#TW: IMPLIED ABUSE

[ghostboneswrites2]

Safer

Summary: After the fall of the prison and a brutal assault, Daryl cares for you.

NOTE (please read): A mutual requested this a while ago. Took a long while to write, and tbh I considered turning the req down given the premise and my firm stance on writing graphic SA which you can find here. However, they explained to me that they are a victim of a violent s*xual assault, and they expressed it would be healing in a way to have a story where they were cared for by their comfort character. After some consideration, I decided to go for it. I'm sure a lot of us have been victimized by people who couldn't control their urges, or those who lacked respect for our boundaries, bodies, and consent. Myself included. So, this story is for us, to those of us that can stomach it. 

DISCLAIMER: There are no scenes of graphic SA, only the aftermath. While I will not be telling any descriptive scenarios of being assaulted, I do want to clearly express that this is a generally heavy story and it may not be suitable for all audiences. Please consume responsibly.

**I will not be tagging anyone on the taglist due to the content of this story**

18+MDNI ||  WARNINGS: non-graphic allusions to SA, violence, mild nudity descriptions, generally heavy content so I can't say it enough: TW!!!

Banner from: cafekitsune

IF YOU READ BEYOND THIS POINT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I have made great effort not to trigger anyone, and to give all readers an opportunity to turn away if this story is not suitable for you.

        Daryl's vision was blurred as he blinked himself to consciousness. It took him some time to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. His wrists and ankles were bound together, his mouth gagged with a cloth that tasted of sweat and filth. He stared up at the treetops towering over him. It was dark outside, save for the dim light of a dying campfire a few feet away. He lifted his head from the forest floor and looked down past his feet. Lumps of sleeping bodies under raggedy blankets and torn sleeping bags rested around him. His heart raced as his memories crept back in; of you, screaming his name, of him fighting off the group of men who caught him off guard, of twigs snapping and a searing pain over the side of his head. Was that why his face felt so sticky? Was it dried blood?

        His eyes strained in the fading light of ember and ash. Where were you? He noticed a crumpled form at the foot of a tree. Her breathing was shallow and her clothes were torn, pants not even pulled up over her bare behind. That much, he could see. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. What the hell had he let them do to you? How could he have let this happen? He had to get you out of there, and fast. If they hadn't killed him yet, that was surely on their agenda.

        He began to squirm and writhe against his restraints. Whoever tied him up had experience. Just as hopelessness began to set in and cloud his judgement with fear -- real, genuine fear -- he noticed a reflection in the leaves. Just a few feet past his boots, a man was curled up on his side, snoring lightly in the calm breeze. His back was turned to Daryl, and behind him set a grungy backpack with a blade sticking out of the smallest pocket in the front. He glanced back  to you, shivering on the ground, unsure if you were awake or unconscious or simply passed out from the exhaustion of prior events. 

        The sight of you in your disheveled mess was all her needed to kick him into gear. Carefully and hastily, he scooted himself down toward his only chance at redeeming his status as a loyal protector of the weak and vulnerable. Ideally, he'd be able to accomplish this in silence, but he was not in an ideal situation. His circumstances were heavy, laced in sweat and angst. The leaves beneath him rustled as his back slid across the ground, twigs snapping or moving to the side as he made his way closer to the large hunting knife. He'd pause between each scoot, studying the sleeping men around him for any sign of movement or wakefulness. When he'd decide the coast was clear enough, he'd resume. It felt like an eternity, but he made it there. 

        His core muscles strained as he sat himself up. He realized how sore he was. He must have taken a good beating. Seemed fitting, though. He was never one to go down without a fight. He left that sort of weakness in his past.

        He guided his shaky, bound hands over to the bag. He slowly slid the knife out of the front pocket. His heart raged against his ribs. He didn't dare take a single breath until it was secured. 

        Slow. Slowness. Slowly. He repeated every variation of the word in his mind as he positioned the knife between his palms and dragged it back and forth until the rope finally severed. A silent breath of relief escaped him as he ripped the gag from his lips and worked on the rope tied around his ankles. When he was free, he stood and counted the sleeping bodies beneath him. Excluding you, there were four. 

        He considered waking you up and running for the hills, but he couldn't leave any loose ends. No, he thought of it like when your t-shirt has a loose thread. You could leave it to keep unraveling, or you could burn it at  the base and extend the lifetime of your clothes. He decided he needed to burn this string before it could unravel any further.

        Starting with the man closest to him -- the one who so graciously left his knife in plain sight for the archer -- he krept over and crouched down, plunching the blade into the base of his skull. Then, he moved on to the next, and the next one, and the one after that, until they were all a problem of the past. Until that pesky little thread could do no further damage to the rest of the shirt.       

        When the dirty work was behind him, he dropped the knife and rushed over to you. Your wrists were tied like his, but you were tied to the tree so you couldn't run. He eyed you over and gulped. With your pants not fully covering you and your shirt all ripped up, he could see the finger-shaped bruises littering your skin. There was blood on your inner thighs. Your lips were swollen and cut. His blood heated until it hit a boiling point. His hands trembled as they hovered over you. Touching you  felt like a crime, but he had to wake you. He had to get you out of there.

        "(Y/N)." He whispered as he laid a hand on your shoulder. You were shivering in the cool air, but a thin layer of sweat blanketed your exposed flesh. He gave you a gentle shake. "((Y/N), c'mon. We gotta go." He pleaded softly.        

        Your body jerked and you jolted awake. You gave him no chance to explain as you scrambled to your knees and cowered away against the tree. 

        "(Y/N) it's me. It's Daryl." He attempted his most soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, let me get ya cleaned up."        

        He outstretched his arm, offering you his  hand. Without making eye contact you made a move to take it, but you were stopped by the restricting force of the rope that kept you anchored to the tree trunk. He moved quickly for the knife he tossed to the side earlier and returned with it. Without the pressure of remaining silent, he had your hands free in seconds.

        He wasted no time helping you to your feet and averting his gaze as he slid your pants up where they belonged. He found he had a hard time keeping his mind straight and focused as your weeping filled the quiet campsite. 

        "Shh.." He cooed, keeping one hand on your upper back as he ushered you along with him to gather his things and yours. A smart man would have rummaged through the belongings of the ones he killed, too, but he wasn't concerned with making a smart call at that point. He was only worried about you.

        "It's alright. C'mon. Let's get ya somewhere you can rest. It's alright. C'mon." He felt useless as ever, repeating the same generic words of comfort as you limped along beside him. He never urged you to up the pace, he didn't drag you along or have you carry your own bag. He felt like the least he could do was shoulder the weight of survival on behalf of you both. He couldn't get the image out of his mind of ou laying there,caked in blood, sweat, and bruises. A girl like you should have been caked in perfume and makeup. You hair should have been done up nice for a Sunday brunch, not matted with leaves and dirt. Your clothes should have been pristine and well fitting, unlike the filthy torn clothes that were beginning to hang off your frame like tender meat falling from the bone. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of it.

        Eventually he found an acceptable spot that looked like it could have been a den for a hibernating bear. It was a big shrub by a little stream, perfectly indented to give you both enough room to crouch under its foliage. He gently set you down, dropping his bow and your bags beside him. He crouched down in front of you and scanned you, worry written articulately over his features. 

        Your eyes remained glued to the ground. Your nose was upturned in disgust but your eyes told a different story; one of pain and despair and mourning for the person you were before that night. Your frown was deep enough to leave a scar. 

        "(Y/N)..." He breathed. Your eyes slowly found their way to his and welled with tears all over again. Of all things you had -- meaning, being alive and away from those men -- there was nothing you were more grateful for than his blue eyes staring back at you. You hated the way he looked at you with defeat and pity, though. You hated that he had one more thing to worry about. Still, he was there, and he was welcome. "Let's get ya cleaned up, okay?"

        You nodded once, if absentmindedly. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't pinpoint their location, though. They were scrambled, swarming all around you, like gnats you couldn't swat away.

        He pulled an old shirt from his bag and leaned over to the stream, getting it nice and wet before wringing it out. He turned back to you and brought it up to your cheek, gently dabbing and swiping away at the dirt, grime, sweat, and blood. He moved on to your neck and hands, then he paused. You both looked down at your jeans. You knew it needed to be taken care of, and he did too, but the question was really about which one of you would be brave enough to work on the gruesome scene between your legs.

        One look at your expression and he knew it couldn't be you. But, how could it be him? He couldn't put you in such a vulnerable position. No, not him.

        That's when the lightbulb went off over his head. The stream, of course.

        "Here." He offered you a hand. You took it slowly and he led you to your feet. "Wanna get in the water?" He asked. You stared down at the serene flowing water, trickling just before your feet. He cleared his throat. "I don't gotta look."

        You almost could have laughed. After everything that had happened, Daryl seeing you bathe wasn't really a concern. Still, you had to maintain some shred of dignity, and washing those men off of you was a much needed stride toward leaving that horrid night in your past. So, you nodded, and he turned away to start a fire where you could warm up after rinsing off.

        The button was busted off of your jeans. You guessed they couldn't waste their time with something as simple as undoing a button. You let out a shaky sigh and gritted your teeth. You moved to bend over and slide your jeans down, but a searing pain shot through your insides. You whimpered. "I can't." You barely managed.

        "Huh?" He asked over his shoulder.

        "I can't." You spoke up with a tremble. "I can't get them off. It hurts."

        His throat tightened up. Had they really been so cruel to you?

        "Ya want me to..." He trailed off.

        "Please." You whispered and shut your eyes. He stood beside you and pulled your pants down to your ankles, kneeling down as he did so.

        "Grab my shoulder." He instructed softly. You did. "Left leg." He said. You pulled it out. "Now the right." 

        With your jeans off, he stood up and looked down at your face, which you his from him, avoiding his gaze. 

        "Your -- Uh.." He glanced down at your underwear. You nodded, not needing to see what he meant. He followed the same process with those and turned away as soon as he was done. You cleared your throat. 

        "Can you help me sit?" You whispered. He sucked in a breath. It wasn't that you were annoying him. Anything but that, actually. He was glad to help you in any way you needed. It was the simple fact that you needed the help that was eating him alive. The thought that those guys could hurt you in this way, to this extent, was infuriating and heartbreaking. 

        He turned back to you and hovered behind you, placing a hand under each arm to support you while you lowered yourself down into the water. Once you were sitting on the creek bed, you adjusted yourself and sighed.

        "Just, uh, watch for snakes, okay?" Was all he could say before turning his attention back to the fire finally.

        Your frown deepened as you stared down at your bloodied thighs. A plop beside you startled you before realizing it was just the old shirt he was using to clean you up.

        "Figured ya might need it." He mumbled.

        You gripped the cloth in your hand and stared at it. Blood and filth stained it. Your lip quivered as you ran it over your inner thighs, scrubbing your own dried blood away and watching it disappear in the gentle current. You hissed and winced as you cleaned yourself where you were really injured. 

        When you were done, you peered over your shoulder, where Daryl stared at the small flame. He felt your eyes on him and he looked up at you. 

        "Need some clothes?" He asked.

        "Please." You replied. He nodded once and rummaged through your bag. He could only find a semi-clean shirt, but no more pants. He pulled his own bag forward and searched for the new two-pack of boxers he'd scavenged awhile back. 

        "I, uh, didn't see no more pants, but... You can have those." He said, holding your shirt and the fresh boxers out to you.

        "Thanks." You pressed your lips into a thin attempt at a friendly smile. 

        He turned away again so you could change your shirt, but you needed his help with the boxers, which he did without you needing to ask, and without a single peek at you.

        He helped you back over to the den where you could warm up by the fire. You kept the blanket in your bag, so he made sure to wrap it around your shoulders while you sat.

        "Ain't got no food." He broke the silence after a little while. You nodded.

        "Not hungry anyways." 

        "Mm." He hummed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

----

        By midday, you were on the move again, trailing right behind him as he stomped slowly over the underbrush so you could keep his pace. He'd stop every now and then, and though he didn't say it, you knew it was because he didn't want to overwork you. 

        By late afternoon, the sun was on the far end of the sky, casting an orange glow over the woods. 

        Daryl had barely been able to look at you, and you couldn't exactly claim any different. You two had taken a break again, sipping water and scanning around for any game or edible plants.

        "I want ya to know.." He cleared his throat, shattering the thick silence that glazed over you both all day. "I want ya to know I didn't see it. None of it."

        "I know you weren't looking." You deadpanned.

        "Nah, not at the stream. I meant -- I didn't see none of it." He clarified. He had a sneaking suspicion the reason you couldn't bare to look at him might have been the possibility of him seeing what had happened to you. He, however, just hated seeing you look so broken, knowing had he been more vigilant yesterday, none of those guys would have been able to sneak up on him. You looked at him finally.

        "I know. They hit you over the head 'cause you were fighting them."

        "Mm." He nodded. "I just... I need to tell ya I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he looked down at his hands and back up to you. His leg was bouncing anxiously and his gums must have bled from how hard he chewed at them.

        "Why?" You pushed your eyebrows together.

        "I shoulda been lookin' out. Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda--"

        "You were. You have been." You cut him off. "You've looked out for me every day since the prison. You've been protecting me since the quarry. You protect everyone. That wasn't your fault." You insisted. He just looked back down at his hands and sniffled, blinking back tears. He scolded himself for being the one to cry, when you were the one who got hurt. "Hey." You pressed on. "Listen to me. You got us out of there. You took care of them. You saved me. Then, you still took care of me. If we were still back there, they would have killed you and robbed you by now. And, if they hadn't killed me yet, I'd be wishing I was dead. I wouldn't be here without you. I would have never survived even before last night without you, and I wouldn't be sitting here telling you that today if it weren't for you."

        He looked you in the eyes as you spoke every word. It was a great relief to him that you weren't angry with him -- that you didn't blame him. Still, he felt so uneasy.

        "Can we camp here?" You asked suddenly. He shrugged.

        "Yeah. We can." He agreed. His voice was still broken.

        "Can I sit with you?" You asked. He looked confused but he still nodded, even if he was unsure what you meant.

        Ignoring the aches all over your body, you crawled over to him and sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning your back against his torso. He was stiff, unused to being so close to someone, but he didn't resist. As you settled in and got comfortable, he rested his arms by your sides.

        "You didn't fail me, Daryl. Nobody makes me feel safer."

Join the taglist || Masterlist

#tw: implied abuse #tw: implied sa #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

[hunterwritesstuff]

Vox x Overlord reader? Like he’s much stronger then Vox

Of course! Warning ahead of time for mentioned past abuse!

📺 We all KNOW Vox would throw a hissy fit over this. We all know it.

📺 "I'M THE FUCKING TV DEMON!!! I'M THE MOST POWERFUL!! I'M A STRONG FUCKING OVERLORD!!!"

📺 Sorta not safe for work, but he straight up jacks off afterwards to try to destress from it.

📺 Afterwards, he opens up a bit more and goes to Velvette for advice.

📺 "Dude just talk 2 them lmao"

📺 She isn't helpful.

📺 He eventually sucks it up and goes to talk to you.

📺 After a bit of talking, he allows it, since you can't exactly control how powerful you are.

📺 But then he starts boasting about how strong his partner is, and how they can protect him from anything.

📺 Then he almost cries in public.

📺 They can protect him from anything.

📺 They can protect him...from him.

📺 He hurries back inside despite the crowd calling after him and he just sorta...breaks down in his room.

📺 He always saw it as a "see how much better my partner is than yours?" type thing and not a like, "he can protect me from the person who's abused me the most since being in Hell" type thing.

Hope you enjoy!

#hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #tw: implied abuse #tw: abuse mention

[archersartcorner]

Some more old doodles I went ahead and cleaned up on procreate. I love slangst (slug angst) and slump (slug whump) :-)

#my art #described #tw: implied abuse #dimension 20 #a starstruck odyssey #norman takamori #skip takamori #skipperskip #king prilbus #I’ll draw two slugs arguing and be like ‘oughhhhhh the sad of it all…………’ #there was an extra part to the argument that I doodled that I felt was a lil too dark. but Norman implies it- #-with ‘he’s not gonna lay his hands on you again’ :(

[troblsomtwins829]

"Weither in the city or in a cell: walls surround us both"

#jak and daxter #jnd #jnd fanart #DWP #Daxter's trying man #tw: implied abuse #troblsomart

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt:

Whumpee, trying to avoid a really bad situation, is 'saved' by Whumper, who puts them into a worse situation as their pet/employee/whatever you want, but if they leave, their team/family will suffer even worse, and Whumpee just can't let that happen.

#whump prompt #whumpee #tw: trauma #tw: angst #tw: team whump #tw: sadistic whumper #tw: implied abuse #tw: self sacrifice #whump #tw: duress #tw: distress

[catierambles]

"Captain, you gotta promise me--"

"Shut it, you're going to be fine."

"No, I'm not. You gotta promise me you'll look after my sister. I'm the only one she's got. You gotta look after her, protect her. Our parents are shit, they'd just hurt her, they have hurt her."

"Sergeant--"

"Promise me, Sy."

"I promise, Sergeant. Sergeant? Jake!"

#henry cavill #captain syverson #tw: implied death #tw: implied abuse

[idontevenknowhowtolife]

ok I’m blaming @raybyanothername for this

Sunfyre is considered a pretty gentle dragon. Mischievous and a nuisance, but he won’t kill you for getting too close. He is also fiercely protective of Aegon.

Sunfyre will not let Otto, Alicent or Crispin near Aegon when he’s around. One of them comes to drag Aegon out of the Dragonpit, believing he’s spent too much time there. Before they get anywhere near him, Sunfyre growls and steps in front of Aegon, refusing to let them near. Jace, who seen Sunfyre let him, his brother, uncles and aunt near him all the time is confused as to why he’s reacting this way. He brushes it off as Sunfyre being in a bad mood tho.

But it happens again. And again. And again. Now Jace is concerned, bc last time Sunfyre did that it was at an assassin sent after the princes. Surely Aegon can’t be in danger from them right? They may not be nice to him but that is their son/grandson, they love him don’t they?

#aegon targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #sunfyre #fuck otto hightower #otto hightower #alicent hightower #ser crispin #hotd #house of the dragon #fix it #tw: implied abuse #sunfyre is a ride or die bitch #and he does not like those who make his rider sad #jace x aegon #jacegon

[hatredcurse]

[  STUCK  ]  —  Our muses are stuck in a small broom closet together. || @kagami--uchiha​

This was not written into his plans. Body flush against a smaller man, confined in an even tinier space, with barely enough shared oxygen for the two of them. Blind in the dark, Kiyoto slipped his hand to his pocket on the defense, fingers on a threaded hilt readying to slash the throat of the man until he felt the familiar pulse of a certain purplish-red chakra. 

“Kagami?” he breathed in realization,” what are you doing in here?”

It had been years since he last shared space with the boy. Before, he was spry little thing with porcelain skin and a glimmer in the corner of his eyes. Now, he was just pathetically thin with blade scabs whiting out the yellow discoloration of week old bruises. 

Forget his bounty, Kiyoto captured Kagami’s jaw, fingers pinching into the width as he inspected him in low light. The golds of his eyes vanishing into the dark as he narrowed them, face drawing closer in attempt to see the Uchiha better. 

“What happened to you?”

#Kiyoto ic #closed starter #v. ICHOR LIKE WINE; FEAST ON THE BODY AND BLOOD (Blank Period) #|| I know this is supposed to be like Sinday but the angst came out. #|| What happens when I keep Kiyoto in storage. #kagami--uchiha #TW: Implied Abuse

[the--helen]

@santiagoxflores

It had been almost two months since she had found herself in Greywood... if she could put it in this way. She wandered often in the evening around the city, holding her husband's cold hand, looking at people, and discussing his life. She had come to understand that not everything was as it seemed, that there were things she couldn't quite comprehend, and that Alexander was in fact one of them. Something else. Helen wasn't afraid to admit that she was more afraid now, more reserved around him, allowing him to do as he wished without trying to oppose him. She didn't go out too much, when he was home, mostly when he left her for a few days every few weeks, sure enough, that he would find her home even if he left the door unlocked, considering she couldn't leave the city even if she wanted.

Two weeks ago she had confronted him about the golden bracelet on her hand that seemed to be doing things to her, scaring her a bit every time she gave herself too willingly, afraid that he'd finally fully overcome every barrier she had in her mind, but also happy that she seemed to finally be allowing herself to love him even if she wasn't sure she wanted to. And it had been bad. He had been angry with her for wanting to give it back so they could go back to normal. Saying that she couldn't go to the Halloween party was putting it lightly, she hadn't been able to get out of bed for a few days, both exhausted from the loss of blood and bruised from the rough touches all over her. And two days ago he had finally helped her heal after keeping her in bed for the whole day, curtains drawn, one of his charms from a friend on their door to stop anyone from hearing what they do in their home. Now she was alone again, as he had received a call that had gotten him excited, and as soon as the sun had set he drove away, heading for another state. As far as she could understand... she didn't want to know the exact nature of his escapades.

A whole day spent in darkness, the night filled with nightmares, she needed to go out now, dreading the four walls she was stuck between and desperate for the sunshine while it was still there with winter coming around. She dressed and grabbed the old phone she had, holding it in her hand with a few bills she had left in the jar on the kitchen counter. She didn't remember the last time she ate so it seemed like a good idea to do so now, walk around. And so she did that, getting pastries from a bakery near the park, wishing her loneliness could be filled with anything else than lust or fear. So she sat down on a bench in the sun and looked down at the phone number, taking some time to press down the buttons to produce a message, hoping she was remembering the correct number.

#p:santiago #tw: implied abuse #tw: blood mention #santi02

[ae-azile]

You're Invited…

Event: Tankhun Theerapanyakul's 30th Birthday Extravaganza

Theme: Roaring 20s 

Place: Hum Bar

Date: November 25th, 2022 

The digitally curated invitation arrives as a group text on Kim's phone two weeks before the date in question. When it arrives, he is strumming a tune so melancholy that it makes him feel he isn't emotionally ready to put together lyrics for it yet. Kim isn't sure why he isn't ready. Writing sad songs over the last five months has been commonplace. So common that his agent has asked him several times if he is okay. Vice is more thoughtful than his record label. His record label has only asked if he could please just write a couple of happy bops for the new album, or at least one. 

His answer to Vice?

Of course I'm okay. Why would you think otherwise?

As for his answer to his record label?

No.

Regardless, neither answer seems to please them. Not that he is used to pleasing people, at least not the people who matter to him in some capacity. It has been a habit since Ma died, likely developing as a way to rebel against and to agitate Pa, only to spread like a disease. Pa wants a guard on him? Order the guard to leave or run away if they don't obey. Pa wants him to work a mission at seventeen? Kill the shitty ally who pointed a gun to his head to make Kim comply with his demands at an event when he was thirteen, all while letting their enemy walk free. Kinn finds out the reason Kim made that decision and strongly suggests Pa add a therapist to the roster, even though Pa always said no to doing that for Khun? Make the therapist rush out of the room in tears during their first and only session, then distance himself from an extremely concerned, desperate, and apologetic Kinn.

Chay finds out Kim used him to figure out just how terrible his father is? Pretend like he isn’t bothered and leave Chay heartbroken, only to end up heartbroken himself.

While that last one left a terrible taste in his mouth, it is clearly a tactic that mostly works for him. Look at all the lonely, sad, but high-quality music he is producing. He is curating a great album for someone to play as they write a suicide note. While Kim doesn't condone that, he thinks every person should have the perfect soundtrack for any poignant life event.

Porsche: Looking forward to it! Kinn and I will go shopping for our outfits this week. 🙂

Kinn: Couple coordinated? ❤️❤️❤️

Porsche: You know it 😁❤️

Tankhun: 🤮

Kim has to agree, but keeps his own vomiting emojis to himself. 

Tay: Time and I will be there too. Happy to celebrate with you! 

Tem: I'll be there as well.

Tay: 😐

Jom: See you guys there! 

Yok: Looking forward to decorating the bar and celebrating with you, Tankhun! 🙂💜🍾🥂

Kim isn't even sure how he got Tem's, Jom's, and Yok's numbers. He probably found them and added them to his contacts when he was obsessively researching Porsche's origins on a caffeine bender. Whatever. They are in his phone now. 

Unknown Number: Okay.

Porsche: You can come, but no drinking!!!

Fuck. It's Chay's new number. 

That has Kim going from passively watching the conversation on his phone to quickly picking it up to click on the group text list and go through everyone in the chat. He has all of them saved on his phone except for two numbers and the list isn't very long. Not surprising. Tankhun went from a popular boarding school student to a traumatized, agoraphobic shut-in who cut himself off from everyone outside of the family and his bodyguards. He is only coming back to himself - or developing a new version. It is a mix of the sharp, caring, and charismatic big brother he used to have and the eccentric and over-the-top persona he put on after the kidnapping. He is both recognizable and a complete stranger, and Kim has missed him so much. 

Not that he will say that out loud. 

But maybe he can show him. He can show him that he cares and that he loves him. Kim never stopped loving either of his brothers, despite the distance he put between himself and his family. He never wanted to distance himself from Tankhun. He would have taken Tankhun with him. Kim told him they could share an apartment, even when he knew Tankhun told Kinn about why he killed one of Pa’s allies. He never blamed Tankhun for that and he still doesn't. Tankhun had just wanted Kim to get the help he was denied, even though Kim clearly doesn’t need it. Kim had wanted (and still wants) his oldest brother with him so they could get away and put all their shit behind them. 

And Tankhun wouldn't leave. So Kim left alone and he stayed that way. Alone. 

But Kim can choose not to be alone, at least for one night. He didn't realize how alone he felt, not until he came to his senses and - unfortunately - Chay came to his senses too. Maybe a party will be good for him, even though parties are never good for him. Unless he is hired to perform at one, he doesn't want to be at them. Ever. 

Apparently Chay does. Chay is going and Kim hasn't seen him in person for months. That means Kim is going too. 

Kim: Count me in. 

Tankhun: HE SPEAKS. 😱

Kim: Did you want me to ignore your invitation? 

Tankhun: Of course I didn't. I just expected you to. You better dress up in a costume.

Kim: No.

Thankhun: 🙄 Fine. Just look nice. And ACT nice. Socialize. Do not stand in a corner all night. You deserve to have fun, believe it or not. 

No. He doesn't. But he doesn't say that.

Kim: Okay.

Tankhun: …Is everything alright?

Kim stares at the text.

Kim: Why?

Tankhun: Because you are agreeing to come to a party.

Kim: I have attended parties before. It isn't that absurd of a concept.

Tankhun: Because you haven't come to the compound in months and skipped Pa's birthday dinner. 

Kim: Why would I go to that?

Tankhun: Because he faked his death so Uncle Gun would force an attack and neither of them cared if their sons were killed in their violent feud. Because our father killed his brother. Because our cousin will likely never walk again. 

Kim: Haven't you hated Vegas for years?

Tankhun: And yet I cry every time I think of how he must be feeling. Even though I hated him for years, I loved him for much longer. 

Kim: Hm.

Tankhun: Kind of like you with Pa.

Kim: It's very different, but whatever.

Tankhun: Is that why you texted me privately to accept the invite? So Pa wouldn't see your text and be more likely to come too? I seriously doubt he will come, by the way. Hum Bar doesn't seem like his thing. 

That isn't why. However, it is a plus. 

Kim: Sure. 

Tankhun: Are you actually okay? Something seems wrong.

It's a question from his agent that he regularly answers with lies. Why can't he text a lie to Tankhun? He should be able to text a one worded lie to his brother, yet his finger and thumb won't cooperate. Chay always playfully picked on him when it came to how he texted, with his left thumb and right index finger. Kim had pointed out that not all people game to the extent where using both thumbs to communicate as their go-to. Kim beat him at speed texting out the lyrics to some random song, and Chay beat him at Mortal Kombat in retaliation. 

The memory makes Kim go lie down on the couch and stare at his reflection in the dark television screen, his phone left abandoned on the coffee table. An hour later, Tankhun lets himself into his apartment and Arm makes himself scarce by going into his kitchen to make dinner for the three of them.

Kim silently wishes him luck on that front. Other than some spices in the cabinet by the stove, coffee in the pantry, and a couple of takeout containers in the fridge from who knows how many days ago, he doesn't have much else to work with. 

"Lift your head up," Tankhun says, urging him until he has enough room to sit down so that Kim's head is falling in his lap, "Let's watch a movie." 

Whatever. 

The movie in question deals with a couple gradually becoming more and more estranged. Of course it does. There is no happy ending in sight, so it is just like slowly watching tragedy unfold. Tankhun - predictably - cries his eyes out. Kim - not so predictably - cries too. But he's more subtle about it. He is actually so subtle that his brother probably doesn't even notice. 

"Kim, what's going on with you?" Tankhun murmurs sadly as Kim's shoulders shake and he soaks Tankhun's pants leg with tears.

Fine. He does notice. But Kim still doesn't respond. 

----------------------------------------------------------------- 

He needs to look good for the party. The problem is, Kim always looks good. He isn't conceited, it's just a fact. Even when he was a child, everyone talked about how beautiful he was. Ma eventually tried to redirect those types of compliments by talking about his talent and how sweet he could be. But then Ma died and Khun had to take over on that front instead. And that's a hard responsibility to hold up when you're strapped to a gurney in the infirmary and being called crazy every other month. So Kinn got to be called the new heir, Khun got to be called crazy, and Kim had been left with pretty. It's probably the most preferable out of those three possibilities anyway. 

But while Chay was likely attracted to his looks, he had been drawn in by Kim's talent. He hung off every word and piece of advice Kim gave him during their lessons. He had the courage to ask him to be his tutor. Chay looked at him with admiration and respect before he ever looked at him with hearts in his eyes, despite the pictures of Kim on his bedroom wall revealing that Chay found him at least somewhat attractive before they got close.

Chay probably tore those down. He doesn't want to look at Kim anymore. Kim knows that. If Kim were a better person, he would skip the party. It would make Chay happy, and honestly? It would be on brand for Kim. 

But maybe Kim wants to go off brand for a while. Maybe his brand of being an aloof, mysterious, and loner musician is no longer doing him or anyone else favors. Maybe he is just tired of being him. 

And maybe that's why he finds an outfit that actually complies with the roaring 20s theme. A three piece suit, complete with a stupidly expensive pocket watch. 

He feels ridiculous. He doesn't feel like himself at all. 

Good.

Except Kim got dressed too early. He doesn’t want to go back to his apartment like this. And part of him knows that once he goes back home, he may lose the gull to go back out. So maybe he will continue acting out of character. Going to Hum Bar early to help his brother decorate seems out of character. 

So that's what he does.

"Kim?" Tankhun says as soon as he comes through the doors before his eyes widen, "What are you wearing?"

Kim looks down at his clothes, "Do you want me to get clothes from my car?"

"Nope, no need," Tankhun says, then comes over to put his arms around him, "You look very nice. Handsome, actually! What do you think of my tux?"

Kim gives his oldest brother a once over. Tankhun had strayed from his own personal norm even more than Kim did. 

"It looks great," Kim tells him, causing Tankhun to beam brightly, "What do you need help with?" 

"Well," Tankhun says, glancing behind him, "Arm and I are arranging the feather bouquets. Pol and Yok are stringing the black and gold ornaments together. Why don't you put together the placemats? We'll have dinner and cake first, then the fun can really begin. Thank you for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it," Kim says, even though that would normally be a lie. Tankhun hugs him again regardless, "Happy birthday, by the way." 

Tankhun gives him a small smile, then takes a step back, "I hope it is. Now, come on! Let me introduce you to Yok."

Kim has a weird urge to let Tankhun know he knows a lot about Yok, both from Chay's fond comments about her and Kim's own research (disowned by her family, knows four languages, and has a childhood sweetheart who pointedly left the country with their son once Yok came to terms with her gender and decided to transition, which explains why she is so protective over Porsche and Chay and mothers them).

Instead, he just nods and tries to smile warmly. She seems like a nice person. She deserves warmth. She is kind to Tankhun and a very welcoming presence. Going by her interactions with his brother, Arm, and Pol, she has made friends with them. Right now, she's laughing at some joke Pol made that Kim doesn't really get but she clearly does. 

Going by how closely Khun and Arm are talking, they seem closer too. 

Weird. Although, Arm is now Khun's head guard, so maybe it isn't. Yet for some reason, watching them makes Kim feel out of place. But he snaps himself out of even attempting to analyze the situation further. Tankhun has often befriended his guards, a habit that could be heartbreaking for his brother, but beneficial because it is hard to make friends when you don’t leave the house. Maybe he is just closer to Arm than he has been to any other guard.

He feels alone. 

When Pete walks through the door, Kim is actually relieved. Because as misplaced as Kim feels, Pete has to be feeling ten times worse. 

"Pete?" Tankhun says hopefully, only having eyes for his ex-head guard as Pete cautiously walks into the bar, "You never texted back. I thought…We didn't know if…"

Pete breathes in and gives Tankhun a sad smile, "I just wanted to stop by to give you your gift and tell you happy birthday."

Tankhun nods, then glances down at the wrapped gift and cards once Pete hands them over, "You could stay, you know."

Pete just shrugs, keeping the sad smile on his face, causing Arm to step in. 

"We miss you, Pete. So much," Arm tells him, coming to stand next to Tankhun, "Why don't you just stay for dinner?"

"...I can't," Pete says eventually, "Vegas and Macau are waiting in the car." 

"...Oh," Arm says quietly, then says nothing else. What else could he say? Kim wouldn't know how to handle it. Vegas has been a sensitive topic for Tankhun for years. And after what happened, there is no way-

Tankhun lets out an unbothered sound, "That's fine! If you're worried about Macau being underage, Chay is coming too! Chay is just a year older than Macau and he needs a friend with everything going on. I am sure Macau is in a similar situation. They can chat. Get to know each other."

It's a shocking offer to hear coming out of Tankhun's mouth, even by Kim's standards. Going by Pol's and Arm's expressions, they are flabbergasted by it. But despite the thoughtfulness of the offer, Kim doesn't like it. He doesn't like the idea of competing with Macau for Chay's attention. He needs to figure out a way to talk to him, and Macau being there will give Chay a reason to ignore Kim in favor of pointedly focusing on a new potential friend. Because Chay is really great at that now. Ignoring Kim. 

It is a selfish and stupid thought. Toxic too, because Tankhun is right. Chay deserves to have friends who understand what he is going through. But Kim is tired of trying to earn Chay's attention and he doesn't want to compete with Macau. He never did. 

"Vegas is still in the car," Pete says, looking away from Tankhun. 

Tankhun purses his lips, "This place is very accessible. No steps, wide doorways. Vegas should be fine to join us."

It's an even more shocking offer than inviting Macau. But it does show how desperate Tankhun is to have Pete here.

"He…" Pete starts, still looking off to the side, "Vegas is still getting used to things. He doesn't…The wheelchair is a sensitive topic for him. It is hard enough to get him to leave the house for appointments. I was lucky to get him to agree to his therapy intake this afternoon."

"Therapy intake?" Tankhun asks, his voice a murmur, "Porsche said Vegas has been in physical therapy since waking up from his coma. He said you told him Vegas goes on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays."

Pete nods, then clears his throat, "Not that kind of therapy."

Tankhun stares at him, then nods too, "Oh. That…That's good. He has probably needed that for a long time. And he probably especially needs it now."

"Probably so," Pete vaguely agrees, then glances down at the gifts, "One of those cards is from him. He…wanted to tell you happy birthday. Apologize. Get some things off his chest, I think. He had me read it to make sure it sounded okay. It's respectful. Heartfelt. Just…Make sure you read it with an open mind and when you are ready. Don't feel like you need to open it tonight. Enjoy your birthday. I know me showing up is probably stressful enough-" 

“It’s not stressful, Pete,” Tankhun says, his voice strained, “It’s appreciated. I invited you because I wanted you here. Almost everyone I invited is someone I want in attendance. Almost. But believe me, you are not the exception.”

If anyone else in the room knows who it is, they don’t comment on it. 

“Please stay?” Tankhun says, but Pete is already shaking his head, “Please?”

“...I’m sorry,” Pete tells him, his expression pained and guilty, “Maybe…Maybe I can call you soon? We can…We’ll catch up.”

Tankhun looks at Pete with teary eyes, then finally nods silently in agreement and accepts one last hug from him before Pete takes his leave.

“I just need a minute,” Tankhun mutters, then quickly walks to one of the bathrooms. Kim isn’t sure what to think when Arm only gives him two minutes before following him. A part of Kim wants to chew him out and tell him that his brother has a right to be alone if he needs it. But when Kim goes to the door to do just that, he overhears them. 

“I know,” he hears Arm murmur as Tankhun cries, “I know you wanted him to come.”

“He doesn’t even answer my texts!” Tankhun sobs, “I thought he was my friend. He was my o-only friend for so long! And he won’t even TALK to me!”

“Khun, a lot has happened,” Arm says gently, weirdly referring to his brother personally, “It’s only been a few months. We’re all still raw from everything. That includes Pete. Give him some time. I know you miss him. I miss him too.”

“This is Pa’s fault! Pa did this! I just…I don’t…”

“I know,” Arm says again when Tankhun trails off.

And as much as he wants to see if his brother is okay, Kim lets Arm handle him and goes to pull out his phone.

Kim: How are you doing?

Macau: Why?

Kim: Idk.

Macau only responds thirty minutes later.

Macau: Horrible. Better than ever. I don’t know, man. P’Pete is a fucking saint though. I don’t care if we’re Buddhists. He has earned sainthood because he is a miracle worker who is somehow making Hia happy despite the circumstances.

A minute later.

Macau: How are you doing?

Kim just presses down on Macau’s message and reacts to it with an abacus emoji. It’s the most random one he can find. He expects Macau to be confused or tell him he’s the weirdest person he has ever known. Like he did before, back when their mothers were alive and their brothers liked each other. 

Macau: That bad, huh?

Kim leaves him on read.

To read the rest of this one-shot, go to:

#kimchay #kinnporsche fanfic #kimchay fanfic #kimchay fic #kimchay fanfiction #kim theerapanyakul #porchay kittisawasd #kpts #implied ArmKhun #tw: depression #tw: implied abuse #tw: grief #heartbreak #getting back together #tw: eating issues #IWCCCIJLHWY #kinnporche the series #tankhun theerapanyakul #kinn theerapanyakul

[moralpuppet]

given how Clay would only interchange from emotionally distant to aggression and how Blorberta is emotionally distant , adjusting to adulthood Orel struggles with explaining the emotions he's feeling . Like feelings of shame or regret are difficult to pin point .

#[ ✟ ] 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙝 / 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 . #✟ 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 / 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 . #adult v tag properly later i'm tryna fly out the door to get somewhere oop #tw: implied abuse #tw: neglect

[seas-storyarchive]

aus with alastor because my brain is crack

TW: contains mentions of child abuse, (implied) mental abuse, (implied) physical abuse.

Feel free to use, just please tag/credit me if you do

[[MORE]]

1: deer from a goat: alastor is the bastard son of his mother and lucifer. Lucifer was able to escape hell to the mortal realm, wound up in louisiana, during a marti gras, danced with a woman and.. well, 9 months later a son is born. Alastor Altruist - his father knew Alastor wasn't his, the moment he saw the red hair.. thus sealed the boy's and his mother's fates at the hands of the abusive man. option a) it gets revealed the two are father and son, because st. peter has it written in his book, leading to angst 1000xs over for the morningstars and the altruist. option b) it's never revealed until everyone else ascended to heaven, save for him, vaggie -stayed by choice-, charlie and lucifer - his mother comes down and lays bare everything

2. actual dad beat actual dad: alastor spawns a child during his time recovering from the angels assualt on the hotel. and like, he doesn't know what to do. someone help this man. or not.

3. alastor mange: alastor is cast to hell as a baby, a sacrifice made in the name of lucifer by a cult that his family (on his father's side) was apart of. lucifer finds the wee naked thing - deer ears too large for his head, antler nubs and a tiny tail - on his door step during the rain. the man was too much of a softie to leave the baby to die out in the rain. alastor is resented by Charlie's mother lilith, lucifer and him are constantly at each other's throats, and charlie thinks he's the coolest thing ever - especially now that he wants to help with the hotel!! (never mind that he disappeared for 7 years, and won't say why, he's back and wants to help!!)

4. imaginary friend: alastor is a kid, who is scared of his father and wants to protect his mother. there's also a cat who lives under his bed that smells like his dad does after coming home late (alastor pushed his way under the bed in tears, the sound of hitting and yelling getting louder, "move!" he commanded the large cat. he felt the cat's eyes on him, watching him as he cried while covering his ears. "oh, fuck me. don't move kid, ill eat you and your mother if you do." and without a word from alastor, soon the cat was gone, the screaming had stopped. the boy lay there, shaking as he cried, waiting in the quiet. his mother came to him, and held him close, telling him it was alright and his dad was gone from the house for the moment. but he never came home, and the cat under the bed seemed happier. "thanks, friend. name's alastor." "husker, and i don't shake hands unless I'm makin' deals, kid. I'm going back home to hell, just checkin' on yous before i do." "oh, okay.. well, thanks for the help. bye bye." alastor always would remember his imaginary friend, even if that friend no longer remembered him

5. revision: alastor dies, and asks if he can be reborn. on earth. as a girl. named charlotte.

6. alastor is the son of sera. sera won't let him come to heaven, proof of her belief that demons can never change. his entire life, before the hotel, a figment. mimsy? a paid actress

#hazbin alastor #alastor altruist #alastor aus #hazbin hotel #enjoy #my mind wanders a lot #tw: death #tw: child abuse #tw: abuse #tw: implied abuse

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

Trouble in paradise due to stress </3(PLEASE REBLOG! LIKES DON'T DO SHIT FOR ME!)

#hazbin hotel ocs #my ocs #jax kira #inky heartwell #indigo heartwell #my art #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel art #hazbin oc #hazbin original character #hazbin art #hazbin sona #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel fanart #artists on tumblr #digital artist #tw: implied abuse #ask to tag

[wingsandarrow]

"Why do you always do that thing?"

@lunarruled

Daryl's paranoia long predated the apocalypse. He preferred not to go into a room with only one exit, and staying at the prison had severely tested his willingness to be trapped in a space. That had fallen apart, and he'd found himself on his own again for a time, his friends scattered with no way to contact each other. Taking up with Kyleigh was a recent development, one he still wasn't sure was a good idea. He'd always been fine on his own. It was safer that way, but making real connections with Rick's group had done something to him. He missed conversation (other people's, since he wasn't much of a talker himself) and the reassurance of another living, breathing body nearby. It was too loud in his head on his own, and sticking with her stopped his mind from constantly circling around whether the rest of them were okay.

The house looked like its better days had been well before the dead started coming back to life, but the sky said there was a storm coming. They needed shelter while there was still light left to see by. Kicking in the door was easy, and nothing came swarming out at them, but he wouldn't be comfortable until they'd checked every room. He'd come to a dead stop in the hallway, his body locking up and refusing to take a step into the tiny half-bath. He could see from there that there was nothing living or dead in it, and his every instinct rebelled against the enclosed space. His shoulders stiffened at the question, always uncomfortable with other people's scrutiny, and he stepped away from the door, moving further down the hall. "Not doin' nothin'. Nobody in there."

#chat: kyleigh #lunarruled #twd!verse #tw: implied abuse #let me know if that doesn't work! <3 #if you prefer for her to have been at the prison with them #feel free to handwave that part and say she was always there #i'm good either way!

[neoncityrain]

They say malice fell in love with the moon, but before that...

#trojarts #tw: blood #tw: bones #tw: implied abuse #rain world #oc: muenos mccall

[hunterwritesstuff]

"Mama's cooking!" Alastor and OC oneshot

So like, this is a comfort fic I made for myself bc I'm trying to repair my relationship with food/trying to get better with eating and I was doing great for almost two weeks, but then I slipped up and felt terrible. This is based off of my experiences and feelings duringmy time trying to improve my relationship with food. Everyone's experience is different. Some things may be OOC, but I don't care. I needed comfort and this is the product of that. Mind the TWs at the start, but if you read, I hope you enjoy!

Also, Ebony and Alastor aren't a romantic ship, rather a QPR one. Please respect that.

Fic is under the cut to be safe.

Tws: Eating troubles, zoning out, self-induced-shame, not being in-touch with reality, character being too tired to cook, and implied past abuse. Read carefully.

(Ebony's POV)

I laid there motionless on the couch, my eyes focused on nothing, my ears barely focused on the music coming from my headphones.

It’s just noise.

I feel my breathing begin to pick up. I missed my time to get breakfast again.

I feel the shame bubbling in my gut, but I don’t have the energy to react. Not now.

I barely notice people passing in and out of the room, whether they are Angel, Husk, Niffty, or Charlie, I pay them no heed, just give a hollow “have a good day”.

I can’t give more of a response than that. I feel hollow. I feel shameful. I feel tired. I feel hungry.

But I don’t have energy to get up. I don’t have energy to cook. I consider taking a nap, but I also don’t want to risk anything.

What would I risk? I don’t know. I live in constant paranoia that something will happen if I let my guard down for one second.

I could get up. I could do things. I just don’t have the motivation to.

Then I hear a familiar sound.

Click. Click. Click. 

Then I see a familiar fair of legs in front of me, wearing corduroy pinstripe pants.

“Alastor.” I say flatly. “What do you want?”

I’m still barely able to make out sounds due to how zoned out of everything I am, but I can tell he says something before walking off. 

Of course my platonic partner leaves me. I would too, if I could.

I hear something akin to pots and pans clattering, but assume he just sorted the pots and pans in the kitchen again due to habit.

That was about when I zoned out pretty much completely again.

About an hour later after stewing in my thoughts for that period of time, I get thrown back to reality by a familiar smell.

A smell that reminds me of singing in the kitchen, of a woman named [REDACTED], of a woman embracing me in a warm hug to tell me it’d be okay, of happier days, days where I was away from my family, of days where I went unharmed for a good period of time.

I find myself getting up off the couch and walking to the kitchen, slowly leaning in.

I hear him humming. Humming one of those old songs I would always hear in the kitchen.

Oh.

I was crying, now.

He must have heard me come in because I soon found him staring at me, wearing not his usual ear-to-ear smile, but a more…genuine one.

A patient smile.

A smaller one.

A pitying one.

No.

It wasn’t pity.

It was understanding.

If it was pity, I would have started to scream at him, yell at him how I did not need any person’s pity.

But I did not. 

We did not exchange any words, we did not say anything, we just exchanged a silent glance.

Then he gently grabbed my shoulder and led me to a table. I did not fight him. I did not understand why I did not fight him, but I did not.

He sat me down at a table and told me to wait a moment. I could hear better now, as I was more in-touch with reality, but it still sounded muffled.

I waited a few moments, and he came out with a bowl. It smelled amazing. It smelled like home.

Then I looked up and saw him smiling at me again.

It was a kind smile.

Not the kind that reached his ears, but just enough to be seen as kind, seen as patient, seen as understanding, seen as non-judgemental.

“Go ahead, dear. It’s all for you, no guilt, no judgment. Just so you can have something to eat without any fear.” He said softly.

“...What if the others come back and stare?” I ask, trying to not let my emotions leak into my voice.

“I told them to leave the hotel for a few hours. They understood. You have a while before anyone comes back. And if you’re still hungry after that first bowl, there’s more in the kitchen.” Alastor answered calmly.

I nod, slowly eating before my pace quickens. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alastor wanted to say something, but he did not say it.

He did not want to hurt my feelings.

“...your mama’s cooking did always get me to eat.” I say softly, able to read Alastor’s mind.

“What can I say? Her jambalaya’s so good it nearly killed her!” He chuckled.

That felt weird to hear. He usually let out a full laugh. He did not usually chuckle. And the laugh was usually performative.

“Good enough to raise the dead for a bowl or two.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“And it sometimes did!” Alastor laughed.

I allow myself a chuckle. I can let down my walls around him.

“Thanks, Al.” I smile finally.

“No trouble, Ebony, my dear. Always here to help.” He smiled, returning to his usual smile. “No need to worry about judgment either, I know how hard this is for you.”

I smile, silently thanking him. 

“I think I’m gonna grab some more.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel oc #ebony agony #tw: eating problems #tw: zoning out #tw: self-induced shame #tw: not being in touch with reality #Tw: implied abuse #Tw: too exhausted to cook #ask to tag #can't promise I'll write for hazbin btw