#tw: childhood trauma

[nell0-0]

AHHHH! He lost his EYE in the war! AHHHH!

I am perfectly normal about your last comic. I swear. Very normal. Just...not at all sobbing and emotional over it. You should know that. Definitely. ;_;

It's so good and so sad!

Yep ;u;

Glad you liked it tho!

Take the broken mask drawing as symbolism (?). A piece of him is now forever a part of Mask, and there's no taking that back.

There are many protrayals of Fierce Deity out there, but I like to think he ain't necessarily mean (quite the contrary), just a bit out of touch with how hylians work and feel. Fierce Deity deemed some things necessary for Mask's survival and well being, and not necessarily all of them were free of consequences. It was done with good intentions tho. If only he bothered to explain/tell Mask that...

Tormenting Twilight a bit is fun sometimes too ksksks

> Context about the ask HERE

> Twili Twilight looks HERE

> Continuation of this HERE

#linked universe #lu mask #oot link #mm link #lu twilight #tp link #wolf link #twili link #twili twilight #post lu #pre lu #time travel shenanigans #tloz #tloz fanart #angst #I guess I should tag that #tw: blood #tw: eye injury #tw: childhood trauma #bc boy is Mask traumatised #Twilight too I guess oop- #asks #my art #I was an Obito (Naruto) fan and it shows lmfao #I wasn't sure about the second drawing because it's not my usual stuff but why not. giving them heroes trauma #if the goddesses + Hylia + Demise can #then so can I #sorry #my poor boy #febuwhump may be over but the angst sure ain't

[sentientsky]

When she first Fell, the sky had been all embers, all vicious touch. They’d felt nothing but the bite of flames and gore and the sulphuric acid of a mother’s love turned corrosive. Crowley had burned—heavenly bone, muscle, flesh, the chemical antiseptic of the ether stripping away to bare nerve tissue.

In the eternities since, they’d held their breath, kept herself small. They’d learned to amputate the desire that settled in the tips of her fingertips and in the scarlet ends of their hair. She—alone, ever alone—had dragged herself from the brimstone and out of the bonfire. She’d taught herself to exist in the jaws of an unmuzzled universe, under stars that no longer called their name. Now the sky is blue, and the bookshop burns. The bookshop burns and Crowley’s heart is in her throat, eating its way out of their body. The bookshop burns and yet their angel must be fine. (He has to be fine because the world still spins on its axis and the sea hasn’t swallowed her whole. And if breath still lives in her body, and the universe has yet to collapse in on itself, then their angel has to be fine). But something coils deep in her belly: an oil-slick, a poisonous berry. They bite their lip a brackish silver, the taste of ichor rotten in her mouth.

As though in a trance, she presses forward, and the frantic thrash of panic in her chest forces the double doors wide without so much as a thought. The interior of the shop is all orange-red teeth and flaming claws, tearing into bookshelves and loveseats and oh. Oh, the two of them had just been sitting there not three days ago. (Crowley had tried so hard to stay on her side of the room, to keep her fingertips from brushing the edge of Aziraphale’s as they passed silver-stemmed goblets between them. Skin to skin, breath to body—the indirect touch of their mouths. The passive desperation of six thousand years of want left fermenting under their skin).  

They call for him, heat searing her lungs. It comes out ragged and desperate and too late (always too late). 

Heat knifes clean through her now—a gutting sensation, a disembowelment in the middle of an already-burning funeral pyre. For as long as they had been on Earth together, she’d always been able to sense their angel from anywhere in the world—a steady, beating heart of a presence. An inevitable gravity that wrapped itself around her arms and tugged her forward. It had been axiomatic, a fundamental truth of how the universe functioned: a hand extended always finds purchase. A heart in motion remains in motion. 

So, in a room choked with smoke and two hundred years of memories, she reaches out, expanding the edges of her consciousness, pressing her mind into the outer reaches of the bookshop and Soho and the whole, cluttered universe. She searches for a pulse. And then something within her is breaking. Something is shaking apart in the depths of Crowley’s being—a star turned supernova turned withering, all-consuming black hole. No heartbeat, no flickering warmth, no pull in the periphery of her awareness. The corpse of gravity turns to dust in the corner of the room. 

And she knows—knows with the unflinching inevitability of too many questions, of an ink-winged angel falling from grace—that Aziraphale is gone. Outside, the sky remains blue. The world stays upright. And the bookshop still burns.

(thank u to the incredibly talented @actual-changeling for helping me fix the first part of the fourth paragraph)

#too tired to keep working on this and also forgor to take my adhd meds today so here ya go. kind of hate parts of this but wtv lol #i'm rly normal about the bookshop fire. i totally don't think about it all the time (<- lying through gritted teeth) #also giving characters your pronouns is rly fun btw. she/they crowley my most adored <3 #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #gomens #wren writes crow #david tennant #tw: fire #good omens ficlet #gomens fanfiction #good omens fic #long post #tw: childhood trauma #<- just in case #good omens angst #Crowley angst #az fell and co

[exactlyyoungchaos]

Hi guys. So...I'm thinking of sharing my thots and I'm new to writing here(not new to writing in general) and I don't even know if people will actually see this but I'm having a brain rot about COD men, especially Mr. Ghost.

Would you guys want a short series-type thingy with simon×f!reader, where they are childhood best friends but got separated during their teens, and met again while Simon was on an Intel mission. Then everything was going great and he promised her that he'll retire after one last job. But what returned was Price with his tags. And then a lot of drama and angst and emotional stuff and happy ending?????

Would someone want that?

Asking for a friend🙏.

#simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod fic #the brainrot is real #cod mw x reader #simon riley fluff #angst with a happy ending #emotional damage #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: childhood trauma

[miss-writes-a-lot]

Doodle Pants// Dabihawks childhood au featuring. Mama Rei

Every day, Touya came home with his uniform an absolute mess. Shirt untucked and wrinkled, pant legs dirty up to the knees and ripped, and the sweater missing for the third time in a row that month. Touya’s disheveled appearance was usually followed by a phone call from his teacher about another fight he got into with one of his classmates, which earned him a scolding from his father.

Every day, Rei would remind her oldest son that if he wanted to avoid his father’s anger, he should stop getting into fights and be more careful when playing outside, but every day was more or less the same and the calls started to come even before Touya did, and despite every parent-teacher conference, every trip to apologize to the parents of the child that got the shit kicked out of them, every parenting book, bribery – Touya still came home a mess and with another pink slip in his hand to give to his parents.

That was until one day.

Rei had already felt that something was missing from her daily routine until she heard the front door pop open and Touya announced his arrival.

“I’m home!”

Rei took a breath, bracing herself for whatever state her son had come home in and the inevitable demerit that came with it. She floated from the kitchen to the front room, a gentle smile playing across her face.

“Welcome home, Touya–”

She stopped, brows arching in surprise.

Touya had an ear-to-ear grin stretched across his face. The only thing in his hands were the straps of his book bag, but that wasn’t what caught Rei off guard. Touya’s uniform was covered from collar to cuff with multi-colored pen doodles. They were shaky and ranged from flowers to what she could only assume were clouds and stars.

She stifled a giggle. “Well, you sure are colorful today!”

“Yup,” Touya replied, already starting to head for the kitchen.

“Can I ask what the occasion is?”

Touya stopped. He turned his head to glance at his mom and he shrugged. “Was just bored.”

He turned his head back around and walked right into the kitchen, the conversation clearly being over on Touya’s end.

Rei didn’t receive a phone call that day.

From that day on, Touya came home covered in doodles. Enji still wasn’t happy about the overall state of most of his clothes, but Rei reminded him that it was better to power wash them every few days rather than buy him an entire new wardrobe like they used to do. The calls became few and far between, the pink slips disappeared into thin air, and Touya had an overall happier demeanor when he came back from school in the afternoon.

Rei was glad that her son – and by extension, his father – was seemingly in better spirits, though she couldn’t help but wonder who was really drawing Touya every day. Her son was no contortionist. His arms could not reach behind his back far enough for the doodles around his shoulder blades and the center of his back.

The doodles were also quite shaky– shakier than Touya's own handwriting. But Touya remained tight-lipped on the true culprit for the longest time. Rei thought it best to just leave it alone. He was improving and happier and that’s all that mattered. 

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

Touya brought Keigo home on a Friday afternoon. He was a small boy for his age - especially with those big red wings of his. He seemed quiet too, letting Touya do most of the talking when he introduced him.

“He’s my friend,” Touya said, clipped and matter-of-factly, “From school.”

“N-Nice to meet you,” Keigo mumbled, looking down at his hole-covered shoes.

He definitely was not a friend from school. Not his school, at least. Rei knew all the kids in Touya’s class given the numerous altercations he had with them.

Keigo was nowhere in that catalog.

Rei simply offered him a warm smile, “It’s nice to meet you too, Keigo.”

“We can play in my room,” Touya grabbed his little hand and tried pulling him down the opposite hallway, “C’mon-”

“Touya!” Rei called, “Don’t you have homework to do?”

Touya pouted, rolling his eyes. “Mooooomm…”

“You and Keigo can play after you finish. If you want, I can make you snacks.”

Keigo’s golden eyes brightened, leaving Touya no choice but to relent.

They all headed into the kitchen. The boys sat at the kitchen table while Rei fixed a fruit platter for them. She listened as Touya explained everything he was doing to Keigo, who looked on in curiosity. It was about a minute or two into his explanation of his book report that she saw it:

Keigo reached into Touya’s pencil bag, pulled out a blue ballpoint pen, and began drawing small flowers along Touya’s shirt collar. He still listened - the shine of interest remained - but he started to draw along the hem of his shirt sleeves while Touya seemed completely unbothered, if a bit pink in the cheeks. He picked out more pens and drew more little doodles on any free space he could find on Touya’s shirt.

Rei felt her heart swell. She wanted to just leave them be and enjoy their moment together, but Keigo needed to eat and given how small he was, he hadn’t been doing a lot of it. She walked over and carefully set down the plate of fruit in front of them. Keigo immediately pulled away, looking down at his hands.

“Eat as much as you want,” she said, though it was more directed at the red winged boy than Touya.

“Thanks mom!”

She tilted her head to the side, “Is Keigo going to be staying for dinner?”

Touya looked up from his work and turned to Keigo, “I dunno, can you?”

Keigo’s face fell into a frown and he slowly shook his head.

“That’s alright,” Rei said, “I’ll be sure to send you home with something. As a gift.”

Keigo nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “Thank you…”

Rei left shortly after, hearing Touya trying to start up a conversation with his feathered friend with an excitement Rei had never heard from her son that didn’t involve trying to train with his father. It was new and untethered, almost like a breath of fresh air after being suffocated by smog.

Touya was happy - really happy.

Rei started down the hallway to Enji’s home office. She gathered an armful of highlighters, pens, and the few markers in his drawers.

She sent Keigo home with them and a sizable tupperware of food that night.

(This was a lot more Rei centered than I initially thougt it would be. Still a little wonky but I'm still trying to get back into the grove of things. Thanks to everyone who voted on the poll! Will probably make another one soon).

#my writing #writing #bri writes #dabihawks #dabihawks au #toukei #hotwings #rei todoroki #touya todoroki #keigo takami #mha hawks #mha dabi #bnha hawks #fluff #drabble #tw: childhood trauma #childhood friends au

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1195

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Tw: Abuse

Two sibling whumpee’s were adopted by another family. The eldest was adopted at birth, but the younger one was adopted at around three/four years old.

The prior family was an incredibly abusive royal family that for some reason or another, deemed both unworthy.

Now, as fully grown adults and trying to take down the empire, the younger sibling never really talks about their time with their bio family.

The two break into the castle to get a specific relic or something needed to help turn the tide in the war and almost get caught before the youngest frantically leads the eldest to a secret hiding place.

Inside is covered in dusty drawings and toys from where the youngest sibling spent most of their time hiding all those years back.

All the while both whumpee’s can hear their bio dad, the whumper, outside threatening them and revealing more about youngest sibling’s past. Whumper knows that they’re in the castle but doesn’t know where, so after awhile of getting insanely close to the hiding place, whumper leaves to look elsewhere.

Eldest sibling feels guilty for ever asking the youngest about their bio family now. And while they sit there for a few hours to let the heat go down to escape, they sift through the old drawings and the youngest sibling finally opens up.

#i like it! #whump #writing #prompts #angst #tw: abuse #tw: childhood trauma #past trauma #hiding places #opening up #emotional whump #fear

[petrichor-moss-and-lightning]

Your father is waiting for you in the hall and he’s angry and your chest is caving in, rocking the walls around you — shipwrecked little girl splintering on the rocks, don’t you know the tide’s coming in? Your mother finds you huddled and puking your milk teeth onto the living room carpet, a wounded animal looking for a soft place to die. You feel nothing. You feel everything.

#cleaning out my drafts and found this. not super happy with it but too lazy to edit so whatever #tw: child abuse #tw: childhood trauma #poetry #my words #words words words #girlhood #on girlhood

[crisiscutie]

okay, I know I've already sent you one, but I'm TOO curious to not send you another one, please forgive ;^;

🔥on Sephy's childhood. What is an unpopular opinion of yours when it comes to Sephy's childhood?

My unpopular opinion is more so on Sephiroth's outlook on human connections, rather than on his childhood. I hate it when people insist to me that he would never be interested in romance or forming connections with other humans (Angeal and Genesis just being "lucky" ones) just because he never openly displayed those interests. Like, are we forgetting that this man was literally bred and raised to be a living weapon for a disgusting capitalist corporation to protect their interests for almost his entire life until Nibelheim? Of course, he's not going to fucking display those desires. While it's valid to say that he possibly never had those desires, it's also unfair to insist that he didn't at the same time. Wow, it's almost like a main point of Sephiroth is that there's a lot of mystery around his character and storyline, right? I also want to point out that many survivors of childhood abuse are prevented from exploring their interests and feelings, as their abusers want to mold them to their desires. The survivors rarely get the safe space needed to be "themselves" and talk about their emotional health.

Sephiroth realized from a young age that his abusers controlled him, molding him to fit their desires, not his. It's both heartbreaking and heartwarming that know that he finally found that safe space in Glenn's team, where he could start to express some of that, but alas, fate can be cruel... I'm sure something will happen in FS that will shake our Crisis Cutie for life... But anyways, I love how this showed how perceptive and intelligent Sephiroth is to (somewhat) recognize this abuse. Though, he couldn't fight against his fate because he probably felt helpless, so in turn, this awareness and knowledge only made his mental and emotional state deteriorate more throughout his life.

I also think Sephiroth wanting a normal life implied that he had some knowledge or exposure of it through someone at Shinra. Hopefully, it was positive exposure from someone like Gast... Or maybe it was negative exposure from someone like Hojo, who might have shown the poor boy what he missed out on during his childhood because he is "special" and not like the other children...

Anyway, I find it interesting how Young Sephiroth's self-awareness is a stark contrast to his Nibelheim self, the omnicidal "god" who doesn't feel any sadness or any other human emotions. But come on, we seriously aren't buying into the Sephganda, are we? It's rather hard to believe that a guy with such intense love for his "mother," sadistic tendencies, and deep resentment/hatred towards humanity and Gaia could lack any emotions, but let's save that for another discussion. Thanks for the ask, love! 💜

#sephiroth #ff7 sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #crisis cutie #ff7 #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii rebirth #ffviir #ffvii #ffvii ever crisis #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #tw: abuse #tw: childhood trauma #tw: emotional abuse

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

A Safe Place: Part 4

Summary: Jake has one happy place. His pride and joy and comfort. When things go south, this is what he turns to.

Marc has started to rely on Jake to be his solid force. The unshakable rock that keeps them all stable.

Steven knows better. They are all delicately balanced on a thin wire.

What happens when one of them takes a spill?

Pairings: LaylaxMarc, LaylaxJake, LaylaxSteven

Universe: MCU

Warnings: Dissociation, Depression, DID, Habits of self destruction, discussion of mild self harm, talk of child abuse, depictions of eating disorders (in relation to depression), PTSD

This chapter depicts a heavy scene of child abuse. Please proceed with caution.

Word Count: 5426

Previous Chapter HERE

Part: Four - Steven spends a long night struggling to make sense of what happens when fear creeps in.

Next Chapter HERE

-----

Steven didn’t remember much of his childhood. What he did remember he was learning to look at with a new perspective. 

Made up memories were scattered across his past in an effort to fill in the gaps or to make sense of unusual situations he found himself in. 

He tried not to dwell on the past much anymore. It made him too sad to think of what he hadn’t known and how much he could have helped. 

Not to mention the new views he had on his parents. Or the brother he didn’t know about. 

Now he could look back on his trashed room and imagine Marc lashing out at the unfairness of it all. He could see him on the playground with a skinned up knee and see Marc getting into a fight with someone that had bullied them. 

If he looked harder, he might even spot Jake hiding in a memory or two. It was always harder to spot Jake. Marc had learned how to look back and find him, though looking back was harder for Marc to do. 

Marc admitted that he thought he was just blacking out. Or that Steven had taken the reins for a bit. Denial ran strong in their system. 

A new memory had surfaced. One that Steven was finding harder and harder to ignore. 

It was blurry and moved around him like a dream. A small them waking up from a sound. A voice urging them to hide. HIde. We have to hide. 

The more Steven tried to focus on it, the more he felt a sharp ache and urge to pull back. 

Marc had once told him that their memories were a minefield. Stumble through carelessly and someone was going to get hurt. 

The last thing Steven wanted was to hurt them. Especially after Marc’s binge the other day that had left him worse for wear. Marc was the most likely to get hurt from careless exploration. 

So Steven left it alone. It was just a memory. It wasn’t even his. It would circle and then fade eventually. All their memories did. 

A falling sensation and a jolt made Steven wake up suddenly, his head spinning as he came to in a position he hadn’t been prepared for. 

He was sitting up, knees drawn up to his chest and head resting on his folded arms. Had they been sleeping like this? 

His neck was stiff and his back hurt.

It was dark and stuffy. Everything felt muffled. He couldn’t see anything. Something soft was touching his head and he reached up to find a row of fabric over him. 

Squinting, he found a small crack of light to the side and waited for his eyes to adjust. 

Moving slowly, his muscles aching from being in such a tight spot, he pushed against the side and it swung open, letting him spill out to the floor. 

“What the hell?” He looked up at the tiny closet door. “Why are we in the closet?” 

Stretching, he slowly pulled himself to his feet and looked around the room. It was still very dark outside. He could hear the pitter patter of rain hitting the window. 

The lump on the bed let out a soft snore and shifted. 

Layla hadn’t noticed them slipping away. 

Steven checked inside to find all was quiet in his head too. “Bloody hell.” He rubbed his eyes and headed to the window to look outside. 

Everything spun and Steven jerked as his head hit the back of the closet with a thump. 

Groaning, Steven pushed the door open and rolled out of the closet again. It was dark outside. Not much time had passed. 

This time he took his time as he got to his feet and stared down at the snoring lump in the bed. 

A sound outside. Pitter patter. Was it raining? 

The world blacked out and Steven jolted as his leg kicked the far side of the closet. “Nngh!” He winced and pushed the door open roughly, this time crawling from the closet angrily. 

Alright. Bed. It was bedtime. Steven got up and sat on the side of the bed, lifting a blanket to slide under the covers so he could snuggle with his wonderful wife. 

He was going to put them to bed and deal with this later when the sun was up and it wasn’t raining outside and-

A shirt fell off the hanger and landed on his head. Frustration started to boil over and Steven felt himself starting to breathe heavily. He kicked the door open with a bang and pulled himself from the closet like a man crawling from his own grave. 

On the bed Layla sat up and looked around in confusion. 

Steven opened his mouth to call out and there was a thunderclap that shook the building, drowning him out. 

His hands went over his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut as the sound carried on and on and on-

Someone was knocking on the door to the closet and Steven looked up and around frantically. 

“No… No no no NO!” He curled up tighter and buried his face in his arms. 

The door opened and Layla looked down at him in confusion. “Steven? What are you doing in the closet?” 

He laughed because he felt like crying. “Hiding.” He sighed and slowly stretched his legs out as far as he could in the small space. 

“Oh…” She nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Do you want to come out?” 

“Apparently not.” He sighed and leaned back, moving to push some of the hanging clothes aside so they would at least not be in his face anymore. 

“What are you hiding from?” She crouched down and looked at his set up. 

“I don’t know.” Steven shrugged. “Would you toss me a pillow and a blanket? I think I’m going to be in here for a while. Might as well get comfortable, yeah?” 

Layla frowned then got up and headed back to the bed to fetch the items. “Is everything alright?” She glanced back as she collected the large comforter. 

“I don’t know. I guess I’m not very good at this part.” He sighed and leaned his head back. “Someone is upset. Or scared. Or… Dreaming? I can’t seem to get out of here.” 

“You’ve tried?” She held out the pillow and Steven fluffed it up as he placed it behind him for better back support. 

“More than a couple times.” He muttered and fussed aside more of the hanging clothes then moved to drape the blanket over his legs, fussing to get it just right around him for optimal comfort. 

“I’m here now. Do you think that would help?” She held out her hand. 

Steven looked at it. He reached out to take it and -

The door was closed and he was under the blanket. “Damn it!” He fussed and kicked a bit till the blanket was off his face. 

Angrily he sat there a moment in the dark. The urge to just give up and try to sleep there was strong, but he was also angry now. Frustrated and angry and a little scared. 

He saw the light outside the crack in the door flicker and he knew Layla was waiting patiently. 

“Hey…Love?” He called out through the door. “I’m back.” 

“Should I open it?” Her voice was gentle and soft. She was speaking as if she was doing her best not to spook him. 

“I don’t know.” Steven rubbed his face for a moment. “What happened? Who was it? I’ve got zero info here. I’m kinda…Kinda getting scared.” 

Layla was quiet for so long that he was starting to wonder if she had heard him. 

The door cracked open just enough for her to see him. She was sitting on the floor next to the closet. 

“Well…” She bit her lower lip then looked away. “You were getting out alright. There was a bit of thunder and one of you pushed me away and got back in. He said he had to hide.” 

Steven pushed the door open further and stared at her. “Are you alright?” 

She smiled and looked at him fully. “It wasn’t very hard. I was just startled. Whoever it is, they are not really awake. It sort of looked like when Marc has his flashbacks.” 

“Do you think it’s Marc?” Steven sighed. It was hard to get Marc out of his flashbacks sometimes. Though usually it wasn’t like this. Usually it was Marc pacing or trying to get away… To run. Not to hide. 

Layla frowned. “It’s hard to say. It wasn’t like I’ve seen before. He was pretty scared.” 

Steven nodded. “He’s trying to hide… I think I should just ride it out in here till we’re a bit more awake.” 

“Do you need anything?” She moved to grab a pillow and blanket off the bed and pulled it down to the floor, making a space next to the closet. 

“No! Layla! The floor is so hard and cold! You go back to bed! I’ll be fine here.” Steven protested. 

She smiled and rolled herself up in the blanket. “I’ve slept in worse places than this.” 

Steven slowly lay back as best he could and pulled the blanket up around himself. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of us.” He frowned. 

“One of you is scared.” She held out her hand. “I want to be there if you need anything.” 

Steven took her hand and held it firmly. “We don’t deserve you.” 

She squeezed his hand gently. “You deserve the world.” 

They lay there in silence for what felt like ages. At one point he was pretty sure he heard Layla snoring softly till she adjusted then squeezed his hand again. 

Steven? Marc blinked awake and slowly eased into the body. Steven felt exhausted and gladly slipped to the back for a moment. 

“What?” Marc stared down at his hand in Layla’s for a moment then sat up. “Why are we in the closet?” 

I was hoping you could tell me that. Steven muttered. 

Marc raised an eyebrow and pushed the door open. Layla yawned loudly and sat up as Marc pushed the blanket away and crawled out of the closet. 

Watch that first step, mate. Steven warned. 

“The hell are you talking about?” Marc stood up and looked around. He took a couple of steps -

Steven was back in front and they were once more in the closet. 

What the fuck was that?! Marc snapped as he once more came around. 

“Welcome to closet town. Population, three…” Steven sighed. “At least this confirms what I suspected.” He opened the door little by little again and found Layla sitting up and waiting. “Hey.” 

Layla waved hello. “Jake?” 

Steven nodded and thumped back against the wall. “Yeah. It’s Jake.” 

The hell is Jake doing? Why are we in the closet? How long have we been here? Marc sounded grumpy. He didn’t like waking up in strange places or being booted from front so roughly. 

Steven laughed and ruffled his hair a bit to chase away the cobwebs. “Not so fun, is it? You wanna try again? You can have front if you promise to sit here and wait it out.” 

Marc considered for a moment. Is he having some sort of… Thing? 

Steven laughed harder and put his face in his hands for a moment. He looked up at Layla and smiled. “Marc wants to know if Jake is having a ‘thing’.” 

I don’t know! A flashback! Episode! Whatever you want to call it! How do we make him stop?  

“I think Marc’s a little grumpy.” Steven sighed and shook his head. “You don’t make him stop.” 

Layla gave them a sympathetic smile. “You gotta wait it out, Marc.” She patted his leg gently. “I would never force you out of a ‘thing’. You just have to make sure he feels safe and be there when he’s done. Right now, safe for him is hiding in the closet.” 

Marc muttered for a moment then was contemplative. He pushed through and rolled his shoulders to keep them from going stiff. “Mine aren’t this bad, are they? Usually pretty quick I feel like. Over and done.” 

Layla gave Marc a look. “Are you kidding?” 

“They aren’t this bad.” Marc huffed. 

Layla pressed her lips into a thin line. “Are you making this into a contest? Because Jake is hiding in a closet. Do I need to remind you about what you did to poor Steven the other day?” 

Marc made an exasperated sound. “Yeah. Alright. It could be worse. What are we hiding from?”

The second he asked he regretted it. He looked up at the clothes hanging above them and suddenly realized he’d been there before. 

Hide. Hide… She’s coming. The memory threatened to push through and Marc tensed. He could hear the sound of something banging and the rain was getting too loud. 

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and winced. “Hold on. Hold on…” He reached up and pulled the door closed and let himself curl up into a small form, huddled in the dark under the heavy blanket. He closed his eyes as he fought off the memory. He wanted no part of it. 

Steven took front back before Marc could be dragged down too. “You alright?” 

Marc let Steven know he was still there, but he had no intention of coming back out while they were in the closet hiding. 

Steven sighed and opened the door again as he faced Layla’s worried face. “Sorry. Marc must have recognized the memory. I think we used to sleep in the closet a lot as a kid. It was…Safer.” Steven winced as he pieced it together. 

Layla held out her hand and Steven took it again, clinging just a little tighter than before. 

“You know… As a kid I used to think monsters were in my closet.” She let him cling to her as much as he needed. “I never went in there. It was dark and scary. I can’t imagine what would drive him to find the closet to be the safe place. The sort of monster that he was hiding from…” 

Steven nodded sadly and moved to lay back down. “Just need to wait it out… We’ll be fine.” 

Steven stared ahead at the far wall into the darkness. He could feel the memory. Floating there just out of his reach. Usually Jake was the keeper of the really nasty ones. Marc was never supposed to get close to them. A rule that Marc more than happily agreed to. He had enough trouble with the ones he had. 

But now, Jake was compromised and struggling to hold this memory. 

Steven felt the door to this hidden room open. His curious nature couldn’t help but want to go inside and take a look around. 

Don’t do it. Marc warned as he pulled back further. Steven. Stop.

Steven frowned then flexed a little, carefully pushing Marc further away until he was blocked out. Something he had slowly been learning to do by watching Jake. He was a protector too, after all.

How am I supposed to protect if I don’t know what I’m protecting us from?

Steven pushed the door open. 

–

Marc hated the rain. He hated the sound of running water. It was no wonder after the flood. After he nearly drowned and after—

Marc had nightmares when it rained at night. He would wake up sweating and gasping for air. Those were the good nights. 

On the bad nights he would wake up screaming. HIs parents usually ignored him. They were under the impression that they should just wait it out. It was a phase. He’d grow out of it. How was he supposed to toughen up if they coddled him, after all? 

Sometimes, on the really bad nights, he would wake up screaming and she would decide she had had enough. 

“You want something to scream about?” He heard the sound of her steps on the stairs. Slow. Unstead. The mostly empty bottle knocking against the wall with every other step as she climbed. 

Marc knew she was coming. Tscht. Tscht. Tscht. The sound of the bottle coming closer. The rain on the window threatening to drown him. Panic started to fill him and he rocked on the bed, clutching at his pillow. 

“Steven… I need Steven…” It would be easy to slip into Steven’s world now. Let Steven smile and pretend they were hiding from the thunder outside. Steven could let him deal with the pain just a little longer… 

“I can hear you sniveling. Are you going to apologize again? Tell me how sorry you are for existing? For killing him?” She was at the top of the stairs now. The bottle slid against the wall as she took a misstep. She was too far gone tonight. There would be no control. 

“She’s going to kill me.” The thought struck through him like a bullet. 

And then Jake was there. Jake was a survivor. He could take the worst of everything. He knew how to take the hits. He knew how to patch them up afterwards. 

He also knew when to run. 

On rough days when there was time, he could slip away and run down the street. He’d slip away into the nearest park, library, or the deli down the street. The owner there was kind and would give him a bagel at half price. Sometimes he got extra schmear. 

“She’s coming…” He looked at the window. It was dark and it was raining. It was too late to run. He’d have to risk being out all night just to avoid her. And she’d be double mad when he came back later. Was it safer out there? “Hide… We have to hide… Hide!” 

He muttered to himself as he jumped up and ran to the closet. A safe place in the mind of a child. He pushed his laundry aside and made space for himself in the dark and stuffy closet, pulling the door closed quickly. 

“Marc. Where are you?” She opened the door with a bang. He had long ago learned not to lock it. It didn’t matter. She had the little tool needed to get the door open easily. The effort just made her angrier. 

Jake held his breath and curled up in the back corner, trying to hide under the clothes and toys there. 

He could see the light from his room shifting under the crack of the door as she moved around. He should have left the window open. Maybe she’d think he’d run away and leave. Maybe he should have run away. He should have gotten them out. Gotten them away. Made them safe…

“MARC!” She kicked his bed and he could hear her checking. Searching. Looking for them. All he could do was hope. Hope that she gave up. That her anger fizzled out before she found him. That she would go back down stairs and pass out like she always did. 

The door swung open and he froze. Don’t see me don’t see me don’t see me. He closed his eyes tightly and hoped… 

She kicked the pile of clothes he was under and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He waited, holding his breath till he thought he might pass out. Maybe it would be better if he did. 

He suddenly felt a vice-like grip on his arm and he was pulled from his hiding place. 

“You little…” He looked up as he was pulled out into the open. He saw her fury and then he saw the flash of the bottle as the light glinted off it. 

He screamed. 

–

Steven jerked back hard, gasping as he pulled the blankets over his head and he curled into a small ball, trembling. 

No. Not him. Jake. Jake had taken front and Steven had managed to cling on this time. 

Steven sat back, speechless. He felt his heart break as Jake clung to the safety of the blanket and the darkness. 

He knew how to comfort Marc. He had known Marc all his life, even if he hadn’t realized it. It came naturally to him. He knew what Marc needed and how to stop him from his spiral of guilt and self hatred. 

This was different. Jake didn’t have those traits. Jake was strong and stoic and could handle anything. Jake carried the worst of their memories and past and didn’t so much as flinch. 

Now here he was, flinching. 

Steven suddenly wondered. Did things bother Jake? Was this the first time? How many times had Jake escaped a stressful situation? How many times did he lash out because he was afraid? How often could he brush things off before they built and built until here he was hiding like he was that small boy again, just trying to survive. 

Steven had given Jake such a wide space to exist in. Afraid to step on toes or get in his way. Jake was like the big brother he respected and didn’t know how to be around. Maybe he had given him too much room. 

Maybe Jake was more like the little brother, trying too hard to impress them with how strong he was. Maybe he needed to know that it was okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. Maybe he just needed to know that someone was there for him… 

Steven nodded to himself and slowly settled in around Jake, letting him know that he was there. 

“She isn’t here, Jake…” He whispered, letting them breathe and feel their chest expand. “She will never hurt us again. Not like that. She’s done all the damage she’s going to do.” 

He could hear Layla moving to the side. A hand snuck out from the blanket and pulled the door closed again. He needed it to be quiet. To be still. He’d apologize to Layla later. She would understand. 

“Thank you.” He breathed slowly, forcing them to slow down and be still. “For protecting us. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

He felt Jake still and slowly the body relaxed back on the floor, unfolding and letting go of the incredible tension it was holding. 

“I’m here. I’m here for you. Okay? When it gets too hard, you have to tell me.” Steven slowly slid a hand over his face, letting the sensation calm them as he nestled into his pillow and found it comforting and soft. “You don’t have to talk. We can even set the closet a little better if you like. For when it gets scary. Some pillows… Maybe a nice blanket. I’m not opposed to a plush or even a little night light we can turn on. A book would be nice too. If I’m going to be in here a while, might be nice to read something so I don’t have to go staring at the wall all night, huh?” 

He felt a small smile tug at his lips and he slowly let Jake back into the body so he could feel it relax fully. 

Jake slowly uncovered their head and stared up at the hanging clothes. “I think I got lost…” 

Easy to do with our memories… 

“I’m not supposed to have that issue. I’m the one that holds them.” Jake sighed and closed his eyes. “Are we okay?” 

You can’t juggle that much all the time and not expect to drop a ball or two. Steven lifted up their hands so Jake could see them. We’re perfectly fine. Safe and just a little cramped. 

Jake stared up at their hands for a moment then brought them in to gently run his lips across his knuckles, feeling the tender and still healing skin there from the fight at the bar. It was soft and gentle as if it were a silent apology to the bruised and injured flesh there. “We’re a mess.”

Yeah well… Apparently we took a bottle to the head at some point. Being a mess comes naturally after that. Steven muttered bitterly. Obviously we survived… But… He hesitated, unsure how to ask the next part. 

Jake rolled over and pulled the blanket to his shoulders. “We went to the hospital. Stitches and a few other injuries. I don’t remember much from that night after that. I think we passed out. Maybe it scared her and she stopped before doing more. Or maybe Dad stepped in for a change. Who knows.” 

He sounded detached again. Like the memory wasn’t the single worst thing Steven had ever seen. 

Steven was angry. We didn’t deserve that. None of that. You shouldn’t of had to deal with that alone, Jake… I wish… 

What did he wish? That he had known about it earlier? That his happiness have been taken from him as a child? That he had felt the pain the other two had felt? 

Jake was silent for a long moment, deep in thought and perhaps even drifting just a bit. 

Steven was about to ask for front again when another memory was handed to him like a small glowing peace offering. 

Jake closed his eyes and pushed it gently towards Steven. 

–

Jake was just a bit older now. Not much more than the previous time. Perhaps a little wiser. Late at night he had taken to sleeping in the closet. 

Marc would wake up there in the mornings and think nothing of it. He had already started to accept that his memory was unreliable. 

Jake would wake them up late at night and crawl in there with his blankets and pillows. It was quiet there. He couldn’t hear the rain outside in there. It was dark and easy to disappear. He was learning how to go unnoticed. 

He was no fool, though. The closet had left him vulnerable in other ways. She knew to look there now and there was nowhere to run. 

A new idea had come to him though. 

He was more vigilant now. He watched her closely. He knew when to expect the casual abuse and violence. If things looked like they might be more, he had a new plan. 

Tonight he would test it. She had set the big bottle out just after dinner. Her malice was radiating off of her and he knew it was only a matter of time. 

On their way up to bed he had stopped by the little side table by the door and pocketed his father’s keys. 

Now he grabbed a bag of blankets he had packed earlier and snuck silently out the door. With a quiet click of the keys, he slipped into his father’s car and locked the doors. 

She wouldn’t be getting in there. He’d never let her in. It didn’t matter how angry it made her. He was safe. 

He turned on the car cautiously. He’d seen his father do it a million times. He had no plans to drive. He knew he was too small for that. But the radio! The radio was his. He fiddled with the dial till he found a station that brought him joy. 

He knew better than to run the car all night. He would listen for an hour or two then turn the car off and relax. Snuggling up with his blankets and putting the seat back, he stared up at the car’s ceiling and for the first time in his short life, he felt happy and safe. 

–

Steven tapped on the closet door gently. He could hear Layla moving around to get closer. 

“Are you alright?” She called gently through the door. 

“Yeah.” Steven sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes. “We’re going to be here a while. We need… We need to settle. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Steven.” She fussed at him. “You do what you need to do. Do you need anything?” 

Steven wiped his eyes again and settled back. “No. I think we’re just going to try to get some sleep here. Jake’s alright. We’ll talk more in the morning, yeah?” 

He didn’t know how to explain to her that there was a very good chance that they would need to spend more than a few nights in the closet. That there was a small scared boy that desperately needed to feel safe and secure. 

“As long as everyone is alright.” She sighed. “I’m not going far. Okay? If you need anything just knock.” 

“Alright love, good night!” He closed his eyes and reached for that memory again. Reached for that feeling of peace. “Good night, Jake.” 

—

Layla had a fitful sleep. Every shift or sound from the closet woke her with the expectation that something was wrong. 

She knew it was a trust issue. She had to trust that they would be alright. That Steven knew what he was doing. That Jake would never put them in danger. That Marc was safe. 

Her heart ached to imagine the three of them curled up in such a small space because they suddenly didn’t feel safe. 

When dawn finally arrived, she chanced getting up to go to the bathroom and start the coffee. She didn��t know who would emerge, but she really hoped that a warm caffeinated beverage would help them pull through the day. 

She had just started the coffee maker when her phone went off, giving her a start as she tried to grab it before it might wake them up. 

“Hello?” He half paid attention as she glanced towards the bedroom. 

The voice on the other end sounded official and stern as he asked for her or Mr. Lockley. 

She was suddenly wide awake as the person introduced himself as a police officer. 

Layla frantically snatched up any scrap paper she could find as she jotted down information and numbers. She could feel the dred building as she got more and more details. 

By the time the phone call ended, she heard a click and looked up to see one of them emerging from the little makeshift den. 

Steven looked to her and gave a small wave and smile. “‘Morning, love.” 

His hair was a mess of tangles and he paused to slowly stand up and stretch out his stiff back and joints. 

She anxiously waited for them to freshen up a bit and slowly trudge out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. 

Steven poured himself a cup and moved to sit across from her at the table. He looked at her expectantly as if waiting for her to bring up any part of the night. There was a bit of nervous energy to him, but he also looked ready to take on anyone that would challenge the decisions he had made. 

“Hey…” She started and took a sip of her own coffee. “Uh… What happened last night… You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Okay?” 

Steven nodded firmly. “We’re okay. It was just… There was a bad memory and Jake was having trouble. Um… It was a pretty nasty one, honestly. Jake says he has it but to be safe we decided that we might need to… Sleep in there another day or two. Just to keep things… good.” He petered out at the end. It was clear that he was trying to protect them. He didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus. He was too loyal for that. 

“Is this to protect Marc?” If the memory was that bad, she couldn’t even imagine what it might do to Marc if he got caught up in it. She wondered if it was time to start searching the flat for his hidden alcohol stashes. Something she should have done a while ago. 

“No.” Steven flushed then backtracked. “Yes. I mean… In a way it will protect him. But I think Jake needs it more. Are you mad?” 

“Of course not!” She reached out and took his hand across the table. “How could I ever be mad at you? Especially over something like this. You are doing what you need to do, Steven.” 

Steven gave a small smile and held her hand gently. 

She swallowed hard, afraid to break this moment. “The police just called.” She looked down at the table then back up at him fully. “They found the car.” 

His face gave the smallest of twitch as his eyes instantly narrowed and Jake sat before her. He stood up, knocking the chair over in a rush. “Where is it?!” 

#Moon Knight #Moon Kight fic #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Layla El Faouly #tw: childhood trauma #TW: Child abuse #This one gets a little rough #Ever wanted to just hide under the covers in bed all day?

[eunoiaastralwings]

Bucky Barnes x Tara (oc)

My new oc (from the MCU) done for by @sleazy-art - thank you ever so much.

I love it so much </3

I have been pulled back into the MCU with full force - and I missed it really <3

Tara Harrington-Kim an agent of SHIELD - sometimes a trio team Nat and Clint. I haven't picked out her a proper "superhero" name yet but currently it's Shadow Huntress - which am on two sides about, I both dislike it and like it xD

She has bit of a dark backstory too - abusive parents and so :(

Yes - it woudnt be my oc if there's heartwrenching angst XD

She messed up on a mission though - and Fury with Steve gave her the desk job babysitting the Winter Solider while he healed in Wakanda XD - that's where they fell in love </3

Yes - lmaoo am aware I called her Tara too xD

#tw: gun #tw: childhood trauma #tw: child abuse #eunoiawrites #mcu #bucky x oc #mcu oc #marvel oc #marvel fanart #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #bucky #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #Bucky x Tara (oc)

[korranguyen]

Let’s talk about Azula & Ozai’s psychological abuse for a second. (Part 2)

Now, about Azula.

(Part 1 is here)

I want to start off with the last scene from the previous post, along with the assertion that Ozai’s love praise is based on the condition of doing exactly what he says, acting exactly how he wants her to act, and embodying what he wants accomplished.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to your mother?”

This scene occurs simultaneously with another scene, where Azula employs the exact same kind of emotional blackmail to get Sokka and the rest of the Gang where she wants them to be. (Ironically, away from her father to protect him)

“Where. Is. Suki?!” *

*(not written verbatim to the script, I didn’t copy this part down)

To me, the purpose of this sequencing is to tell us that Azula is 100% parroting her father’s behavior.

Has she seen him do this before? Has he done this to her? We’re not quite sure, but we definitely see where she gets this mentality from:

AZULA: Well, what choice do I have?! Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way.

In the past, I have hypothesized that Azula’s behavior could be the result of a genetic personality disorder (likely conduct disorder/CD) that was ignored in light of the success her resulting voracity brought her. (Sidenote: I strongly disagree with any schizophrenia diagnosis because of the age of onset & a distinct lack of any characteristic schizophrenia symptoms outside of her psychosis—but that’s not what this post is about). But between this post and what’s in the scripts, I’m inclined to avoid pathologizing her behavior because she is acting exactly how she has been conditioned to act.

First of all, she obeys her social norms she has been taught to a tee (at least the social norms of the Royal Palace, lol) and doesn’t have a problem handling authority or impulse: both things she would likely have a problem with if she did have CD. If anything, it’s Zuko who struggles to do these things (which is another topic for another time).

Yes—she has a marked lack of empathy, shows a disregard for others’ well being, and is extremely threatening and manipulative for anyone her age. But her father encourages thinking of others in this way, encourages treating others this way, and provides a bounty of direct examples on how to manipulate others.

Yes—she treats her brother and uncle like shit, but you know who inundates her with commentary about them as though they are shit? Her father.

Yes—she is an active colonizer and conqueror (unlike her brother), and seems to find satisfaction in these exploits. She single-handedly strategized how to overtake Ba Sing Se on her own, and she spearheaded the Omashu resistance, usurped control over the loosening stronghold from Mai’s father, and renamed the city in her father’s honor. But does she take joy from conquering land because she enjoys it, or because she knows it’s news she can report back to her father and win a helping of praise?

Both are possibilities that are not mutually exclusive, but we know for a fact Ozai praises over this kind of thing. He mentions it in his reunion with Zuko:

FIRELORD OZAI: I am proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud because you and your sister conquered Ba Sing Se.

Zuko beams with happiness.

This expression is different from what we see onscreen at this moment, which is restraint mixed with fear (and I’m personally glad it was changed because that reaction would've been OOC at this point), but I wanted to share the WGAW script here. Because in order for the writers—in this case, Aaron Ehasz—to envision Zuko beaming with happiness when his father praises him for conquering Ba Sing Se, that signifies that that kind of pride and reward must mean a hell of a lot to the kids. And we see how this could quickly turn into anticipatory satisfaction every time Azula finds a new region to dominate. Like a Pavlovian dog.

Also... Azula literally named Omashu “New Ozai” to honor her father. If you really needed to hear her need to impress her father ooze at the seams of her accomplishments.

On a sidenote, the perfectionism that dominates Azula’s personality right up to her downfall? Also 100% a trauma response.

I’m not saying that all of the malevolent things she has done throughout the series must have been either an attempt to please her father or a result of his bad parenting. But we should acknowledge the possibility that these could be workable reasons for a huge chunk of her role as an antagonist.

So, if the Azula we know for most of the show is the one who’s desperately trying to pretty herself up to her father just as much as Zuko was in Season 1, then who is the Azula beneath all this?

While I’m generally critical of The Beach and the quality of its writing (it is the only episode written by the WA—and I’m happy that she was able to shoot her shot at an entire episode regardless), I appreciate that it gives us an opportunity to see how Azula treats Zuko when their father’s approval isn’t on the line.

The siblings are sent off from the Fire Nation palace so their father can plan his nefarious bullshit on his own. Now that they’re both shut away from their father’s shadow, they have a brief chance to (unsuccessfully) integrate into a normal teenage society, and behave as normal teenage siblings would to each other. And although the way she perceives Zuko as “pathetic” doesn’t go magically away, Azula is genuinely sympathetic towards Zuko—perhaps even moreso than Mai when he shared similar concerns about change with her only four episodes before. For all their time apart, Azula knows exactly where to find Zuko, and even shares a moment of mutual recognition with him on how much their environment has been poisoned.

AZULA: Come on. Come down to the beach with me. This place is depressing.

To add onto this, the WGAW script for The Beach indicates that Azula was sincerely mystified to hear that Zuko was angrier than ever. Not prodding, not malicious... just curious.

AZULA: (sincerely mystified) Why?

So... How much is Azula being Evil, or Mentally Ill (which needs to stop being conflated with violent) —and how much of it is a fourteen year old kid simply trying to keep up an image to her father and fearing the slandered fate of her older brother like the Plague?

We never know, because Bryke doesn’t give a shit about these questions.

Just to clarify, I’m not writing all this to absolve Azula of her actions. She has hurt a lot of people, and the fact she was an abuse victim or conditioned to behave this way doesn’t change the impact it had on others—just like Zuko only being interested in the Avatar didn’t change the fact he burned Suki’s village. I just want to point out why writing in a fourteen-year-old, troubled, abused child like this

AZULA: (SPINE-TINGLING, MADWOMAN’S LAUGH)

and this

As Katara and Zuko watch with pained faces, Azula finally snaps, going from feral animal to bumbling crazy person.

(again, emphasis is mine)

is absolutely fucking unacceptable and a disservice to her character. And honestly speaks a lot for Bryke’s misogyny throughout and beyond the Avatar world.

#not to mention struggling victims of parental abuse #atla #azula #anti bryke #zuko #ozai #atla meta #atla ozai #tw: childhood trauma #tw: parental abuse #writing/criticism #honestly Azula is the only other character #who is brutalized in a way that could be compared to Korra #Bryke really like the visual of women helplessly writing in chains I guess

[scorpion-flower]

Defending a child molestor? Scott Summers would never.

#nickelodeon #quiet on set #drake bell #tw: child abuse #tw: childhood trauma #tw: assault #james marsden #x-men #scott summers #cyclops #like seriously wtf james?

[suffering-is-cute]

banishing the hours of the quiet night, i vigorously

shake my head, calling away the moments before daylight's momentum hits.

my mother whispered into the shell of my ear, brandishing a cup of honey water like proof of a quest accomplished -

"it's not that i don't love you, it's that you're so hard to love."

i wonder what she thinks she gains by teaching her beloved child that she is unworthy of what she has given - i only shy away further from all touch, now, instead of inviting closeness.

and i used to ask her what she was watching and plop down beside her, trying to share in the fun

but i don't know, today, i just mutely watch her from the doorway, transfixed on her drama, Alone, Alone, Alone,

and pass by the door, heading for my own room.

the car crash of those words had no crunch zone and i am the one who crumpled, draining the cup dry, offering futile honest words

"i know, i know, i know" you have done such a great job of teaching me this lesson, you never had to put it in words to get it through.

fruitlessly, helplessly, uselessly, difficulty, i have bated my breath and baited myself. i have bared my soul to this ceaseless thought of not being worth company.

i accepted it, but this sin surpasses all previous sins - if you don't love me, i beg of you, just never tell me that it's because i am me.

banishing the hours of the quiet night, i switch on the radio and go to sleep. i also know that you have your own issues, dearest mother of mine (i say this without bite), i know that your mother does not love you enough and so you do not know how to love.

i agree, finally, that i am allowed to be loved, I give assent to the me quarreling within for rights.

Oh, i can't stop loving and questioning and hoping for understanding. i hope you forgive me, mother, for not blindly believing you when you say that I'm hard to be loved -

there is someone who loved me regardless, so i know it can be done. on that day that i was love, i was handed the proof that i am alive and not merely a ghost, clutching at the documents printed with the signature and stamp of someone willing to be responsible for my life.

there is paperwork, so i can prove it.

one woman's trash is

another man's

treadmill, thread, treasure

i am fine with being your trash

as long as there is one person in this world who looks at me and sees the glorious tides swishing around buried treasure

i can stand up, straight, again. after everything. accidental compromises. vast misfortune. majority disbelieving.

i went back to sleep peacefully. the creamer in my coffee speaks an ancient prophecy - even if you mind, you will be loved - and this holds me steadfast like an anchor in a storm or an x in a treasure map.

staying sitting in this room, I won't fall because I am ready to be found and I am freed from wanting to be quiet like the surroundings of my hurt that I hadn't realised was there.

#poets on tumblr #spilled ink #original poem #original poetry #poems and poetry #twcpoetry #writers #poets of tumblr #writerscreed #poeticstories #tw: mother issues #unworthy of love #unloved #tw: childhood trauma #i tend to say issues instead of trauma hahaha #poets on love #learning to be loved #unconditional love #treasure #trash #literature #prose poetry #writeblr #poetic #poems and quotes #mother #poetscommunity #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #dead poets society

[sentientsky]

"your abuse made you kind" no, i made myself kind. i made myself gentle. my abuse made me skittish and hand-shy and wary of anyone who tries to get too close. it killed that little kid who used to be me and replaced her with an angry, thrashing wraith of a woman. my abuse didn’t make me soft or nice or sweet; it nearly fucking destroyed me. (thinkin' about this post btw)

#i say woman but i technically identify as a nonbinary woman (woman is fine too!) my gender is like. Woman with a sprinkle of agenderness lo #also i should say i TRY to be kind. i don't always succeed. but i always try my best yk? #I am wary around everyone who tries to get close. well. except for one (1) person lmaoo #tw: abuse #tw: child abuse #tw: childhood trauma #not good omens #personal

[moral-terpitude]

Misadventures - 10.5

[Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]

A/N: I don’t have a lyric for this part; but I was listening to O Children by Nick Cave when I finally got the motivation to write it, so. Somehow I can write these flashbacks in like an hour.

Warnings: Discussion of Childhood Sexual Assault

Word Count: 1158

It seemed then that when they got any news, whether good or bad, it all came at once.

Tommy had spent most of the day in a daze, still trying to process the news Grace had given him the night before.

The irregular heat for the time of year had cooled down sometime in the night.

Tommy had spent most of the day outside, and changed all the bedding for the horses with the help of Curly as they listened to the results from the races come across the radio, grateful for some noise to fill the silence.

By the time Tommy walked back home it had grown late. He noted there was an unfamiliar car parked on Watery Lane. Not running.

Polly was sat at the table with her head in her hands, fingers laced into her bangs, with a woman Tommy didn’t recognize, in the kitchen of the house.

From the silence, it was Tommy’s best guess that she had sent the smaller children down to the other house, as she called it.

How she expected a group of children to keep quiet about what went on in the upper level, the illegal betting, the horse race rigging, Tommy wasn’t quite certain, but they had done it so far.

He assumed that them being told that the upstairs was haunted was probably a determining factor of no one moving a muscle up the stairs.

A thick gold envelope sat on the table. The static from the kitchen radio and the sound of Polly’s almost silent tears were the only thing that broke the silence.

Tommy cleared his throat as he toed out of his shoes, before he spoke.

“Pol, is everything alright?”

She took a deep breath, and the woman turned to look at him, looking back to his Aunt before she spoke.

“Mrs. Gray, I’ll be going now.”

Polly was white as a ghost as the front door closed, and Tommy slid down into the open chair, surprised by the contrast of her smeared makeup with the white pallor her skin had taken on at the woman’s news.

“Pol, is everything alright? Is Arthur—“

She shook her head quickly, “No. Not your brother.”

She swallowed hard, hands trembling as she opened the envelope, the cigarette left to smolder in the ashtray regained her attention once again as she held in between her lips.

She pulled a few VHS tapes from the chair next to her, and tossed them with a loud clatter on the table. She moved on and dug through the envelope, before she seemed to find what she was looking for.

She tore two of the printed off papers out of the confines, and lay them face up on the table, before she stood and crossed to reach for the cupboard above the sink, a bottle of cheap whiskey and two glasses keeping her hands busy.

She placed one in front of Tommy, his eyes finally able to focus on the photos in the low light that came from the humming bulb above the kitchen sink.

They were cropped photos, portions covered with sticky notes and photocopied.

The only face that was still showing on one of the photos was Anna. A man’s hand on her shoulder attached to, from the clothing, a man Tommy could only assume was a priest.

A nameless faceless man.

His stomach turned, trying to decipher some of the notes written on the edge of the pages but the scrawled writing was too much to focus on as his eyes flicked to the other sheet of paper.

Polly had finished the first glass, and Tommy was surprised when she lit another cigarette and poured herself another.

“They…” she trailed off, a string of sniffles stopped her from speaking before taking a long drag off the cigarette.

Michael was looking away from the camera, alone, at someone presumably off in the distance. His face looked like a fucked up combination of scared and sad.

“Pol,” Tommy pushed the photos away, fingers gently grabbing at the glass. There were nights after Arthur would call, if it was late, that they would find themselves like this, sat at the table with a drink before they headed back to bed, but there was something close and strangled that hung in the air in that moment, “what’s going on?”

Her bleary eyes finally looked at him, focusing but maybe not truly seeing as she thought, “When Michael and Anna were with Mickey…” she swallowed, their separation had been difficult enough, but someone she thought she had loved taking her children from her had came close to nearly destroying Polly, “that man,” she tapped at the priests body on the sheet of paper, “other men too,” she shook her head again, and her hand covered her mouth to contain the muffled sobs that passed between her lips, “he sold off our fucking children! They found photos, and videos!” She took a ragged breath before she whispered quietly, “Fuck.”

Tommy watched as she clammed up, as if saying the words out loud made them too true.

“The priest, fucker can rot in hell for all I care, told Mickey they were…that they were too old now.”

He took a sip of the whiskey, the burn of the alcohol providing a distraction as he thought of what could even be said.

“That’s why he filed the motion to send them back.”

Polly nodded, surprise colored her features. She knew Tommy was smart but she didn’t expect him to put it together that fast.

Tommy looked down at the amber liquid in the glass, before he stood. The chair tumbled over behind him, and hurled the tumbler into the fireplace.

The flames flared as the glass shattered into pieces.

Polly seemed unphased, lighting another cigarette.

“Are all these copies?” Tommy picked up the envelope, shaking it around to get her attention.

Her glazed eyes looked up at him before giving a quick nod. “I had to indentfy that it was them.”

He collected the loose papers and crossed quickly, tossing the envelope into the fire, running a hand through his fucked up hair cut as the images caught and burned quickly.

“The kids don’t need to find that shit.”

Polly nodded as he picked up the tapes, reading the pristine paper stickers that said three different months with the words “COPY” written in red next to the month.

The plastic didn’t catch as quickly as the paper had, but eventually the cassette casing and the tape started to melt in the fire. The stench was terrible, putrid, and enough to make Tommy’s head swim in combination with the information.

He stood and watched as all the artifacts dissolved in the fire.

Absentmindedly, he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one before he paced in front of the flames, ashing into the fire.

“If I ever find him, I’m going to fucking kill him.”

#modern peaky blinders #modern tommy shelby x oc #modern au #modern!tommy shelby #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #misadventures #tw: childhood trauma #tw: csa #tw: child endangerment

[thornilee013]

Needle AU Masterpost

Jean Moreau is a tattoo artist with a mysterious past, having moved to the US from France with little more than the clothes on his back. Life has settled into something resembling normalcy, with regular hours at the shop and a thriving social life with his two roommates. However, this all changes when Riko Moriyama requests a tattoo from none other than himself. Content Warning: Needle AU will occasionally feature depictions of self harm scars and injuries. The primary focus of the AU is on healing and growth, however. There will also be occasional depictions of stalking, infected wounds, and abuse (including references to CSA). co-conspirator: @capcavan

PARTS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34,35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50

51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82

ARTS: Cover Art by Niel

#needle au #aftg #all for the game #jean moreau #riko moriyama #capcavan #cw: self harm #cw: infection #tw: self harm #cw: stalking #tw: stalking #cw: abuse #tw: abuse #cw: child abuse #tw: child abuse #cw: childhood trauma #tw: childhood trauma #lee's writing shenanigans

[ghostofaboy]

I want to talk about David's Story...

Going to put this behind a cut cos this might get long.

So... In 2021, I wrote and published a story on AO3 called David's Story. I have it set to private now, for reasons I'll explain shortly.

The story was a way for me to get out a lot of stuff I'd experienced as a teen. It was a way for me to place the memories in a fiction space and distance myself from them. So, for some unfathomable reason, I named the main character after myself.

I'm not sure why I did that.

I think part of it was because parts of the story were based on real events, I couldn't fully extract myself from them. They happened. To me. Therefore, I guess it made some sense to me to call the main character David. I don't know... because looking back, I really regret doing that now.

When I started writing the story, I was in a very bad place. A not wanting to carry on place, and it was through the encouragement of a very good friend that I expressed these dark thoughts via fiction.

For those who haven't read the story, it follows a young man from age 14 to 18 as his stepfather rents him out and sexual abuses him. It's a very, very dark story.

Some of the story is pure fiction, some it lifted directly from my teens, and some is what I experienced but 'dialed up' and exaggerated.

But because it is framed as fiction, some readers naturally found it hot. To begin with, that really didn't bother me. But then as I came out of that dark place, it started to make me feel uncomfortable. Every comment I would feel dread because I didn't know if it would be commenting on the dark themes or saying how hot they found it.

I've said this before, and I'll repeat it here, but that isn't the fault of the readers. To them this was a work of fiction, and they interacted with it accordingly. But I knew the other aspects of the story and certain reaction were hitting too close to what I'd experienced.

So I set it to private on AO3 and now we come to the dilemma I face now. I think I'm a peace with people's reactions to the story now. But I really, really regret naming the main character after myself. I want to change it.

I'm probably going to change the name and the character's name and then open it back up. I'm not sure when, but I think that's the best solution.

If you've read this far, thank you for sticking with me. My recovery is still an ongoing process, and I understand that now. Changing the name might make me feel better or it might not fix anything. Also, now you know my name... hi.

#rare personal stuff #I'm not sure what to tag this #tw: abuse #tw: child abuse #tw: childhood trauma