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tbb-appreciation-week · 2 years ago

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TAGS ARE YOUR BEST FRIENDS

(Updated: June 2024)

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:

#tbbaw2024

#the theme of the day and/or #prompt(s) used

#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 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 or #flashing lights 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 into. 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 TBBAW2024 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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ao3feed-crimeboys · 2 years ago

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Catch Me If I Fall

by meowritestuff

‘I’m flying, so catch me if I fall.’

Wilbur is a full-time therapist at Soot’s Therapy. Weird name, I know. He helps a man named Alex who is currently going through severe depression. Trying the best he can, Wilbur unfortunately doesn’t catch him in time.

Angst and TWs ensue.

Disclaimers / TWs : •medium? angst •self harm (SH) •physical abuse •character deaths •overdose mentions •low self-esteem •major insecurities •mental issues, +depression

» this fic is only in relation to characters, never content creators. I do not mean to trigger anyone that has experienced/encountered anything relating to the disclaimers. If you are uncomfortable with the following warnings, please do not read this.

This fic is also posted on my wattpad account: @TheTotalOpposite, along with other fics such as TOTTD & WYO.

And yes, the title is inspired by the actual book.

Words: 3121, Chapters: 3/12, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of DSMP alternate universes [AUs]

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Video Blogging RPF

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Other

Characters: Alexis | Quackity, Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu, Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Therapist!Wilbur Soot, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Alexis | Quackity Angst, tommy doesn’t want to be a barista, Barista!Ranboo, Manager!Georgenotfound, Soot’s Therapy AU, Implied TW, angst with a sad/happy ending, Genuine angst

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

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deathvalleyqueen · 4 years ago

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The Gospel of Mary Jane - Part 3

A/N: I really appreciate all the support! This chapter is major angst... possibly triggering for so please pay attention to the TWs bellow, I would hate to be that person. Don’t worry... happier things are ahead for the babes before first...they suffer a little... (okay a lot)

Rating: Explicit

Chapter TW: Death, Drug Use Mentioned/Alluded to, Overdose ,Serious Emotional Manipulation, Mentioned/Implied Self-harm

Words: 7994

AO3 Link: HERE

The first girl that would fill that odd little role of Faith lasted all of three weeks. I don’t even remember what her name really was now. Just that she hardly ate and rarely spoke.

My mother had worked for two days to keep her alive but the girl was out to forget her life and leave this mortal plane. She did not want any part of Joseph’s grand plan and seemed determined to end her part in it.

I was the one that found her, going into the bathroom in the middle of the night. She had taken something, maybe even was given something in truth, but the girl was dead in the bathtub. It was horrific.

As had become common, I had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. I had little else on other than a dark violet robe and a pair of bunny slippers John had given me as a joke when we were dating, but they remain one of my favorite gifts he has given me. I was expecting nothing else than using the bathroom, checking my e-mails on my phone to pass the time and go back to bed. But, this is the Seed family. Nothing ever goes according to what Mary Jane plans, does it.

READ THE REST ON AO3

#far cry 5 fanfiction #john seed/oc #the gospel of Mary Jane #tw; minor character death #tw: death #tw: overdose #tw: emotional manipulation #tw: implied/referenced self harm #tw: drug use mentioned #john seed fanfic #john seed/mary jane

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victoriaholmeswriting · 5 years ago

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A Waste of Talent

Chapter Seven: The Falling Out

Read it on AO3!

Rating: M

Words: 808

John firmly stood his ground as he waited for one of them to start talking. Sherlock wouldn’t meet his gaze, but Snape’s glare was ice cold and deadly. That glare that put fear in the hearts of his students. The one that made Death Eaters and even Voldemort respect him. The one many believed to be permanently etched on his face. The very one that preceded most of John’s detention.

That same glare no longer had any effect on John Watson.

Years of war and years of living and working with Sherlock Holmes had hardened him far beyond what his former Potions Master’s venomous stare could do.

John stared right back, completely unflinching, with a slight cocky grin.

“I beg your pardon, Watson,” Snape growled, John’s grin pissing him off even more. “I must have misheard you.”

The brazen Gryffindor shook his head. “You heard me perfectly fucking clear, Professor.”

Snape’s nostrils flared. “You’ve somehow managed to become even more intolerable than you were as a student.”

“Thank you.”

Another tense moment passed in which Snape stewed in silent fury.

“John, leave it,” Sherlock spoke up. The other two were slightly taken aback by his request, but they did not break eye contact.

“No, Sherlock,” John responded. “You told me Snape looked out for you in school and that you were the one that set all of this up so that he could have some peace after the Second War. But you have been on edge since we left Baker Street and it’s only gotten worse since he opened the fucking door. And, he is acting the same way towards you despite his obvious interest in helping with the case. So, one of you is going to have to spill it or we are never going to make any headway with this case because you two will be too busy bitching at each other. Now, spill it!” John’s voice was now at a dangerous level.

Sherlock shifted, but said nothing. He was incredibly uncomfortable and anxious, and didn’t know what to do; John could see this, but he could also see that Sherlock knew he was right. He hated watching his friend in such turmoil, trying to decide between self-preservation and solving the most interesting case they’d had in weeks, but he couldn’t let up. Forcing the source of their tension to the surface was not only what was best for the case, but for Sherlock as well.

Meanwhile, Snape stood seething at the blatant disrespect John had paid him; his own anger rising with every decibel of John’s voice. “Very well,” he spat. “I’ve kept enough secrets for ungrateful brats.”

Sherlock cut his eyes at him, but didn’t take the bait.

Snape let the parchment roll backup and stood straight, folding his arms with the parchment secured in his right hand. “It’s quite simple really,” he hissed at John. “Quite opposite yourself, your dear friend here was truly the most brilliant and talented student I ever had. He could have been an auror or a Potions Master or Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He could have been absolutely anything. However, he chose to waste his brilliance on solving Muggle crimes. And when I expressed my… disappointment in his decision, he lost control, nearly blowing me up, and vanished. I never saw or heard from him again. Even Holmes the Elder seemed pissed off at me for the incident, but refused to explain why.

“After quite some months of hearing nothing, I moved on with my life. That is, until the two of you decided to grace me with your presence at this glorious hour.” His closing statement was growled through clenched teeth.

Sherlock stood rooted to the spot, visibly shaking.

John looked to him now, taking in how lost and upset he appeared. His frustration faded and worry took over as something Snape said hit him.

“Sherlock, where did you go?” John breathed, afraid he already knew the answer.

Snape’s brow furrowed, turning his attention to Sherlock as well. The sudden shift in John’s demeanor had taken him completely off guard.

The detective tentatively met John’s gaze. “You know where,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

John sighed and nodded solemnly.

Snape looked between them. “Care to explain?” he demanded when neither of them elaborated.

John watched as Sherlock flexed his jaw and looked at his shoes. He looked every bit like a First Year being chastised by his professor. “A drug den,” he finally admitted even quieter than before.

Snape’s face fell, his eyes wide with shock.

“Mycroft found me two weeks later,” he continued. “At least, that’s how long he said it had been when I woke up in that Muggle hospital.” Sherlock caught John’s eye again before saying in a shaky voice riddled with shame, “That was the first time that I overdosed.”

#tw drugs #tw ptsd #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfiction #snape/sherlock crossover #severus snape #victoriaholmeswriting #a waste of talent #snape lives au #snape fanfiction #implied/referenced drug use #tw overdose #wizard!john #wizard au #wizard!sherlock

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themand0lorian · 3 years ago

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And the Oscar Goes To... (1)

Best Production Design

Summary: A good production designer sees the beauty in the imperfect.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Mature

Words: ~1600 (AO3)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Past Relationship, Flashbacks, Strangers to Lovers to Enemies to ???

Notes: This series will be told as flashbacks, as well as present time. I did my best to include realistic timelines/make it obvious at the split.

Thanks to everyone who voted on titles!!!

TW for this part: Dieter experiences a drug overdose; reader uses life saving measures, including needles, to revive him. If you could handle the scene from the movie, you can handle it here.

If you or someone you know struggles with opiod addiction, Naloxone/Narcan is readily available in the US and easy to use. Reader uses an autoinjector here, but it also comes as a nasal spray. I truly hope you never have the need for it, but like in this fic, it is life-saving. Read more at narcan.com.

New York City, 1999

He met you in a dumpster.

Not a metaphor. Though if you tried, you could probably make it one. You were good like that.

But this time, you were actually in a dumpster.

He was walking by, finally in the place he had dreamed of—New York City. Not quite LA, he’d get there, eventually. He had to start somewhere. And somewhere was a shitty studio apartment with walls that always felt damp and rat poison stuffed under the cabinets. He was walking around his neighborhood, counting his seventh pizza place, his fourth “Help Wanted” sign—a playground mostly made of wood and sharp edges that the suburbia he grew up in would scoff at. He took a right down an alley, hoping to make it home before the cockroaches—and then you popped out of the top of the dumpster, an old globe held over your head as you proclaim victory. “Jesus Christ!” He startled, and you winced a bit. “What are you, Oscar the Grouch?”

“No,” you snark back, handing him the globe. He takes it gingerly, pinching the top as you hop out of the dumpster and brush off your slacks like nothing happened before snatching it back from him. “Another teacher was throwing this out--I can’t just let a perfectly good globe go to waste!” He looks at it with a grimace; most of the Americas are scratched off, there’s an unknown substance over Australia, and he’s pretty confident the old thing won’t even spin. A penis drawn over South Africa seals the deal.

“Perfectly good?” You take mock-offence, a hand raised to your heart in indignation. You attempt to spin it, but the globe barely rotates.

“Of course! Some paint and glue, maybe a little WD-40…this will be good as new!”

You were good at that, too. Making old things like new again. He didn’t know it yet, but he would. He’d watch old tires get turned to alternative seating, watch mirrors turn to gameboards. He’d eventually learn to cut holes in discarded tennis balls with you to make the classroom chairs less scratchy. His observation about Oscar the Grouch—who lives in a trash can—maybe not so far off.

“And then what?”

“Then it will go in my classroom!” You explain eagerly. “The kids need something new.” You gesture around you; he hadn’t realized, but he was blindly following you as you walked, now reapproaching the front of the building. It was well-past closing time, all children long gone—the old brick building was small compared to the apartments around it, but etched in the front was a large “PS 365.” You stop at the steps, a coy smile on your face as you wave the globe around lazily. He’s completely entranced; the golden glow of the late hour haloing your head, the slight smile you wear, your spunky attitude. Even the smell of rotten bananas, likely on your shoes from your dumpster escapade, is barely noticeable to him. Everything about you leaves him wanting more.

“This is it,” you tell him. “Good ol’ PS 365. Now one globe richer.” You begin to trot up the stairs with your spoils before he calls out to you.

“Wait!—Wait,” he jogs after you, breathless. “Isn’t it a little late to be teaching?”

“You know what they say; public servants, working 24/7, 365,” you joke, pointing at the sign, and he smiles broadly.

“You—you wanna get something to eat?”

“I don’t even know your name.”.

“Dieter. Dieter Bracho.” You introduce yourself back, reaching to shake his hand; he doesn’t even think about how yours were just rifling through trash, taking it eagerly, stealing just one lasting touch from you before he lets you go. “I—I just moved here. I heard there’s good pizza places here?” He offers, and you laugh. It feels like his chest might explode.

He misses that laugh.

“Lemme put this in the classroom, then I’ll show you—there’s definitely a lot of pizza places. But the best—I know a secret spot.” He nods, watching you trot the rest of the way into the building, eyes trailing over you like a lovesick dog—he knows then, even if he doesn’t admit it.

That’s when things change.

New York City, Present

The hallways look the same. 20 years later, still the same pallid taupe tiles, adorned with colorful bulletin boards and pictures of poorly drawn families of all types. One has tulips on it, each bulb a paint print of a hand too tiny to be real, the top reading “Never stop growing!” Another talks about seeds of kindness. They’re all brightly colored, vibrant and pounding, blinding under fluorescent lights in a way only elementary schools seem to achieve. It all looks the same, feels the same.

Or it would, if he wasn’t blasted out of his fucking mind.

Still, he walks the same way he always did; down the hall, up the stairs. Third door on the left. He trudges more slowly now, robe barely hanging off his body, shirt stained, but he finds the door like a ghost haunting the hallways—your name still written along the side with an apple next to it. The same name, the same door; the door is open. You always left it open. So he walks in.

“Alright, now here—this 9 + 9 is 18, so what do we do with the extra ten?” Your back is to the room, you don’t see him walk in, don’t even turn around until you don’t get an answer. “C’mon, it’s just like the last one, we—”

You drop the chalk when you see him, and it explodes on the floor. You used to accost him over chalk prices—each stick a precious 13 cents. Instead, twenty pairs of wide eyes stare at him in the doorway of your classroom, your own—slightly creased with age, slightly duller, still so fully you—boring into him the most.

“D—Dieter?” The kids still look astonished, silent as you come around the desk. He takes them in, barely recognizing that there are others in the room; that it’s two PM on a Tuesday and Tuesdays are for math. He’s in a trance, a haze, even as one kid pipes up.

“Isn’t that the guy from the Cliff Beasts?” Several others begin to join him. “Is he famous? Miss—how do you know someone famous? He smells! He looks like he’s homeless! That’s how famous people look! Why is he here? Is he learning math?” Dieter doesn’t seem to hear them, eyes focused on one spot as commotion overtakes the room. With a clap of your hands, you gain control again easily.

“Work on your handbooks. I’ll—I’ll deal with this.” The kids go back to their work, not-so-sneakily peering up behind their tattered books to watch as you approach the man slowly, like a rabid animal.

“Dieter?” His eyes are glazed, he still won’t look away. You follow his eyeline to see what he does—the old globe, each continent painted and hand painted over and over, sits on your desk still. You clear your throat. “Dieter, you can’t be here—” “Bananas,” he mutters, letting you begin to lead him back out the door. “Smell like…South Africa…”

“Dieter, what are you—” you don’t get the question out; as soon as he’s through the threshold into the hallway, he collapses, and you begin to panic.

“Dieter? Dee—wake up—Dee,” you plead, shaking him gently as his lips begin to blue. With the commotion, several of your students jumped from their desks, and now peer around the doorframe in fear. “Sam—go get the nurse. Now!” You’ve never yelled at a kid before, even in all this time, and Sam takes it like a champ, running down the hall. “Kelsey—get my purse. Under my desk. Hurry.” Quickly, a young girl in pigtails runs back into the room.

“Dee—wake up—” you plead, shaking him a bit harder, though he lays lifeless, cold to the touch. His breathing has slowed so much you can barely tell if it's still occurring. “You—You said you wouldn’t do this to me. Dee—please—” Tears begin to form at your waterline, but Kelsey appears with your bag, and you do your best to swallow them, put on a brave face, as you dig to the bottom. You can hear several kids crying, comforting each other, a few scared voices. Kelsey stands at Dieter’s head, watching you remove the small plastic rectangle, tears streaming down your face. You quickly discard the safety cap, an automated voice telling you what to do, but you know already. You take the device and push it, hard, into his outer thigh, hands shaking as the timer counts down.

“Kelsey—go inside. Shut the door. You can free-read,” you whisper, the girl frozen as you inject Dieter with Naloxone. “Kelsey! Go!” She snaps back to attention as the counter stops, and you pull away the needle as she follows your directions.

You look at Dieter, really look at him; he’s gaunt. Pallid, a shell of the man you once knew. His face is creased with age and lifestyle, his hands adorned in rings that cost more than your rent. He’s still so handsome; broad and tall in a way you haven’t seen on anyone else. The tears that haven’t stopped running finally fall from your cheeks, adding another stain to his shirt.

“Dieter—you said you wouldn’t,” you sob, crouching closer to him. You can hear the bustle of the nurse, Sam, and others coming up the stairs, but you can’t pull yourself away; you whimper into his chest, feeling the thready breaths he takes.

“Please, please don’t do this to me. Not again—not you.”

TAGS: @pjkimrn @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @marydjarin @eri16 @curiouskeyboard @frankiemoraleswifexo @justjaclin @elegantduckturtle @janebby @leslie-lyman @bison-writes @imtryingmybeskar @athalien @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not @kirsteng42 @girlofchaos @deadhumourist @amneris21 @swtaura @tintinn16 @squidwell @littlemisspascal @churchill356 @thesmutslut @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years ago

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i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

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wmitomlinson · 4 years ago

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FIC RECS- JAN 2021

if it’s not too late, happy 2021 everyone! i know the year hasn’t started out great but let’s keep our fingers crossed, and in case it doesn’t, i’ll be here to rec amazing fics to you! shoutout to all the authors of this fandom for being amazing <3

many of the fics mentioned below may have triggering topics. TW // DRUGS, ADDICTION, DRUG MENTION, ALCOHOL AS A COPING MECHANISM, ACCIDENTS, AMNESIA

never be by cherrystreet @cherrystreet (117k, study abroad au, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, pining, happy ending) this was the first ones i’ve read of this type and it was amazing. i loved the long distance dynamic.

like a bastard on the burning sea by vashtaneradas (22k, infedility) i have no idea why i ever thought that reading h cheating on l would ever do me any good, but here it is. beautifully written. this had me ugly crying and howling the first time i read it. can confirm i hated irl harry for a while after this.

we’re not who we used to be by louistomlinsons @adoredontour (30k, sharing a bed, accidental cuddling, exes to lovers, road trip) i absolutely loved the ziam and shiall content, coupled with stupid louis. road trip AUs are very cool and if you like them as much as i do you should read this.

search and rescue me by wild halos (17k, alternate universe - high school, confinement?) this was one of the very few stuck together ones i’ve found and i ADORE it. super exciting. their chemistry is amazing. the things that can happen in a day ,,,, *chef’s kiss*

candles on air by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry (29k, friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, pining) i read this during physics and i honestly had to work so hard not to let my self-restraint break because i was exhausted by the end of this. the angst is top-tier. 10/10 would recommend.

but me, i’m not a gamble by orphan_account (33k, football player louis, famous harry, popstar harry, footie au, niall is friends with all the footballers) a lovely posh&becks au featuring a cameo from none other than david and victoria beckham. i love the slow build and how louis leads harry on but can’t live without him either. oh and niall is a smug bastard but what’s new.

spin me like a record by zarah5 @zarah5 (8k, alternate universe- college/university, friends to lovers, fake/pretend relationship, happy ending) let me start by saying that this author is my absolute favourite and that everything she writes is GOLD. so much captured in just 8k. loved it.

counting the steps between us by zarah5 @zarah5 (24k, friends to lovers, pining, so much pining, also camping) this fic is a gem. i absolutely love the dynamic between them and how easily they fall into step with each other. louis is kinda a dick to harry but they end up happy, so, who cares.

say that you can see me (i’ll speak up i swear) by coffeelouis (20k, college au, liberal arts college, photographer harry, soccer/football player louis tomlinson) harry is an oblivious idiot and louis is the fool pining over him. zayn is not bothered, except for when he is. wonderful fic.

larry heartbreak by coinmaisy (47k, cheating harry, angst with a happy ending, it gets worse before it gets better, infedility, heartbroken louis tomlinson, implied/referenced drug use, alcohol) when i first read the summary i was like “what is 47k going to do to me?” huge mistake i promise. this was so exhausting to read and it literally felt like my partner had cheated on me. you really feel for the characters. kind of unconventional with the way they deal with it but beautiful nevertheless.

joke’s on our parents by larrycaring @mystupidamours (alternate universe- high school, louis has a twin named carla, coming out, sort of, closeted character) short and sweet, an extremely adorable read. i wish it didn’t end here! i’d kill for parents like that no joke

life at shutter speed by zarah5 @zarah5 (20k, alternate universe- fashion & models, harry is very forward, louis is charmed even though he wishes he weren’t) photographer!louis au featuring stunning locations and even more stunning models.

oh glory by alivingfire (21k, alternate universe-olympics, 2016 summer olympics, gymnastics, mentions of past zouis, explicit sexual content, praise kink, slight mentions of homophobia typical in work environments) this was soooo good. i’m not particularly into sports fics unless it’s footie louis, but swimmer!harry was something i never knew i needed. wonderful setting and the ending *chef’s kiss*

hold my breath by zarah5 @zarah5 (19k, alternate universe- yoga, alternate universe- football, louis plays football and is a beast when injured, harry and louis ramble around london a lot) this is definitely one of my favourite fics for this month. yoga instructor!harry, football!louis AND angst? sign me up hjdhnjsk

talk dirty to me by briamaria (13k, friends to lovers, dirty talk, mutual masturbation) uni au with best friends to lovers + dirty talk? this one was fireeeeeee. their chemistry is awesome

own the scars by crinkle-eyed-boo @crinkle-eyed-boo (144k, american au, drug addiction, drug overdose, larry is endgame, so don’t let the tomlinshaw scare you off, you’re gonna suffer, but you’ll be happy about it, lots of larry easter eggs) I AM BEGGING YOU TO READ THIS FIC, but more importantly, please please, READ THE TAGS. this had me ugly crying like crazy. this was very triggering for me but istg i don’t regret it. slow burn and angst and fluff and the jealousy,,, make this a must-read. even the memory of this fic gets me overwhelmed. incredible. ft. zouiall friendship that will most definitely make your heart melt.

no one does it better by nodibs (49k, alcohol abuse, alternate universe) amnesia fic with ot5 friendship, sloooooooooooow burn and a shit ton of tears.

teenage dreams in a teenage circus by orphan_account (50k, first time, coming of age, alternate universe- high school) gemma/perrie/louis friendship that i never knew i needed. louis falls in love with harry, which, awkwarddd. but this fic gave me major coming of age movie vibes and now i’m angry that i don’t have a childhood like this

play the odds by alivingfire @alivingfire (25k, friends to lovers, bets&wagers, alternate universe- college & university) a bet where they have to kiss 1000 times. maybe it ends up being more than that. i loved the concept and how well it carried throughout the fic.

those are all for this month ! i hope you enjoy them, and if you do, make sure you leave kudos and comments. stay safe, sending love! x

#rae fic recs #tracksintheam #belletracks #userjalboyh #my fic recs #fic recs #hope u enjoy! xx

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ao3feed-bnha-rarepair · 3 years ago

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I Just Need a Helping Hand

i just need a helping hand by izukub0at

izuku is dealing with suicidal thoughts and winds up going through with certain things.

tw: suicide, vomiting, overdose, intrusive thoughts

Words: 1062, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Class 1-A, Uraraka Ochako, Iida Tenya, Bakugou Katsuki, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Relationships: Class 1-A & Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya/Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako, Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, dekusquad, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might

Additional Tags: Depression, Depressed Midoriya Izuku, Suicidal Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Midoriya Izuku Gets A Hug, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Break, Hurt Midoriya Izuku, Sick Midoriya Izuku, Suicide Attempt, Suicide, Overdose, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Worried Class 1-A, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Uraraka Ochako is a Good Friend, Iida Tenya is a Good Friend, Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Vomiting

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32461621

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Iideku Plus #♧#Iideku #Izuocha·#Bakudeku·#🐰#💨#⚣#R:G #W:S #A:Izukub0at #Dadzawa #Dad Might #Sick Fic #Mental Illness

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aftgficrec · 5 months ago

Note

Hellooooo, I can’t believe this is open!1!1!!1 First of all, I wanted to thank you all so much for all the work you do!

I wanted to ask for fics about the twinyards pretending to be each other. Mainly light funny ones if you find them but any will do. Thank you so much!!!

Hi there, anon! Most of the light funny ones can be found in our previous ask for this. -A

NB: in longer fics this could just be a quick switch, so read them with that in mind

previous recs:

the twins switch 1 here

‘the glow in our mouths’ and ‘The Morning AUs Chapter 52: The Parent Trap AU’ here

‘The one with Kevaaron’ here

‘Aftg Youtube AU’ here

‘Forming a Family; Forging a Future’ here

you may also like:

Neil mistakes Aaron for Andrew here

twinyard mistaken identity here

‘If I Knew You’ here

aaron minyard is a little bit cursed series by BlueJay26 [Rated G, 2 complete works, Updated June 2023, Locked]

Part 1: Jeremy Knox Solves the Transmutation Question: Baffles Centuries' Worth of Alchemists [1429 Words, Twinyards Appreciation Week 2022] [Merriam-Webster] metamorphosis| \ˌme-tə-ˈmȯr-fə-səs\ : a change of physical form, structure, or substance especially by supernatural means // the metamorphosis of a perfectly nice teak table into gold (by your baby cousin who won't stop getting cursed) Or, Nicky endures the twins' shenanigans in every possible universe. **Written for Twinyards Appreciation Week, prompt - metamorphosis**

Part 2: AITA? No. Am I cursed? Very probably. [505 Words] I impersonated my twin brother to play a trick on his boyfriend. AITA?

AFTG Bingo 2k18: The Twinyard Card by exactly13percent [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 2: Pretend College is difficult enough to navigate without Andrew playing games with Aaron's best friend.

Two of a Kind by gluupor [Rated T, 9957 Words, Complete, 2019]

When Aaron didn't get offered an exy scholarship while Andrew did, they came up with a plan. Andrew would play exy and Aaron would go to class. No one would ever know that they were actually two separate people. What could possibly go wrong?

After Aaron goes to Andrew’s Press conference by @iserenademefan [Tumblr, 2018]

Andrew and Aaron pretending to be eachother by @offbrandginger [Tumblr, 2017]

angstier twins switch:

‘Give Me Another Minute (to Lay Here in Your Echo)’ and ‘another turning point, a fork stuck in the road’ here

‘Unlucky Lies’ here

‘aparecium’ here

‘Brother’s Best-Friend’ here

‘white walls’ here

‘Deals With Devils’ here (updated)

Doctor, What Doctor by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 4081 Words, Complete, 2023]

And then, unfortunately, Aaron has an idea. The idea itself is almost not worth having. It is deeply unethical. It is the opposite of ‘do no harm,’ and it is not even guaranteed to work. Aaron actually thinks that this idea might be worse for his license than performing illegal care on a probable criminal in a back alley in the dark. No, Aaron thinks, it is undeniably worse. “You’re a survivor,” Aaron repeats. “You should already be dead, but you’re not. You should pass out sometime in the next few minutes, but I’m guessing you won’t.” Aaron squares his shoulders, makes himself say the words. “If I give you an address, can you get there? •• An AU where Aaron is a doctor, Andrew is FBI, and Neil’s gone rogue against the mafia. Neil needs medical care, and it really should be Aaron performing it, right? Right??

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: major character injury, tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: needles

Your love is my drug by babyprincess675 [Rated G, 24524 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

Andrew Minyard’s life has been painfully mediocre for years since high school, nothing but guilt keeping him alive up until his twin brother invites him to his Christmas themed wedding in Alaska, where everything changes. Or Andrew gets invited to Aaron’s wedding after years of no contact and things go wrong.

tw: anxiety disorder, tw: suicide attempt, tw: overdose, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence, tw: alcohol

in a manner of speaking by likearecord [Rated T, 6335 Words, Complete, 2021]

In Andrew's defense, blind dates are terrible and almost all of Kevin's friends are even worse. Nine times out of ten, calling in a favor to get Aaron to switch and tank it for him would be fine. Unfortunately, Andrew found number ten.

Crossfire by RoseGold_En [Rated M, 18396 Words, Complete, 2018]

The year is 2073. Andrew and Aaron Minyard are twins born into a world with a strict one-child policy due to overpopulation. They take on a singular identity as "Adam Minyard", with only one of them allowed outside at a time. Siblings who are discovered are separated from their families and put into an eternal cryosleep. One day, Andrew disappears. Aaron and Nicky have to find him while maintaining the twins' cover. It's up to Aaron to find out who sold them out and why a bureau agent named "Neil" knows his brother's real name.

tw: vomit, tw: alcohol, tw: violence, tw: gun violence, tw: death, tw: choking, tw: blood, tw: involuntary outing, tw: fire, tw: needles

Secret twin royalty au by @professionalfangirl24601 [Tumblr, 2021]

When queen Tilda gave birth to male identical twins, she knew it could be a threat to her country's future stability. In order to avoid the brothers fighting for the throne, she decided to give one of them up. He would be raised by a maid and then imprisoned with an iron mask constantly covering his face.

Backliner Andrew by @palmettofoxden [Tumblr, 2017]

Part 1: Andrew takes Aaron's place Part 2: Andrew takes Aaron’s place - follow-up ideas Part 3: Backliner Andrew 3/?

aaron is fat and buff too!!! hc by @palmett-hoes [Tumblr, 2020]

they're deals on deals on deals. meta by @thespineoftherighteous [Tumblr, 2023]

Art

Minyards art by @lnmei

HAPPY TWINYARD DAY!!! art by @babaleza

Aaron and Andrew sand castle building art by @emry-stars-art

POV: You’re Riko and the Twinyards are burying your body. art by @/capt.christine on instagram

nerdy Minyards art by @/intradaya on instagram

Mindyards on defense art by @/kulartly on instagram

andrew & aaron sarcastic healing art by @oliviaillustrations

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mcu-fan-fics-blog · 4 years ago

Text

The Helping Hand

This is a Repost from my Ao3 I wanted to bring it to Tumblr. I hope you like it Its currently 5 chapters. As I was editing the last chapter I decided to go a different direction than on Ao3. So moving forward the story will be different.

Word Count: 1500 approx

Summary: Y/N Krast Illegitimate Daughter of Tony Stark. Product of an unwanted teen pregnancy. What would Howard Stark be capable of doing to assure his sons future? What will happen when Tony meets our Beautiful, young, genius, rich philanthropist.

Tw: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug use, Drug addiction, Teen Pregnancy. (If there are any I missed please tell me.)

Ch.5

Chapter 6: Mental Fortress

Ch.7

You shuffle in your place as everyone acknowledges your presence. Which you find ironic because it is your house. You chuckle at the thought actually. "So how are we… I see you've made yourselves at home." Everyone just kinda looks at you with scared eyes. You leave them in silence for a while.

"It's a joke lighten up." Your say and everyone seems to release their breath at your words. Behind you, you hear someone clear their throat. "Bruce you've come back! Where'd you go?" He doesn't get the chance to tell when you're interrupted by Pepper. "I asked him to come back." You nod and Bruce jumps back in. "I came back because you helped me and heard you needed some."

"But we are not talking about that now… now we're doing breakfast." You wave Bruce off As Pepper is about to walk off, you stop her. "Did you tell everyone?" You say as you clear your throat. She nods. "Right fine I guess I should get used to this." Again she nods with a sly smile. You both make your way towards the group you're surprised to see that even Maria Hill was there. Nat is cooking with Steve. You walk towards Pietro and sit next to him. “Hi.” You say simply. He chuckles and gives you an award-winning smile.

“You’ve got a nice place here.” He mentions looking around at your home. “You said it well It’s a place, not a home.” He turns to face you a more somber look taking place on his face. “You get what I mean dont you?” He nods. “Orphans can spot orphans from a mile away.” You laugh at his joke. “That’s one way to put it.” You look around looking for those eyes that pierce your soul but are disappointed when you don't find them. “Speaking of where is your sister I don't see her.”

He looks down at his hands. “She will kill me if she finds out I told you… She knew about what happened to your friends.” You furrow your eyebrows not understanding until Pietro moves his hands to his own head. “She read your mind.” You nod understanding. “Well if she thinks I’m mad tell her I’m not I’m well aware of the lack of control when it comes to her abilities.” He shakes his head. “Well, as much as I think she'd appreciate your sentiment… I think she’s angry at you.” Your eyes widen. “Well, that’s a first.” He sighs “She’s in the restroom I think.” He finally answers you nod. Making a mental note to keep your distance from the Maximoff Witch.

“Okay, thanks for the heads up… I’m going to go help, Nat and Steve.” He simply gives you a thumbs up and continues gawking at your place. “Nat, how are you? Steve, it’s been a while.” He smiles while Natasha seems to not be listening to you. You pay no mind to it, starting a conversation with Steve. By the time that you’re done talking with Steve, everyone’s plate has been served. Once you finally settle down you wince when you notice our head throbbing. The first to notice was Tony, but he didn’t mention it. When you stand up to get water you stumble and fall clasping your hands on either side of your head. Curling into a little ball murmuring to yourself.

Pietro is the first one that makes it to you his hands on your shoulder trying to get you to respond. The pain becoming agonizing you yell pleading for the noise and the pain to stop. Then all of a sudden your mind goes blank no pain no sounds nothing. You’re in an endless white tundra. A woman in the distance walking back and forth until she notices you. “Y/N sweet heart… look at you. I knew you would be strong.” You don't know the woman, but you feel safe in her presence. You walk closer to her curiosity making the best of you. “Do I know you, I feel like I should know you.” She laughs taking your face in her hands. “Y/N, monkey it’s me your mom.”

As much as those words should take you by surprise they don't. “I’ve seen you before haven’t I?” She nods, “Only when you really needed it, but I’ve never left your side. Not once science I passed.” She shifts in her stance and hugs you. “You’re dead, you didn’t abandon me did you?” She shakes her head. “It’s complicated honey, but no. I brought you here for a reason listen carefully.” you nod “Right this path you’re on revenge that family it will be the death of you.” You’re shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth. “You say you never left me, you say you were with me, then you know what they did to me. WHAT HE DID TO ME! I was a kid.”

“Y/n I need you to understand those people aren’t who they seem… You’ve already been here too long. Promise me Y/n” You shake your head denying her. “They will pay for the pain they caused me.” She walks towards you reaching for you. “No one will stop me, not even you.” Suddenly the pain begins to build again, the noise filling your head again. She takes hold of your head and meets your gaze. “This vendetta will turn you from those around you, you will force them to turn their back on you if you continue down this path Y/N.” She stops noticing you calming down the pain subsiding.

“If you keep at this it will kill your father… It will kill him to have to turn his back on you. He will do it Y/n if you force his hand they all will, even Logan.” You fall to your knees “Mom, you know I can’t. I can’t forget I still remember and I wish I could just let go, but I CAN’T.” you wail the tears brimming in your eyes. “Y/n listen to me you will, in time you just need to heal I’ll always be here remember that. You need to get back now you’ve been here too long.” Again the noise and the pain begin to take hold of you this time you let it consume you embracing the hurt, the pain and the feeling of helplessness.

The Avengers Pov

“What’s happening to her Bruce?” Tony asks desperately. “I don’t know Tony, her scans and tests are normal, nothing is out of place.” Tony begins to pace back and forth not noticing when Wanda walks into the room. She begins to make her way to the medical bed when Bruce stops her. “Wanda stop what are you doing?” He calls out quickly scared of what the witch would do to Y/n. She stops placing her hands in the air to signify peace. “I can go into her head and maybe find out what’s wrong.” she says calmly. “There’s no need, her brain scans are normal and steady. The last thing we need is you making her re-live her worst nightmare, again.” He says spitefully. Tony jumps in again. “She won’t do that again, do what you have to do Wanda, I’m trusting you.” He says looking her in the eyes.

Wanda nods at Tony and continues walking until she makes it to your side. She inhales deeply the red wisp of magic already leaving her hands. Not long after that she screams and jumps back in agony. “Wanda! What happened?” Tony asks as he helps her get up. “I don't know it’s like there’s a barrier around her mind...almost like she doesn’t want me to see. It’s so loud in there and it hurts Tony.” It had already been a couple of hours and nothing she hadn’t woken up.

“It could be the drugs that she takes maybe she overdosed?” Says Natasha trying to find a plausible explanation for your current state. Pepper only shakes her head. “It’s not possible she would not have woken up today.” Tony cuts in again “Drugs don't make your minds a fortress Wanda could not get into her head. If it was drugs that would not be the case.” He says angrily, and it causes Steve to become suspicious. “What aren’t you telling us, Tony?” He asks harshly, his tone threatening. “Listen Capsicle I don't have to tell you everything.” He spat venomously. “Last time you kept things to yourself all hell broke loose and Y/n’s friends ended up paying the price.” Steve quickly retorted.

“I can assure you that this one Is not a life-altering secret.” He sighs as now the rest of the team looks at him expectantly. Tony takes a deep breath, taking one last look through the window to see Y/n then turning to Pepper. She nods and Tony exhales. “She’s my daughter.” He says quickly. Letting it sink into the rest of the team. Everyone’s eyes widen in surprise, but their reaction is quickly cut short by Y/n’s scream. “MOM, I CANT PROMISE YOU… JUST DON'T LEAVE, I will try” The last being a whisper that you’re not even sure you said.

#marvel #avengers #natasha x y/n #pietro maximoff #tony stark #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff #reader x avengers #wanda maximoff #fanfic #pepper potts #steve rogers #maya hansen #howard stark #maria stark

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years ago

Text

And Then You Kill Me, part 2

continued directly from this

Karim is inspired by the work of @sweetheartblue

also tagging @whumpitywhumpwhump but let me know if you’d rather i didn’t

TW for: referenced death/murder; guilt/mild self-dehumanization; suicidal behavior; consensual sexuality (no nsfw but a fairly clear lead up to sexy times); implied/referenced unhealthy relationship dynamics (including inappropriate use of the title “Father”). Referenced drug abuse/overdose. Also I don’t know what the right term for this is but like... Art is clearly turned on by Things That Could Kill Him, so watch out for that.

----

“I think—” Karim stops and licks his lips. “I think I’m offering to kill you.”

Karim has been dead for nine years, and in that time, he has killed a lot of people.

There’s no reason his (useless, unnecessary) heart should be pounding in his chest when he makes this offer. Especially because—well. The boy has seen his teeth; the choice he’s offering isn’t really a choice at all.

(It’s his Father’s number two rule: never tell the truth to any person you aren’t planning to kill.)

The boy stares at Karim. His eyes are light-colored, like the rest of him, though the yellow streetlight makes it hard to tell what color, specifically. There was a look on his face, when he first saw Karim’s teeth, that Karim’s never seen before. The boy looked like a deer in headlights—if the deer kind of wanted the oncoming truck to fuck him.

There’s a different look on his face now. He’s holding himself up on his heels, leaning back on one hand, because Karim is still holding his opposite wrist. Karim is on his heels too, leaning over; his face is very close to the boy’s face, in other words. It is not helping him read the boy’s expression.

The boy might be twenty; he’s surely no older than that. He’s slender, with long narrow limbs, and a pretty, angular face sprinkled with freckles. His hair is messy but fashionably cut, shaved in the back and long enough on top to flop over his forehead and into his eyes. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and torn jeans and nothing else. He smells like adrenaline and the kind of sweat you get inside your clothes from running on a cold night, and a little—increasingly—like blood.

“Why,” the boy says, searching Karim’s face, though Karim has no idea what for. He isn’t trying to pull his arm out of Karim’s grip anymore. His hand is still bleeding and so are his feet, but only a little. Also, his heart is pounding hard enough that Karim can see the artery in his throat jumping.

The sight of it makes Karim’s mouth water. As though he might have briefly forgotten that he is a monster.

“I think you know why,” Karim says, delicately.

The boy—flushes, goes deep red under his freckles.

Which is an interesting reaction.

He does yank back on his arm, then, and Karim lets him tug it free; the boy sits properly on his heels. He’s eyeing Karim with—suspicion. Like Karim might be hiding something.

It’s a little baffling, since this is the one time where he really isn’t.

“What’s in it for me,” the boy demands. He holds the wrist Karim was holding in the opposite hand, cradling it against his (alive, beating) heart. Karim hopes, nonsensically, that he hasn’t hurt him.

Karim blinks, and tilts his head, deliberately.

“I’m more fun than a bottle of pills,” he says, rattling the bottle in his pocket for emphasis.

That makes the boy’s pulse spike again.

He still doesn’t smell like fear.

The boy looks at Karim’s mouth. Karim parts his lips to show his teeth, again.

(It feels—Karim doesn’t know how it feels. He holds his mouth carefully, always. His fangs aren’t so obvious when he’s full and calm, but they come out when he’s hungry, or upset, or aroused. He doesn’t lisp around them anymore—his Father hated that—but he doesn’t open his mouth in public, either. People don’t look at them. Even Father doesn’t look at them, really.)

(The boy is definitely looking at them.)

(And he doesn’t smell like fear at all.)

“Come back to my apartment,” Karim says, and the boy backs up so fast he almost falls again, and has to catch himself on his hands. His blush fades, blotchily.

Karim almost laughs—and eases forward onto his knees, back into the boy’s space again.

“Why is that the part that scares you?” he says, pitching his voice low, the way people like.

The boy glares at him again. Karim grins; he doesn’t know the color of this boy’s eyes, but he does know that they’re sharp.

“Why can’t you just do it here,” the boy says, hotly.

Like Karim might take it back at any moment, and not kill this boy, and like the boy can’t think of anything worse than that.

It’s so—wrong, so outside of his experience with the living, who do not want to die

(even Karim, who had already agreed, panicked and tried to push away his Father’s mouth, when his head started to pound and his hands and feet go numb, from lack of blood, though of course by then it was far too late)

that he almost wants to ask—ask what the boy’s hurry is, at least.

But also—he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when it’s a horse he doesn’t deserve, one so beautiful he never even thought to properly wish for it.

“I could,” Karim says, and, because he can, he reaches out and cups his hand around the side of the boy’s throat, and puts his thumb, very gently over his Adam’s apple, and strokes it, once. “I could do it here.”

The boy doesn’t close his eyes—keeps his sharp eyes on Karim’s; his gaze feels a little like an electric shock—but he does gasp, very quietly, like he can’t help it.

Karim feels almost lightheaded. It takes him a second to realize what he’s feeling is delight.

“But I’d rather take my time,” Karim says, moving closer so he can lower his voice, and now the boy does close his eyes, and it’s almost intoxicating. “And not worry about interruptions. If it’s all the same to you.” By the end of that sentence, he’s almost whispering in the boy’s ear, and the boy shivers, visibly.

Then the boy pulls himself together, and moves back so he can meet Karim’s eyes again.

“It’s got to be tonight,” he says, sharply.

Karim looks at him. The boy looks—very serious. Maybe slightly desperate. Karim shrugs. “Okay,” he says.

“Promise,” the boy says, narrowing his sharp eyes. “Promise me I’ll be dead by sunrise.” He puts it so bluntly Karim almost winces, because he is a coward. “Say it.”

Karim does want to ask. The boy’s face is flushed again, and he’s a little out of breath, and his eyes are a light color Karim can’t identify, and he is inescapably alive, even for one of the living.

But Karim has done nothing, for nine years, except lie, and take what is not offered. It turns out that, in exchange for the opportunity to do otherwise, he will do pretty much anything.

“Alright, beautiful thing,” Karim says softly, with the boy’s pulse warm under his hand. “By sunrise, then. I promise.”

#and then you kill me #whump #original whump #sexy vampires #suicidal whumpee #suicide tw #referenced murder

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queermentaldisaster · 3 months ago

Text

I totally forgot about this omg yum

Rumor has it that the Riley family is cursed. First, their youngest son, kidnapped under mysterious circumstances. The nephew? Hit by a motorcycle that just happened to roll off the road. The oldest and his wife? Crashed into a tree that was in the middle of the asphalt. The father? Murdered in his hospital bed. The mother? Overdosed on pills she'd never had.

Task Force 141 knows the rumors. Who in the UK doesn't? One day, 141 is sent out to help a team in Las Almas called Los Vaqueros. Apparently, the Las Almas cartel is having a territory dispute with the neighboring city's cartel, the Zaragoza cartel. While Los Vaqueros is handling the Las Almas cartel with Gaz and Roach's help, Price and Soap go to handle the Zaragoza cartel. They go undercover, and discover someone with brown eyes and blond lashes, wearing a balaclava, being passed around like many of the blunts in that room.

Soap manages to get his hands on this person, who's clearly out of it. After some finagling, he manages to get them outside, wrapping them in his coat to provide them with some decency.

When they wake up, they're in a bed in the Los Vaqueros base. Soap asks them for their name and pronouns, and he introduces himself as Ghost.

#tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #tw: mentions of death #cw: sui mention #tw: mentioned overdose #tw: implied/referenced drugging #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty mw2 #ghoap au #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #elo rambles

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ao3feed-bnha-girls · 3 years ago

Text

I Just Need a Helping Hand

i just need a helping hand by izukub0at

izuku is dealing with suicidal thoughts and winds up going through with certain things.

tw: suicide, vomiting, overdose, intrusive thoughts

Words: 1062, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Class 1-A, Uraraka Ochako, Iida Tenya, Bakugou Katsuki, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32461621

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Izuocha Plus #♧#Izuocha #Iideku #🎈#⚤#R:G #W:S #A:Izukub0at #Dadzawa #Dad Might #Sick Fic #Mental Illness

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nicostolemybones · 5 years ago

Text

The Doctor Is Not In

Tw: mental breakdown. implied/referenced: medical emergencies, ptsd, disordered eating, self harm, contamination ocd, paranoia, and delusions

Today was not a normal day in the infirmary. Anyone at the doors asking for Will was being met with a very angry Nico harshly growling at them to fuck off. Sure, severe injuries and breakdowns really had to be dealt with, but Nico demanded they be taken to Chiron or Apollo. Because behind the infirmary walls you could hear inconsolable screams, unsettling the campers- the doctor was calm, clinical.

Nico made his way in, where Will was pacing like a caged animal, pulling his hair so hard a few strands came out, and Will kept hitting the walls and smacking his head and throwing stuff to the floor.

He wasn't okay.

He wasn't okay and it pissed Nico off because there shouldn't be a reason for Will to ever be like this. Will should not be in dire need of psychiatric help. Will should have been outside playing sports or indoors playing fortnite or studying subjects he was interested in or doing literally anything other than being a doctor.

Because at this point? They were fifteen. Fifteen years old. And Will? On a daily basis, Will was exposed to medical emergencies that leave seasoned hospital workers with ptsd. Will was having to spend all his free time studying way beyond his age and overusing his powers, doing surgeries that required a team of specialists by himself. No anaesth- aneeth- whatever the putting you to sleep with drugs and making sure you don't die people were, no nurses, no actual experts. No cardiologists, radiologists, obstetricians, gynaecologists, midwives, oncologists, anaesthetists- that was the word- but Nico's point was:

Will was a literal fucking child dealing with injuries that would take a whole team of specialists literal decades of their life to be prepared for. Doctors who had been qualified since before Will was even born would not be qualified enough to do what Will was expected to do alone.

And mental health issues? Will was expected to deal with them too. And it wasn't like it was the occasional anxious camper or the occasional bout of depression. No, Will was dealing with regular overdoses, self mutilation, severely disordered eating, psychosis, dissociative disorders, mood disorders, personality disorders- things that psychiatrists with a PhD were sometimes genuinely unqualified to help with. And Will? Will hadn't even reached middle school before he was working in the infirmary and wouldn't have even graduated middle school by the time he was head medic. Will hadn't seen the inside of a classroom since he was seven.

Will was a fucking child.

Nico was mad enough that he was an undertaker himself so young, but this? The sheer amount that Will was expected to handle was too much. Being a combat medic? Expected to endanger his life on a battlefield defenseless to treat horrifying wounds no person should ever have to see let alone a child-

Yeah, Nico was fucking livid.

Because Will was having some kind of breakdown or episode from it all. And he shouldn't be because he should never have had to do this.

Nico had to watch Will completely hysterical and nonsensical, watching him completely falling apart. Nico was the one who had been watching this brewing, had been listening to Will late at night, watching to him becoming paranoid and delusional, flashbacks and night terrors, jumpy, watching him losing sleep, afraid he'd die if he went to sleep, watching Will's odd behaviours spiral into obsessive rituals, watched him wash his hands until they were bleeding, shaking and crying because he was so scared of the germs, had watched Will develop an unhealthy obsession with pure healthy foods to the point that he would have a panic attack at the sight of fatty foods, obsessed with exercise to the point Nico would find him doing sit ups in the dead of night, spine all bruised, and now beginning to lose weight, panicking about that too to the point Will would sit calculating everything that went in or out of his body in an attempt to not lose weight, because by Will's flawed logic, as long as he didn't lose weight his diet wasn't dangerous or disordered.

Will wasn't well. He was traumatised and he had been allowed to spiral this bad, allowed to develop serious disorders, because as long as Will was functional enough to play doctor, nobody truly cared how much it hurt him.

All this responsibility had made Will ill.

Will was not supposed to be a doctor. He was a child. He wouldn't be the doctor now. Will was the patient. The inpatient, in urgent need of psychiatric help, having some kind of breakdown that Nico didn't know enough about to be able to help.

Nico was in and out- he didn't want to leave Will alone but Austin and Kayla were there too and somebody had called his mama who was on her way and Nico had to make sure he had Will's belongings for his stay.

His favourite blanket, the soft knitted blue one way too small and threadbare patched up with darker yarn that he'd had since a baby, knitted by his grandma. His small dinosaur plush, buried under his blankets, that Nico knew Will couldn't sleep without. His favourite hoodie- the pastel blue one with the clouds at the top, his favourite cozy yellow cable knit jumper, his favourite grey sweatpants, the cozy dog onesie he liked to sleep in when he was sad. The picture of Will and his mom when Will was seven. The one of him and Nico embracing in the rain. The small box Nico had never seen the contents of that he knew Will kept his dearest memories in. His diary, which Will had shared with Nico, his Frisbee, his favourite trophy from school- the one for his running. Nico's aviator jacket- it was big on Nico so it was the only thing of his that Will could really steal and be comfortable in- it grounded Will when Nico couldn't be there in person to help. And finally, Will's essentials, like his toothbrush and various creams and gels.

On his way back, Nico's mood switched quickly from sentimental back to anger as people were gossiping ungratefully about the lazy sunshine boy who couldn't possibly be sad and was just faking for attention. Nico had seen too many scars to believe that, hidden beneath the long sleeves of the white shirt Will wore beneath his scrubs, the ones on the tops of his thighs and his stomach and chest and anywhere he could reach.

Nico returned to Will, who was distraught, begging, because he didn't want to be in hospital anymore. He just wanted to go home. But he needed urgent treatment, he needed it now, and it broke Nico's heart.

Because Will should never have been a doctor, should never have lived the circumstances that lead to him being in this state.

So Nico placed the sign on the front of the infirmary doors, heart heavy with concern.

'The doctor is not in.'

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