly strong. "There, there, my love," she coos as she rubs his broad shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

Alfie frowns disapprovingly at her mocking tone, but after a few minutes, he gives in and relaxes under her nimble fingers. Livy notices and presses a soft kiss against his neck, sending tingles down his spine.

"Listen, darling," she whispers as she moves her lips closer to his ear. "It's just a bruise now, I promise. Everything's ok."

His mood turns as the weight of her words sinks in. Everything is not fucking ok, he wants to shout but clenches his fists instead.

Of course, he's happy that she's better—and he knows she's right, it is "just a bruise" now—but admitting it means it's time for the conversation he's been desperately avoiding. He sighs because he knew this day was coming; he just wasn't ready to face it.

"Livy," he starts as he lifts a hand to stroke the side of her face, "we need to talk, pet. Why don't you take a seat."

She leans back and cocks a brow, questioning the sudden change in his tone. But for once, god is on his side because she bites her tongue and does what he fucking asks.

His eyes track hers as she circles the desk, sitting down and smoothing her skirts while she waits patiently for him to begin. As always, she looks fucking beautiful, even with half her face covered by a faded bruise. He takes a moment to appreciate every detail—her finely arched brows, her tiny button nose, her full red lips—and thinks back to the day when she first walked through his fucking door.

It's only been a few weeks, yet somehow she's managed to turn every inch of his miserable life entirely upside down.

"Are you alright, Alfie?" she asks gently when he doesn't say anything.

His eyes snap up, and the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

"Livy, you need to leave."

"What?" She glances over her shoulder, looking confused. "Do you have a meeting, darling? I can come back later."

Fucking hell.

Alfie fights the urge to slam his fist in frustration. That was not how he'd planned to start this conversation, but now the cat's out the bag, and he may as well keep going.

"No, Livy. I need you to go home and pack your things. You can't stay with me any longer."

"I-I don't understand, Alfie," she stutters. "Where is this coming from? A few days ago, you were making promises—"

"I know what I fucking said!" he snaps, losing control of his temper because he's mad at himself and this fucked up situation. "Trust me, I am taking care of you, love. But you need to leave. Get your shit packed, and Ishmael will take you away. Anywhere you want, as long as it's not here."

Livy frowns. "Is this about Sabini? "she asks, looking at him like he's lost his mind.

"Of course, it's about Sabini!" he explodes, throwing his hands in the air. Why is this so hard for her to understand? "Listen, Livy. It's about him and every other fucker in this town. If you stay here, you'll always be in danger because of me." He leans forward and taps the desk for emphasis. "It's not fucking safe."

"Alfie, you're not making any sense." She reaches out and gently caresses the back of his hand. "Sabini came after me because I killed one of his men. It has nothing to do with you. You saved me."

"I didn't—"

"Alfie, you did—"

"Can you just SHUT UP and listen for five fucking minutes?" Alfie pushes her hands away and shoves his chair back, increasing the distance between them.

Her eyes narrow, and he instantly regrets his harsh tone. But this isn't easy for him either, and he just needs her to fucking listen while he still has the balls to say what he needs to say.

"Look, Livy …" he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger before continuing. "Sabini came to me, alright? Before you were taken. He told me—he fucking told me—what would happen if I didn't end things with the Blinders. And do you know what I said?"

"No, Alfie," she whispers.

"I told him to fuck off. Do you understand what I'm saying, love? I told him to fuck off, and I might as well have drawn a big fucking ‘X' on your forehead." He slams his hands on the desk, and Livy jumps at the sudden noise. "I sold you out, pet. Sold you like fucking cattle because the deal with Thomas is too fucking good to pass up."

"Alfie—"

"I'm a bad man, Livy. There's no way around it. I'm a bad fucking man, and I can't keep you safe unless I send you away."

Alfie drops back in his chair, exhausted by the weight of his confession. His chest tightens as he waits for her reaction, expecting her to explode and knowing she has every right to be angry.

The least he can do is take it like a fucking man. He owes her that but hopes she doesn't stab him with one of those knives she's so fond of.

Although if that's what she wants, he's not sure he'll bother putting up a fight. He's done a lot of fucking horrible things in his life, but he's never felt as ashamed as he is right now.

"Are you finished?"

His eyes snap up, and he watches her walk towards the door. He expects her to leave, but instead, she removes her sweater and gently drapes it over her coat.

"Alfie, I'm going to assume that today is about honesty, is that right?"

Livy's voice is calm and steady, and now it's his turn to look confused.

"I mean, yeah, love. I suppose you could call it that …."

His voice trails off as her fingers undo the top button of her blouse, revealing the creamy skin of her throat. He's momentarily distracted, but her next words reclaim his full attention.

"Well, darling. I must confess that I haven't always been honest with you." Livy takes a deep breath and looks him straight in the eye. "There are a few … things that you should know."

His heart starts pounding in his chest as his senses kick into high alert. He wasn't expecting this, and every fibre of his being warns that he won't like what he's about to hear.

"What the fuck are you on about, Livy?" he demands in a gravelly voice.

"Well, first, William isn't my father—"

"What the FUCK?"

Alfie's chair goes flying as he storms across the room, stopping inches from her face. Before he can register what he's doing, a large hand wraps around her slender neck. Somewhere in his mind, a voice is telling him to calm down, but he can't hear it over the betrayal thundering in his veins.

"Who the fuck are you then?" he demands sharply.

Livy doesn't even blink.

"Calm down, Alfie," she soothes, her voice remaining calm and steady. "I'm exactly who I say I am. Perhaps, that was a bad choice of words. What I meant to say is that William isn't my biological father. He and Tillie, my mum, they adopted me."

He abruptly releases her and takes a step back.

"Fuck. I-I'm sorry," he mumbles, feeling like a right cunt and even more confused. "But I don't understand, Livy. Why are you telling me this now? I'm sorry, love, but it doesn't change things."

She smiles and undoes another button.

"Patience, Alfie. I'm going to explain everything, I promise. But I need you to sit down and shut up. It's my turn to talk now."

Livy gives him a gentle shove, and he's too flustered to do anything but what he's told. He takes a seat on the edge of his desk and waits.

"So, as I was saying, I'm adopted." Pop. There goes another button. "I don't know where I was born, I don't know anything about my birth parents, I don't even know how old I am."

She chuckles under her breath, and for the first time, it makes her look harsh and bitter.

"But there are things I know, Alfie. Things I know that even you could never imagine." Livy pauses and taps a nail against her plump red lip. "What was it you told me earlier? Oh, yes, I remember…."

She stops to release another button, and Alfie can't keep quiet any longer.

"Fucking hell, Livy," he interrupts. "You look beautiful, don't get me wrong, but this isn't the fucking time—"

"Keep it in your pants, Alfie. I'm not trying to seduce you." She rolls her eyes, and he almost smiles. But then she looks him up and down like he's a whore from the docks. "Of course, you can't help yourself, can you? Because you're a bad man."

Livy takes a step forward, looking oddly menacing, and he can't help it. He actually flinches, and she laughs.

"What, Alfie? That's what you told me, isn't it? You want me to leave because you're a bad man. Well, let me tell you something, darling. I know a lot about bad fucking men."

She turns around and drops her blouse, and Alfie's hand flies to his mouth because he's genuinely afraid he might be sick.

At first, he can't understand how she kept this a secret, but then he remembers that when they're together, she's never been naked—and now he knows why.

Every fucking inch of her back, from the shoulder blades down, is covered in violent scars. Alfie has many of his own, but he looks like a fucking schoolboy next to her.

His eyes are drawn to a series of round marks, like an infestation of roaches against her pale skin. He's well-versed in the art of torture and knows exactly what they are: cigarette burns. Rage pulses through his veins because this was no fucking accident. Someone did this to her.

Alfie takes another step forward, and it's even worse from close up. Her skin is a tapestry of raised marks—some thin and delicate, others thick and angry—woven together like strands of wool. His hands shake as he realises this wasn't caused by a single traumatic event.

No, whoever did this must have spent years abusing her.

Without thinking, he reaches out to trace a particularly raw looking ridge at the base of her spine, but she spins away, withdrawing from his touch like she's just been burnt.

"Fuck, fuck. I'm sorry, Livy." Alfie trips over his words as he lifts his hands, keeping them up where she can see them. "I don't know what I was fucking thinking, love. I'm sorry."

Livy avoids eye contact and takes a deep breath as she buttons her blouse with shaking hands. Alfie is trembling with rage and has a million fucking questions, but he knows to wait patiently until she's ready.

Finally, after the longest silence of his life, she raises her head and places her palms on his chest. Her voice is small but steady as she continues with her story.

"When I was young, I was sold. No one knows exactly how I ended up there, but I wasn't alone. There were a few of us girls, and men … well, they would come and pay a lot to do whatever they wanted. There was only one rule," she explains, vaguely indicating at her face and chest. "Don't damage the merchandise.

"We lived at the back of a whorehouse. One day William visited—this was before he met my mum. He didn't know there were children there, but once he found out, he came back. He came back and rescued all of us."

Alfie can't believe what he's fucking hearing. He might be infamous for his temper, but he has never been so fucking angry in his entire life. Nothing he's seen or heard could possibly hold a candle to this.

His fury is building, and his body is shaking, but he needs to let her finish. So he places his hands on top of hers and tries to focus on the warmth of her skin.

"I'm telling you this because life is not black and white, Alfie. My father was a fucking thief, love. He ran petty cons; I helped him, and we'd run with the gypsies when things got out of control. Our lives were always in danger, but when I needed him—when I needed him—he was always there for me.

"If you want me to leave, I won't argue with you. I know that I'm… I'm not the woman that you thought I was." Livy bites her lip and looks away for a moment as she musters the courage to continue. "If you don't want me, I understand.

"But if you're sending me away because you think you're a terrible person or somehow think that I'm safer without you … well, you're wrong, darling.

"I know you refused a deal with the wop, but I don't care because you came for me. You came for me, Alfie, and I don't think you understand how many people in this world would simply look the other way."

Livy collapses against his chest, and all he can do is wrap his arms around her. He knows she's not referring to Sabini anymore and wonders how many years she spent trapped in that hellhole. His heart shatters as he imagines a young girl waiting night after night after night for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue.

But no one ever fucking came.

It's almost hard to believe what he's hearing, but the gears in his head have to started to turn, and all the pieces fall into place. This explains everything—the fear of the dark, her time with the gypsies, even William's cryptic stories—it all makes sense now.

All except for one thing ….

For the life of him, he cannot begin to understand how someone who's been through so fucking much can move through the world with so much light. Livy is the most beautiful person, inside and out, that he has ever met.

And he'd be a complete idiot to let her go.

Alfie sits on the sofa and brings her down with him, settling her gently on his lap. His fingers lift her chin, and he chokes up when he sees her silent tears. She's perfected the art of crying without making a fucking sound, and it's just another knife in his gut. He swallows thickly.

"You're right, Livy," he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soft. "You're absolutely right, and I'm fucking sorry. You're not going anywhere unless you want to leave, alright? You'll forgive me … please?"

Her golden eyes meet his, and Alfie holds his breath until she breaks out the familiar smile that he already loves so much.

"Of course, Alfie. I don't want to be anywhere else."

"Thank fucking god," he growls as he goes in for a kiss. Her lips part, and their tongues meet, and he makes her a silent promise.

He's not sure how or when, but heads will roll, rivers will bleed, and all of England will know to fear the Mad Baker when he finally gets his hands on whoever did this to her.

A/N: Ok, I know everyone loves angst, so I was really tempted to let Livy leave and get them back together in a few chapters. But here’s the thing – I just don’t think Livy would tolerate that bullshit. If Alfie pissed her off? Yes, absolutely. But the whole “send her away for her own good” thing? Bitch, please. She cut off a man’s cock in Chapter 9, haha. She's been through a lot, but she's a tough cookie.

#livy x alfie #alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie x original character #peaky blinders alfie #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fandom #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction

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straight-to-the-pain · 2 years

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Tagging

Since I started this blog, I've tried to tag my content by trope and type because it's a helpful way of finding content I want to see, and for others, a good way of avoiding content they don't. I've tried to standardise my tags so that they can easily be searched (tumblr permitting).

However, there are inevitably going to be things that slip past me and tropes that I forget to tag. You are welcome to ask me to tag something, and I will tell you if there is a reason why I specifically chose not to.

I will not be tagging gender in whump, just as I wouldn't tag the race or sexuality of my characters, but I will try to tag for gendered or discriminatory violence if it comes up.

I've also chosen not to use the term 'tw' when tagging my content. Any of my tags could be a trigger for someone, and a promise of good whump for someone else. In my own writing, I try to give a brief summary of tropes and content under the header, both to warn and to entice.

I tag explicit sexual content with #nsft and suggestive but not explicit content with #spicy content. My tag for spicy content that's relatable to me personally is #s is a mess and a masochist.

I tag by oc with the tag #oc: [insert name here], my own writing with #my writing, original content with #my stuff, and asks I answer with #asks answered. I also tag posts that I've been tagged in with #tagged for me and my asks answered by other people with #my asks answered. My personal posts tag is #s talks and I tag complimentary asks with #nice stuff. I also try to tag by fandom.

Here is a list of common tags you might find on my blog:

By post type: #tropes and prompts #whump #whump meta #whump community #whumpy lyrics #art #whump art #whump gifs #whump video #whump audio #whump memes #laugh tag (anything funny) #s talks #asks answered #my asks answered #my stuff #my writing #my OCs #ask game #tag game By whump genre: #spy whump #military whump #sci-fi whump #fantasy whump #vampire whump #pet whump #box boy universe #superhero whump #minor whump (for characters under 18) #emotional whump #medical whump

By whump trope: #torture #public torture #captivity #kidnapping #electricity torture #water torture #solitary isolation #restrained #blindfolded #gagged #collared #dehumanisation #intimate whumper #forced to watch #implied/referenced torture #noncon #implied/referenced noncon #drugging #burning #branding #whipping #punishment #failed escape #gore #fingore #hand whump #eye gore #tooth gore #knives #held at knifepoint #held at gunpoint #self sacrifice

#grabbed by the hair

#manhandling

#defiance #needles

By comfort trope: #aftermath of torture #past trauma #painful wound cleaning #recovery #caretaking #comfort #rescue #hospital whump

Others: #alcohol #emeto (vomit) #politics #religion #abuse #child abuse #animal death #death #murder #nsft #spicy content #s is a mess and a masochist #tagged for me

#my stuff #tagging #I like to organise stuff okay #remembering that yelling at someone for not tagging something isn't going to make them want to tag stuff in the future #i like to tag so I can quickly and easily find my own stuff later #and if that can come in handy for someone else then great #but it's not an obligation #blogs are not obligated to tag things for you #please remember that #if someone doesn't tag the way you want them to after you've asked politely you are welcome to unfollow them

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ao3feed-hawks · 1 year

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I Burn Myself Until My Past Turns to Ash

I burn myself until my past turns to ash by Twin Flame

Burning the Hero Public Safety Commission down wasn't in the plans for the League of Villains but Dabi always stepped to the beat of his own rhythm - never slowing down near danger, not racing ahead to beat some imaginary clock. Hardly anything could affect the villain.

So why did the HPSC file on Hawks make him act? Why did Takami Keigo genuinely caring make his heart race and make him want to either run or pull the hero closer? (The only constant is Toga's teasing making him want to either burn her or die an early death)

A fic during which Dabi acts out, suffers with a fever, suffers some more (this time due to emotions!), but inevitably gets a taste of happiness ;D

Brief mentions to events of Fic #1 of series, but reading it is not required! Fic split: 1.5K - Burning of HPSC / 1k - Dabi suffering with a fever / 5k - Keigo and Dabi talking, mild angst + mild tension / 3.3K - Getting together Breakdown of TW in author notes

Words: 11109, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Wrap Your Arms Around Me So That I won't Fall Apart

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks

Additional Tags: Getting Together, Light Angst, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, that one is in reference to Dabi's burns, Alcohol, Mentions of Suicide Ideation, no beta we die like touya, dabi and hawks knew each other as kids, mention of death (no one stays dead)

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44979997

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Hotwings #♥#Dabihawks #Hotwings #Toga Himiko #⚣#R:M #W:S #A:Twin #Mental Illness #Abuse

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slythepuffle · 2 months

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Ad Astra Origins, Part 1 - The Corpse Flower

This is the backstory of my character Sly from Ad Astra SMP. This can also be found on AO3. TW: Bullying, Blood, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied Cannibalism (If I'm missing anything please let me know)

Birds sang, soaring through the dense forest. Flowers slowly bloomed, petals gently swaying in the breeze. Sunlight peeked through the leafy boughs, dancing on the grass floor below.

In a glade sat a giant flower bud, curled over with the weight. It appeared isolated, with animals skirting just around the edges of the glade, hesitating over some sort of imaginary boundary before skirting off in the opposite direction. They almost seemed afraid, terrified even, but it was unclear as to why.

Suddenly, the flower began shaking. It was sprouting, the petals peeling back as the bud stood straight. Pale and beautiful pink petals opened up into the air, curling over to reveal–

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

– A small, newly born baby, sitting right in the center of the flower. The creature appeared to be human, fair skin wrinkled as it screwed its eyes shut and wailed. Soft tufts of brown hair sprouted from its crown, a small pink flower braided into it. A flock of birds shrieked in surprise, taking off into the sky in a flurry of leaves and feathers. The baby’s cries echoed throughout the dark forest, unheard by anything but wild animals.

Shhhhh… Shhhhh…

The flower gently rocked underneath the child, acting as a sort of moving cradle. The baby’s cries slowed to a stop as the rocking continued, now becoming babbles as it calmed.

There there… No more crying now. Be happy!

A peal of laughter escaped the baby and it opened its eyes, delight shining in the blue irises.

Look at you. Such a small and adorable creature… so fragile… how easy it would be…

Voices suddenly sounded off nearby, disturbing the quiet of the glade once more. The swaying stopped, the baby’s content expression quickly contorting to one of dissatisfaction once it realized that it was no longer moving. It screwed its eyes shut and began to wail again, unknowingly drawing the attention of the voices, which grew louder as they approached.

“Is that a baby?” one asked, confused by the sudden cries that filled the air. Another voice answered, equally confused. “I think? But what’s it doing out here?”

“I don’t know, but we should hurry up and find it. It’s getting dark soon.”

The bushes rustled as someone pushed through them, a young couple stepping into the clearing. One entered before the other, her eyes wandering throughout the glade before landing on the wailing baby. Her eyes widened and she immediately took off towards the flower, plucking the baby from it. She carefully began to rock the baby, gently shushing it as it blinked up at her. Confusion overtook the brief anger it felt, scanning her face, before it slowly began to quiet down, soothed by the rocking.

“Molly!�� her partner scolded, shaking leaves from her hair as she caught a glimpse of the woman rocking the baby. “You can’t just pick it up like that! We don’t even know if it’s actually a baby or not.”

Molly, as she was called, rolled her eyes, still rocking the baby in her arms. “It’s not like I can leave it to cry, Stacy. Baby or not, it’s going to attract the attention of almost all the mobs.”

Stacy pressed her lips together, but didn’t protest as Molly approached with the baby in her arms. “… Does it at least seem like a normal baby?”

The woman glanced down at the baby in her arms, who was still staring at her with wide blue eyes. She returned the stare, green eyes analyzing the child, before softly smiling. “Yeah, it does. Pretty cute one, too.”

“Well… if you’re sure,” Stacy reluctantly said, hovering over her partner’s shoulder. She was still wary of the child, but, with only a glance at Molly’s expression, she knew what the other was thinking. “It’s coming home with us, isn’t it?”

“She,” Molly corrected as she removed a medium-length blanket from Stacy’s pack. She began to wrap the child in the blanket as she continued, “She is coming home with us.”

Stacy sighed at that but didn’t make a retort. Instead, she simply asked, “What’s her name then?”

Molly went silent, holding the now bundled child in her arms, as she gave her partner a blank look. Stacy raised an eyebrow. “You do have a name for her, don’t you?”

“...”

“Molly!”

“Well, I’m sorry,” the woman retorted, a slight red flooding her cheeks. “I wasn’t expecting to find a baby in the woods!”

Stacy said nothing, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She took a glance at the baby, who immediately noticed her look and let out a happy cry, blue eyes shining. Her gaze softened for a second, and she turned to her partner, a small smile on her face. “How about Sylve?”

Molly raised an eyebrow, a surprised look crossing her face. “Wasn’t that your grandmother’s name?”

“Yeah, but she’s not using it anymore,” Stacy joked, beginning to head back out through the bush. “Besides…”

She glanced back at the giant flower, watching as it stood still, before glancing at the matching, smaller flower in the child’s hair. She smiled again.

“She kinda reminds me of her.”

The village was abuzz with movement, voices filling the air and overlapping over each other as people walked through the many streets. Inside a humble plant shop, the bell rang, signaling that someone had entered.

“Mama! Mama!” a voice cried throughout the shop, grabbing the attention of the now older Stacy. The woman glanced in the direction of the voice, rising from the plants she was tending to.

“Hey, Sylve,” she greeted, laughing as a small child suddenly collided with her. “Woah, woah! Slow down there, kiddo. What’s got you so worked up?”

Sylve, a bright-eyed and gap-toothed nine-year-old, beamed up at her mother, clutching something in her hands. She opened them up to her mother, revealing a bunch of seeds, as she said, “Look, look! I have a magic trick!”

Stacy sighed, but obeyed, keeping her eyes on her daughter’s hands. To her immense surprise, the seeds began to shake, opening up and sprouting roots. They began to grow at a rapid pace, growing stems, then a bud, and then sprouting up into beautiful, pink-petaled flowers.

The nine-year-old grinned, unaware of her mother’s shock as she proudly proclaimed, “They’re pretty, right?”

“I…” Stacy began, still at a loss for words. However, at the slightly disappointed expression on her daughter’s face, she recovered, replying, “Yes, kiddo. They’re very pretty. How did you do that?”

Sylve shrugged. “I dunno.”

We do.

“Well, good job,” Stacy complimented, still in a bit of shock. Footsteps sounded from behind her, and Molly suddenly appeared, a grin on her dirt-covered face.

“What’s going on over here?” she asked, casually wrapping an arm around Stacy’s waist. The other woman glanced at her partner, smiling slightly as she leaned into the hold. “Oh, Sylve’s just showing me some flowers she found.”

“I made them!” Sylve corrected, pouting, though she thrust her hands in her other mother’s direction as well. She grinned at the dirt-covered woman, whose eyes fell onto flowers in her daughter’s hands. Molly returned the grin, reaching out and plucking a flower from her grasp.

“Wow, Sly, these are beautiful!” Molly praised, gently twisting the stem between her fingers as she examined it. She then handed it back to her flower, suggesting, “Why don’t you go show them off to the other kids?”

You don’t need them. You have us.

Sly frowned. “The other kids don’t want to play with me. They give me funny looks.”

Stacy clicked her tongue, while Molly hummed. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Some of the kids are just shy, like you. Maybe some of them will like your flowers.”

“Yeah. They’re really pretty, kiddo. Maybe they could help you make some friends.”

The nine-year-old pouted for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. Then, slowly, she nodded, a smile growing on her face. “Okay!”

Immediately, she turned, racing towards the shop doors. Molly raised an eyebrow, calling out, “Where are you going, Sly?”

“I’m going to show people my flowers!” she replied, quickly opening and closing the door of the shop, the bell ringing loudly. The two women shared a look, amused at their daughter’s newfound excitement. Then, with a kiss, the two separated, going back to work in the different areas of their small shop.

Sly, now racing through the village, hummed softly to herself, clutching her precious flowers to her chest. She passed by many other people, calling out greetings that were not always returned, but did not seem to find any other children. At least, not without their parents, who seemed to pull them in the other direction upon seeing the girl.

Soon, she turned the corner, into a rather secluded part of the village near the forest. There sat a group of kids around her age, all kneeling or squatting on the ground. She beamed, calling out, “Hello!”

The group startled, jumping or turning their heads in surprise. She approached them, either unaware of or ignoring their shared glances.

“Hi,” one cautiously replied, eyeing her. She smiled at them, showing off her gap tooth. “My name’s Sylve, but my mommy calls me Sly. Do you like flowers?”

No one responded, simply muttering to each other, still eyeing her strangely. Sly’s smile twitched, but she pushed through, shoving her hands in their direction.

“D-Do you like my flowers?” she blurted nervously, blue eyes wide and bright. They did not respond, though some glanced down at the flowers in her hands and then looked at the one in her hair. Silence reigned for a few moments, before the group all turned their back towards her.

She frowned, fidgeting for a few moments, before quietly asking, “D-Did you not like my flowers?”

None replied. Her shoulders slumped, as she realized that none of them seemed to want to talk to her or accept her flowers. With that, she turned and began to walk back to the village, lower lip trembling as she tried not to cry.

All of a sudden, she felt a slimy sensation sliding down her back and underneath her shirt. The smell of earth permeated in its own miasma around the girl’s head. Dirt stuck to the petals of the flowers braided into her hair. Her mind didn’t quite realize what was happening, but when malicious giggles entered her ears, she slowly turned around.

Lo and behold, standing there was the group of children she approached earlier, one of whom was holding a small plastic container. In it held three residual worms and a small handful of dirt, still poised to throw at her.

Immediately, she shook her head with a shriek, trying to get as much dirt and worms out of her hair as possible. Seconds later, an unseen force struck her in the face, more dirt and worms exploding across her face. She fell backward into a mud puddle, the white skirt she wore sullied beyond repair. The container, now empty, rolled into the puddle with her, its contents now staining her face.

She felt tears well up in her eyes and trickle down her face, feeling an overwhelming despair fill her heart.

How dare they.

Sly just wanted to show them her flowers. Her mothers had encouraged her to do so. Both said that they were the prettiest things that they had ever seen. That they would help her to make friends.

The girl sobbed, trying to make herself smaller as the worms and dirt slowly slid into her clothing. The flowers she had held slowly began to sag, beautiful petals ruined and stained with mud.

How dare they.

The other children cackle with glee over their horrific act, not noticing how the tears slowly welled to a stop as the girl began to tremble.

She was too kind-hearted to fight back. To stand up and make them pay.

howdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyhowdaretheyHOWFUCKINGDARETHEY

Sly was too weak.

But we were NOT.

The village was quiet.

There were no flames to light up the streets and houses. There were no sounds of steps on gravel or grass. There was no laughter or yells or even simple chatter.

Then, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Mama? Mommy?”

They’re not here.

“Where are you?”

They’re. Not. HERE.

The little girl flinched, as though someone were yelling at her. A headache had sprouted in her head, and she shut her eyes, hugging herself tighter. She continued to walk around, calling out for someone, anyone, to stop hiding from her and come out.

You’ve hurt their small ones. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. They don’t want you around.

They want you gone.

She’s learned her lesson. She didn’t mean to hurt the other children. Why are all of you being so mean to her?

She didn’t notice herself. Didn’t notice the blood dripping from her hands. Didn’t notice the sticky liquid clinging to her skin. Didn’t notice the red that slowly stained the once pure white dress she wore, and the beautiful pink petals of the flowers she cherished.

Didn’t notice the bloody juice sliding down her chin, lips stained a bright, bright red.

There’s no one here. Only us. They have all abandoned you.

“Please come out!” she insisted, ignoring the pounding headache. Tears began to leak out of her eyes, flowing down her cheeks as she sobbed for someone to come out.

This time, there was no response.

#ao3 fanfic #minecraft smp #Ad Astra SMP #oc lore #oc backstory #oc

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