#domestic violence references

[ashintheairlikesnow]

⛑ for kauri?

⛑ - Some tender first-aid got this for Chris, too, and I think we should have some Chris and Kauri time

-

CW: Kauri's Poor Life Choices, drug use, bandaging referenced domestic violence, Kauri's Total Lack of Self-Esteem, accidental whump

Takes place during Chris's time at Nat's safehouse, probably before the end of the second year

"There we go." Kauri soothes, holding Chris's wrist with gentle fingertips just barely touching freckled skin. He wraps the gauze carefully, letting it unroll from its spool even as he tightens it over the gauze pad pressed to the cut. "There, it's okay, Chris. You're okay."

"I just, I, I, I just wanted to, to, to help with dinner-" Chris's face is ruddy with tears, shiny with the tracks drying as he rubs viciously at them with the back of his other hand. Red hair falls over his eyes, growing out by now but not long enough that he'll consent to a haircut yet. He sways to one side, then stops himself, but his hand starts to move, then, rubbing over the seam of his jeans along the outside of his thigh, back and forth, back and forth, seeking the comfort of the rough texture and the thread.

"It's okay," Kauri repeats. "It's okay."

"It's, it's, I'm, I'm so stupid, I can't even c-cut up a bell p-p-p-pepper-"

"You're not stupid." Kauri's eyes are sparkling a little more than they should, his smile is slightly hazy, but Chris doesn't ask what he's on and Kauri doesn't volunteer the information. He had shown up on the front step like this, beautiful and a little scary. "You were just surprised, that's all."

Chris sniffs, hard, rocking forward and back when Kauri lets go of his arm, looking down at the bandage haphazardly applied. Then he looks up at Kauri, slightly sidelong, not quite looking at his eyes. "You, um. Are you okay?"

"Me?" Kauri tips his head to the side, smiling and sunny. Brilliant and sparkling, and he's so high he can barely stand on his own. Antoni is taking a shower, and other than Krista and Ant, Chris is alone in the house, everyone else is out. Krista will fuss and Antoni will press his lips together but no one will tell Kauri to stop. "Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

Chris hesitates, then reaches his uninjured hand up to graze his thumb over Kauri's cheekbone. "You, you, you have a black eye."

Kauri pulls away abruptly, pushing himself to his feet, turning as if to hide the smear of bruising Chris had already noticed. There are more bruises around one wrist. "You're not the only one who's stupid sometimes, Chris."

Chris swallows the pain - he knows Kauri doesn't mean it, not about Chris, even if he always means it when he says it about himself - and stays where he is, swaying side to side. "Did your boyfriend hurt you?"

Kauri laughs, bitter and brittle as glass. "I don't have a boyfriend. Just some guy. Some... just some guy."

"Did he, he, he, um, did he give you-"

Kauri's head whips back to him and Chris swallows the end of his question.

"It's not important," Kauri says, flat. He runs a hand back through the wild tangle of black curls. There's fingernail polish on his nails, black to match, and the leather bracelet that hides his number is buckled so tight it must be painful, too.

There's a speaker playing music off a playlist that Jake made for Chris of all the songs he's mentioned liking since he came here. The song switches, a softly strumming acoustic guitar creating a wistful, pulsing beat with an electric melody over the top before the drums kick in.

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold but something about it felt like home somehow-

Kauri pauses. "I know this song."

"Yeah. Jake, um. Jake says not to to to to tell you. That he has this album. I don't know, um, what it is, but-"

"I do." Kauri throws his head back in laughter that's so sharp and loud it makes Chris jump, his heart skipping a beat. Then Kauri turns and looks at Chris, holding out his hands. He leans over, grinning, but it's a rictus, not an expression. "Jake's sentimental, he just likes to pretend he isn't. Dance with me, Chris."

"... what?"

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze-

"Dance! I want to dance. Come here." Kauri moves and takes his hand even though Chris hasn't moved yet, pulls him so close their bodies are pressed together and Chris shivers. Kauri's face is an inch away from his or less. His breath is warm against Chris's cheek.

"Kauri... we, we, we aren't supposed to-"

"I'm not going to kiss you, Chris, I just want to dance."

"... okay. I, I, I can do that."

He's scared of Kauri, a little, when he shows up like this. Too scared to say no.

"Good." Kauri slides arms around him. He moves Chris's arms up around his shoulders, and Chris feels the heat coming off of him like a furnace as they sway to the music. Kauri lays his head on Chris's shoulder even though Chris is shorter than he is or maybe they're the same height. His wrist aches, but Chris bites his lip against the pain. He can't pull away.

He isn't made to be able to pull away.

It'll be fine.

Kauri would never hurt him.

And I might be okay but I'm not fine at all-

Kauri's hair tickles his neck for a while, prickles and irritates where Chris's collar once was, but he never says anything. He lets Kauri lead their slight, soft movements to the beat, feels his own pulse beat not quite in time with the song.

At some point, he feels a shudder go through Kauri. The older man's shoulders are shaking. His breath hitches, soft as a whisper, but Chris knows that sound. He's made it himself, so many times. Chris pulls him even more tightly against him, telling himself to be brave. "Kauri-"

"Don't." Kauri's voice is tight.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest-

"Kauri, please-"

"I said don't, Chris. I don't want to talk about it."

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here cause I remember it all too well-

"Kauri, what, what, what's wrong-"

Kauri's hands press to Chris's shoulder blades, fingernails digging in. The kitchen light buzzes overhead, a sound Chris can hear but no one else can, apparently. Except Kauri, sometimes.

"I'm so stupid, that's what," Kauri whispers, lips moving against Chris's neck, his earlobe. "Not you, you're great, but I'm... I'm so fucking stupid, Chris. Why did I think I could go? Why did I try to start over?"

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it... I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it-

"What?"

"They're all him," Kauri says, voice low. "In the end. Everyone just ends up being him all over again. I think they're going to be different, and then they're not, and why do I keep trying?"

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so-

Kauri pulls away, violently, sending Chris stumbling back until he backs into a chair and trips over the legs, crashing to the ground, landing on his injured wrist with a soft cry.

Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known-

Kauri's eyes widen and he leans forward to offer Chris his hand, only for the younger man to flinch away from him instinctively. Kauri freezes, blue eyes wide, no longer hazy.

The guilt in them is glittering, crystal-clear.

"Oh, shit. Chris, I'm sorry-... it was an accident, I didn't mean to-" He freezes, hearing his own words, and Chris watches Kauri's heart shatter as he hears himself saying what's been said to him already, a thousand times before, by people who have hurt him.

"What happened?" Krista is in the doorway, ponytail skimming her shoulders. "Oh, Chris, oh no-"

"Oh, god," Kauri whispers, and backs up. "Oh my god-"

Antoni is right behind Krista, the two of them moving to Chris, who is curling up around himself, looking down at the ground, shaking his head back and forth. He's not listening to them.

But he can hear Kauri's intake of breath, watching.

Antoni turns to look over his shoulder. "What happened, Kauri?"

"I-... I was just-... we were dancing and I-"

"What happened to your eye?" Antoni's eyebrows furrow. "Oh, Kasha, no."

Kauri's jaw works, his chin goes up, and he turns without a word and walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Kasha, wait-..." Antoni takes in a deep breath "Take Chris back to Jake's room," Antoni says softly, meeting Krista's eyes over Chris's head. "I will go after Kauri."

"After Kauri," Krista echoes, but nods, and helps Chris stand. The music has changed, Chris hates the new song even though it's been his favorite. It's too happy, and there can't be happy music over a moment like this.

Antoni goes out the door, leaving Krista and Chris alone in the kitchen.

Chris hears him call Kauri's name, already faint, and knows that Kauri is running-

Antoni is running after him.

"Call Jake," Chris whispers. "We, we, we should call Jake."

"Call Jake. Um, I think he's... with his girlfriend, with Addie-..."

"I want Jake."

Krista swallows and nods. "I want Jake, too."

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @canniboylism

#erase to control #Kauri's Poor Life Choices #drug use tw #drugs tw #trauma recovery #domestic violence references #referenced abusive relationship #black eye #recovering whumpee #chris the strawberry blond romantic #imperfect survivor #oh kauri #angst angst angst

[ryukisgod]

If a man engages in domestic violence but has never hit one of his bosses, he doesn’t have an anger “management” problem, he can manage his emotions just fine, he just thinks it’s morally okay to hit his wife/gf, and or there won’t be consequences for it

#his boss will fire him #but his wife won’t necessarily divorce him #losing income vs losing a relationship #depends on what field he works in it is easier to get a new girlfriend than a new job #most applications want a reference from your former job #whereas women you go on dates with don’t ask for references from previous girlfriends #lundy bancroft #domestic violence #feminism #radical feminists do interact #it’s like the expression #If He Wanted To He Would #but the reverse #If He Didn’t Want To He Wouldn’t

[shitswiftiessay]

Taylor Swift’s boyfriend, Travis Kelce, says his friend + former teammate Tyreek Hill deserves “nothing but love.” Tyreek Hill is an abuser who attacked his pregnant girlfriend.

Yeah, you fucking heard that right. The boyfriend of Taylor Swift is friends with a domestic abuser and thinks he deserves “nothing but love.”

In 2014, Travis Kelce’s bestie, Tyreek Hill, was dismissed from Oklahoma State after he was arrested for choking his pregnant girlfriend and punching her in the stomach.

Despite committing such a heinous crime, the NFL drafted him in 2016, proving once again that they don’t give a SHIT about violence against women.

In 2019, Tyreek Hill was recorded THREATENING his fiancée and had apparently abused his child as well.

In addition, he was also accused of breaking another woman’s leg last year.

Hill has received no consequences for his actions, no jail time, not even a single game suspension.

Will the self-proclaimed feminist @taylorswift dump her boyfriend for being friends with an abuser, or was she only a “feminist” for a few eras to sell albums? Unfortunately, I think we all know the answer to that one.

#tw domestic violence #tw domestic abuse #tw intimate partner violence #ipv #anti Travis kelce #anti taylor swift #fuck the nfl #reference post

[zukosdualdao]

i promise i'll do better (i will soften every edge)

zutara month, day 11: "mom and dad are fighting again", @zutaramonth

summary: kya interrupts an argument between katara and zuko.

warnings: reference to (implied) abuse/domestic violence, wrt to ozai's treatment of ursa.

other notes: lyrics from 'light' by sleeping at last. don't ask me how timelines work idk. yes there is a zutara daughter named kya here (separate entity from the lok kya.) she wears her hair in a southern water tribe braid and zuko calls her firecracker and it’s very cute. not really relevant but in this story i’m imagining she’s a nonbender.

“Katara, you know I agree with you.”

Across from him, she crosses her arms, and Zuko sighs. The throne room is empty, save for the two of them, and Zuko feels trapped, claustrophobic in the walls. They’ve made a point of opening up windows in the castle, letting light filter in, getting rid of old, haunting portraits, and making something new and beautiful together. 

But the throne room doesn’t have windows to open. On a day like today, at times like these, it’s all too easy to remember the staunchly severe figures both his grandfather and father made here, walling themselves as they did behind high, towering fires.

Maybe they shouldn’t be having this talk here. It's too late now, but something to note for the future.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Of course I want to increase reparations soon,” he insists. “That’s the plan, and that’s always been the plan. But we have to be smart about this,” he tries to remind her. “We can’t do it all at once, or people will try to block—”

“Oh, so now you’re all about thinking things through! Those instincts could have served you well years ago, you know.”

Zuko closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. The words are biting, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Things have been tense again in the Fire Nation lately. Better than ever before in some ways. Worse in others.

The first years after the war were a turbulent time in the Fire Nation—riots from those not happy with the changing of the old guard, strikes from workers contesting the need to pay reparations to the other nations, whispers of loyalists to the old regime plotting to get either Ozai or Azula back on the throne. A few assassination attempts, all handled efficiently but reason enough for concern.

Ten years past the end of the war, though, and things have started to stabilize. The plan has always been to increase reparations once the Fire Nation’s economy has improved, and Zuko intends to keep his word. But part of the system he’s trying to build means that there are representatives from all over the Fire Nation, as well as the other nations, and they each have their own agendas. It’s a tricky thing to navigate; he has to take all of their concerns seriously, of course, but also act according to his own principles. To live up to the promises he made years ago, and that he’ll continue to make for years to come.

Katara looks at him with a combative raise of her eyebrow.

It’s taken a strain on their relationship. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, they’re both a little too good at lashing out, both a little too good at saying the thing that will hurt, even if they immediately regret it.

But usually, by the end of the day if not before, they can remember they’re on the same side, for all that their perspectives might differ.

“Can we pause?” Zuko asks of her, and her features soften. “Just—try to hear each other out? Katara, I understand…” but before he can finish, the large door to the throne room creaks, and Zuko watches as one of the serving maids guides their daughter into the room.

“See?” Kya points to them, eyes wide with alarm and lip quivering. “Mom and Dad are fighting again.”

Something in Zuko’s stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to worry about this. About them. He’d had to worry about his parents, to worry about his mother, Ozai looming over her, and sometimes Zuko was pretty sure he saw fear in her eyes where there should have been love, and then—

She’d been gone. And he’d drawn his own conclusions, quietly and with little reason to question them.

“She coudn’t sleep,” Hina says apologetically, and Zuko only waves a hand. “She was asking for you both.”

“Thank you for bringing her.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry,” Katara says, walking over and lifting Kya up onto her hip. “Things are just tense right now,” she says, with a guilty sideways look to Zuko, who smiles weakly. “It’s not anything for you to worry about.”

“Promise?”

Zuko walks over to join the huddle and places a kiss atop her dark hair, which is twisted in a braid. “Promise, little firecracker. Mom and Dad are just trying to figure out the right way to handle something.” He meets Katara’s eyes and tries to impress the sincerity of his words on her. “But we will figure it out. We always do.”

Katara smiles at him and uses the hand not keeping Kya secure on her hip to touch the small of Zuko’s back in a gentle gesture. The three of them stand huddled together, and for the first time in… weeks, probably, Zuko feels his body relax, just a little.

He smiles back, a little exhausted but a lot relieved—to have Katara with him, there to both challenge and support him, to have Kya with them, creative and funny and quick as a whip as she is, and at only age four. He’s glad to have his family.

They are okay. Right now, they are okay. Whatever else may come.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutara month #zutaramonth #zutara #my fic #day 11: “mom and dad are fighting again” #trigger: abuse. #trigger: domestic violence. #jic. small references. #atla

[dominimoonbeam]

The Truth In Your Skin - 7

The Tattoo AU continues!! David/Darlin, Milo/SH, Asher/Huxley

If you want to read it from the start it’s on ao3.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, scars, reference to past domestic abuse, developing relationships, learning to trust, found family

The Truth In Your Skin - Chapter 7

Sweetheart had been living in his apartment for two weeks. There was no more talk of looking for their own place and Milo was happy about that.

They’d had a whole conversation about how to handle hook ups with a one-bedroom apartment. Sweetheart had said they’d go home with whoever if they were hooking up solo rather than bring them back to his place. Milo knew that made sense, but he didn’t like it. He’d never liked the idea of Sweetheart going home with a stranger, but he couldn’t really say that.

He’d planned to hold his tongue until one of those nights when Sweetheart was looking to leave the bar with someone and then make up some bullshit about going to Asher’s for something and say they could use his place. But that hadn’t happened. Sweetheart and Milo either went home together or they brought someone back together.

Milo had mentioned it to Asher and Ash had laughed and told him they were dating. Milo shot back that Asher didn’t know shit about relationships but Asher had smugly pointed out that even if he didn’t know much about the ocean, he sure as shit knew when he was looking at it.

Milo had been stewing on that the whole day at work.

He and Sweetheart had already fallen into morning routines. They showered together, usually fucked in the shower, and then got ready in that tiny bathroom together. Their things were all over his apartment, intermingling with his, and he loved it. He knew Sweetheart liked it too, because otherwise they wouldn’t do it. He could always trust Sweetheart to be honest like that.

Milo was startled out of his thoughts when Sweetheart jumped into the chair in front of him, the leather squeaking. “Hey! What the fuck you thinking about so hard?” they asked.

They were both between clients, voices and music thrumming from the main room, but the two of them alone. He smiled and rolled his stool up to the chair, his hand sliding up their thigh. “You.”

Sweetheart laughed leaning forward for a quick kiss, their piercings clicking his before they leaned back again, stretching in that chair like they didn’t know where that always sent his thoughts. He remembered every piercing he’d given them, always after hours, dragging it out. Touching, teasing, flirting, long before ever getting to work. “What? Trying to figure out how to get me out of your apartment?”

His hand flexed on their thigh when they came so close to his thoughts and yet so off center.

Sweetheart’s eyes widened a fraction, that lazy, flirty look vanishing. “Oh shit.”

“No,” Milo said, trying to cut them off.

Sweetheart sat forward, if the chair didn’t have a leg rest they probably would have jumped up. “I can get my stuff—”

“No,” Milo laughed, shaking his head and squeezing their thigh again, this time to remind them that they were not going to get out of this chair and make a run for it. They’d probably dash back to the apartment and start untangling their life from his. The idea made him sick. “No. That’s not what I was thinking at all!”

“You promised to tell me, you dick!” Sweetheart swatted his arm. “You said if I was overstepping or staying too long—”

“You’re not! I love having you at my place. You know that.” He laughed, leaning closer, his chest almost touching theirs. “How can you not know that?” He slid his hand over their thigh, between them and higher until he was rubbing against them and they were dragging in a deep breath. “After this morning?” he spoke lowly, just between them, under the umbrella of sounds in the other room. “After I fucked you into the shower wall and we probably woke up the whole building?”

Sweetheart twitched, one hand on his shoulder and hips rocking against his hand. “M-Milo… Seriously… You have to tell me—”

“I want you,” he said, hoping they heard all the certainty in his voice. “I want you in my life and my home and my bed. I want you in my shower and in your car and sometimes in the bathroom at the bar…”

Sweetheart groaned. “Do…Do you want to pretend we’re going to go get lunch?”

Milo grinned, brushing his mouth against theirs. “Where are we really going?”

Sweetheart kissed him hard and then shoved him back, jumping out of the chair. “We’re going around back and you’re going to use that mouth to get me off in the car. If you’re really fucking good, I’ll repay the favor…”

Milo groaned. Yes, life with Sweetheart was good and he honestly hoped they’d never move out.

 -

 “Just invite him,” David growled.

Asher whined, taking ages to clean up his station.

David was almost done with the piece he was doing on this guy’s shoulder. If he wasn’t working, he probably would have stormed out by now. Asher had retold the grand story of how he ran into Huxley last week and they hung out at some café until dawn at least four times today. David had, of course, already heard the story when he came home that morning and several times since.

Asher was in agony over whether or not to invite Huxley to the get together at the apartment tonight. Was it too soon? Was he supposed to wait for Hux to make a move? David had turned the music up to drown out his best friend but it hadn’t worked.

At least Darlin had laughed.

They seemed to think this was hilarious.

Everyone Asher had told his story to had agreed that he should invite Huxley. Finally, when he was done cleaning up and it was almost too late to fucking ask, Asher sent off a text. David thought his friend had waited that long to create the possibility that the other man couldn’t go because of some very valid, not at all because he doesn’t like Asher, reason. Like it being too fucking short notice!

“There. I sent it!” Asher declared and then slammed his phone down on his station like it had attacked him. He spun in his chair, anguishing.

Darlin watched, smiling.

David focused on his work, but didn’t miss the way Milo and Sweetheart ran off to go get lunch like their lives depended on a sandwich. Like they didn’t all know what they were up to.

David didn’t mean to catch Darlin’s eye, but he did, and to his surprise they shared a knowing smirk about Sweetheart and Milo.

Asher’s phone chimed and vibrated, somehow louder than the music.

Asher almost screamed. He rolled his chair up to his station to look at the phone without touching it, like it might bite.

David focused on the last touches to this tattoo and asked his client how he was doing.

“He’s coming!” Asher shot up from his chair.

Darlin laughed. “You really thought he wouldn’t?”

Asher spun around to look at them. “I mean, he could have been busy!”

Darlin raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Asher was the only one who didn’t see the obvious appeal of Asher. He didn’t have any trouble flirting and jokingly gloating about his own beauty, but David knew he didn’t believe any of it. And maybe that was the real reason he hadn’t really thrown a fit about Asher telling the same damn story over and over again, because this was the first time he’d ever seen him this bent out of shape over someone.

And it didn’t escape David’s notice that Asher and Huxley hadn’t hooked up—that in that first telling of the story when he got home that morning, Asher had been floored by the moment Huxley asked him to go get midnight pancakes rather than a quick fuck. He’d left that out of all the other retellings, either he’d realized what he was saying about himself and his feelings, or he’d only ever meant to tell David about it from the start.

David finished with his client. His schedule was packed today and he had the next one already waiting on the sofa in the front room.

“Do you want me to grab you lunch?” Darlin asked, throwing on their jacket. They smirked. “Actual lunch though, not whatever Milo is up to…”

David laughed, cleaning up his station. “Yeah, do you mind?”

Darlin shook their head. “I’ve got an hour until my next client. I’ll grab a bag of tacos and leave it in the break room.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”

Darlin snorted.

“Are you coming over tonight?” he asked before they were out the door.

Darlin paused, seeming to decide on the spot. They shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded and they left.

David felt Asher staring at him and when he looked up, sure as shit there he was grinning big. “What did Huxley say?” David asked, his friend still clutching his phone in both hands.

Asher jumped a little at the question, thoughts refocused. He hurried over to show David his screen.

Emojis.

Dorks.

 -

 Asher headed up to the apartment first that night. David still had a client in his chair and would be late, which meant Asher got to order the food.

Darlin followed him up and Gavin was waiting at the apartment door, on his phone and grinning.

He let them both in. Gavin didn’t take his eyes off his phone, walking to the counter and perching on a stool. “Can I invite a new friend?” he asked while texting someone.

Asher laughed, opening the fridge to pull out a few beers and pass them around. “Yeah. Of course. I think most of our friends came from you…”

“All the good ones,” Gavin said and then took his eyes off his phone to regard Darlin. He smiled. “With a few exceptions.”

Darlin shrugged. “I’m not good,” they assured.

Gavin’s smile grew. “That’s what makes you good.”

Asher opened the high cupboard and started pulling down the liquor bottles and sleeves of plastic cups and shot glasses. He liked the way their friends got along.

“Did you invite the big guy?” Gavin asked, putting his phone down and his chin in his palm.

Darlin nursed a beer and let Asher answer with a shrug.

“Ash…Do not tell me you chickened out again.”

“I didn’t! I asked! He might show up.”

Darlin snorted. “Might… He said he was coming.”

“I bet he’s coming… Coming all over that big hand thinking about—”

“Holy shit, Gav!” Asher shoved his shoulder. Gavin rocked to the side and accidentally into Darlin’s beer, bouncing it and splashing the front of their t-shirt which had the misfortune of being mostly white.

“Oh shit,” Asher rounded Gavin to grab a kitchen towel.

“It’s fine,” Darlin said.

“Sorry,” Gavin said. “Do you want to trade shirts?”

Darlin snorted at the tight, mesh top Gavin was wearing. “I don’t think yours would fit me.”

“I think it would fit you great…”

“I might as well just not wear a shirt.”

Gavin grinned. “That’s an option.”

Darlin put their beer down. “No, it’s not.”

Sweetheart, Milo, and their friend Lasko walked into the apartment, mid-conversation.

Asher tried to help with the shirt, but it had a big splotch of beer down the front. He could almost see the shape of the dark tattoo underneath. A letter?

Darlin took a step back. “I’ll go change and be back later.”

Asher caught their wrist before they could bolt. If they left, they might not come back. He would have absolutely fucked this night up for David and Darlin—or whatever chance there was of David and Darlin. “Wait. Just use one of mine.”

“Asher!” Milo called from the living room. “Did you order food yet? We’re dying.”

“I thought you had a big lunch?” Asher snapped back, smiling but not letting go of Darlin’s wrist. He looked at them again. “Seriously. My room’s right down the hall. Just take any shirt you want.”

Darlin hesitated before relaxing a fraction and nodding.

Asher beamed. Fuck yes! He had saved the day! He was on a damn roll. He let go of Darlin and pulled his phone out. “Okay, pizza from that place with the really cute delivery guy and this time we’re going to get him to stay. I can just feel it!”

 -

 David locked up the shop and went around to the front of the apartments. He wasn’t surprised to see Huxley there, a little confused since he’d never been to their place before. David greeted him and showed him up. He was nice, really nice, in a way that he couldn’t help but like for his best friend.

Their apartment was already in full swing when David led the way in. Music was playing and multiple conversations were competing with one another, but he didn’t miss the moon eyes Asher and Huxley shot each other before he headed down the hall to his room to change.

He pushed the door open and jerked to a stop, half in the light of the hallway and half in the shadow of his bedroom.

Darlin was there, one of his t-shirts in their hands and their own on the floor at their feet.

They both froze, staring at one another.

Even in the blue dimness of the room, he could see the flow of those watercolor tattoos stroking down one side of their body before his gaze snagged on the rough black lines of a tattoo that seemed to be carved rather than inked into the side of their abdomen.

His hand tightened on the doorknob.

It was…violent. It looked painful even though it was healed. Had the needle left scars? Was there any chance in hell that they’d picked that tattoo? That it had been a part of their plan? No.

He jerked his gaze away, snapping his head forward and almost pressing his temple to the door. He thought about walking out, closing the door, and pretending he hadn’t seen it. He could stop looking, but he couldn’t forget what he’d seen.

He hesitated, caught in limbo between the sound and joy of the party down the hall and the shadows in that quiet bedroom. “Can I come in?” David asked, voice hard in his throat.

Darlin didn’t pull on the shirt they were holding. They just stood there, their breathing a little fast but other than that, giving nothing away. “Yeah. Okay.”

David stepped into his own room and closed the door. He flicked on the lights and took off his jacket, tossing it on his bed, just like he might have if they weren’t there.

“I’m sorry. I thought this was Asher’s room. He said I could grab a shirt…” They looked at the one in their hands, hesitating over it now that they’d realized it wasn’t Asher’s and hadn’t been offered.

“That’s okay. Take it,” he said, taking steps closer.

They didn’t pull the shirt on, but they didn’t put it back either.

“This is what you wanted covered?” David asked, but he didn’t look. He kept his eyes on their face. He wouldn’t look again until they said that he could.

Darlin exhaled and it almost sounded like relief. He supposed he understood. They wouldn’t have to show it to him now. It was already done. “Yeah.”

“Can I take a look, or would you rather do that at the shop sometime?”

Darlin smiled a little, it was thin but lighter than he’d seen before. “You can look at it. It’s… Well, it is what it is.”

David tipped his head to the side and slid his gaze down. The lines were rough and rushed. They had definitely left scars in some places where the needle had stabbed deep. He almost asked when they got it but that wasn’t the right question because Darlin didn’t go into some shop and get this shit put on their body. Someone had done this.

They were still holding onto his shirt, the fabric twisted in their fingers as if restraining their hands from trying to hide the tattoo. They shifted, turning slowly so that he could see all of it. David clenched his teeth to keep from making a sound. Two words, not one, folding from their front to their back on that side of their torso. They would never have been able to cover it themselves, no matter how good they might be.

The words alone should have been okay, maybe even romantic, but there was no missing the message in the strokes of the ink.

ALWAYS MINE

He couldn’t read those words on their skin, carved in anger, without thinking of the scar on their lip and the one on their temple. It took everything he had to keep his breathing even and not ball his hands into fists.

Everything else he had seen on their body had been done by their own hand. It was all cohesive, one tattoo touching the next, evolving. They had had a plan, which only made this violation worse. David couldn’t help imagining that the guy knew it too. Had Darlin been unconscious when he did it? Was it after the attack that had led to all those scars?

They shuddered out a breath, still looking only at the shirt twisted in their hands. “So, yeah, maybe a big black rectangle? Just cover the whole fucking thing, you know?”

He could hear the tears in their eyes even when they choked them back—maybe because they choked them back, because they were forcing that light who-gives-a-fuck tone. “Darlin…” David said, still standing so close that he could have whispered and been heard, but he spoke clearly because they needed to hear this. “You didn’t ask me to do it because you wanted a rectangle. You make art. You are art. And someone fucked up your canvas. Let me help you put it right again.”

Darlin’s chin snapped up and their eyes were on him, swimming with tears and something so breathlessly fragile that he knew it had surprised them to find it still there. It was like coming home after a tornado took the whole house and finding one perfectly untouched glass sitting in the rubble.

“Do you want to talk about it?” David asked.

“No,” they answered fast, a flash of fear in their eyes.

“Do you want a hug?” he asked.

Darlin sighed, naked shoulders slumping in defeat and a tear sliding down their cheek. “Yeah.”

It was the quietest yeah ever, but David heard it. He wrapped his arms around them, his palms on bare skin, and pulled them into him. They leaned in and exhaled hard when their face was against his shoulder. “Fuck…”

He smiled a little at that single all-encompassing word.

They stood like that for a long time, his fingers tracing up and down their back and some of their tears soaking into his shirt. When they finally pulled back, they dragged a deep breath and scrubbed the back of their hand over their face.

“Can I touch it?” David asked, wanting to get an idea of the scars, ideas for the cover up already rolling in his head.

Darlin snorted, somehow easier with him now than they’d ever been before. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad. If you don’t want to work on it I’ll under—”

“No. I’ll fix this,” he said, certain.

Darlin shuddered out another breath on a wobbly smile and shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He ran his hand over their side. He wouldn’t trace the words—wasn’t even willing to see them as words anymore. They were just lines, a mess of lines that had no right to be there. Darlin held their breath until his hand had passed from the tattoo. “I’ll come up with some sketches. If you want to keep this private, we can talk about it after hours instead of when everyone is around.”

Darlin blushed, shaking their head and pulling his shirt on. It was too big for them, but it looked good. Or maybe he thought it looked good because it was his… “We can talk about it whenever. It’s…It’s not really a secret or, I guess it is? Just not something I meant to make a secret, if that makes sense?”

David nodded. “Sure. Not exactly something you want to talk about.”

“Yeah.”

“But if you wanted to talk about it…”

“Yeah,” Darlin said quickly. “We should probably go before someone thinks we’re fucking around…”

David shrugged, changing his shirt and feeling them sneaking glances at him. He took his time. “I mean, you are wearing my shirt. As soon as Gavin notices that, it’s bound to come up.”

“Is Gavin really going to recognize your shirt?”

David smirked but led the way back out into the hall.

The party was busy trying to talk the pizza delivery guy into staying. They’d lured him a few steps into the apartment. Asher was hellbent on making friends with this guy and Milo and Sweetheart were hellbent on something else entirely. Gavin spent a full ten minutes being gobsmacked when he realized the guy’s name was actually Guy.

And then he noticed Darlin was wearing David’s shirt and his eyes nearly bugged out of his beautiful face.

#tattoo au #redactedverse #redacted asmr #fanfic #scars #reference to domestic violence #darlin/david #milo/sweetheart #asher/huxley #found family #developing relationships #these characters are so much fun to write #i love romance! #hurt/comfort #definitely some angst #<3 #dominimoonbeam

[conduitandconjurer]

🙌

Send 🙌 to put your hands around my muse's neck.

Klaus is no stranger to roughhousing; he has five male siblings with varying degrees of trauma, after all, and Allison is a bruiser in her own right. The Hargreeves family itself is really one big bruise, sometimes from the proverbial tumble off the bike, and sometimes from things darker and more dire.

So, when a sibling lays hands on him, he's hasty to tolerate, even oblige. And despite his pretense of machismo, Diego is, always has been, among Klaus's safer brothers.

"Hurk--okay. Okay okay okay, asshole."

He squeaks a laugh, a shared laugh with his brother.

But today, in the space of a few seconds, something hits different.

He looks down at his brother's black-gloved hand, bangs in his eyes, tawnier than usual, a half shade lighter than the deep chestnut of his mother and generations of family he suspects he'll never know. Something about the futility of that, of so many things he's suffered through with little gain and even less understanding, burns like a lit flare cracked alight, in his gut. Not belonging is hard, especially when it's pervasive. When you're stuck between states, straddling selves and even whole dimensions. He cherishes the immortality; he also hates it. And everyone thinks he's "overcome" all that, because of one night in a cemetary with his monster of a father. No one checked in on Klaus; no one challenged his poor judgment with the Reginald of the kugelblitz; they used to try, but many years ago. Maybe his addictions were in some way a welcome exemption from accountability, for his sister and brothers, his many friends and rehab counselors, his countless (living) lovers, his parents (all three of them): 'Klaus is still Klaus; what can you do, he'll never step up; not unless we threaten him or gorge him with guilt.

Just more trouble than you're worth.

Klaus squirms. "O-kay," he cajoles, a little louder, as these thoughts pour out in a steady leak from some sealed jar shoved far back in his mind.

Patting Diego's hand, "Okay, Deeg, Jesus--!"

He's just shitting around with you; it's just Diego; calm down, stop being trouble--

He's an image in an old slide projector, jammed in the middle of transition. At home neither with the living nor the dead, ears pricked (against his will) to the unquiet of spirits similarly stuck, alienated deeply by knowing no one can hear the same thing, and even if they believe you, they look on you with exasperation or worse, concern. Every so often Klaus tries to shed a skin, or molt, or whatever the analogy may be, in the hope that peeling back who he has tried to be for two or three or ten years will finally reveal the version of himself who is completely at peace.

Or at least someone better. Someone people don't feel free to lay their hands on. People. Siblings.

I need to get a haircut. Yeah.

Every so often, Klaus runs.

And yet--

"You're HURTING ME!!"

The volume with which he snarls this--and the bile--is impressive. One blink-and-you'll-miss-it gesture, and he's loose, arms up, hands blazing teal, eyes, chest--the entire room floods with ghosts as that leak in his mind becomes a broken levee.

The expression on his face is terrifying, uncanny like an AI filter or poor drawing. Klaus isn't meant to look that fearful, animal, and angry. But he does.

"Fuckin HELL, man! JESUS! Could you take it EASY?"

The room is still ashy blue-green, heavy with a fog of spirits. His heart is screaming in his chest. So loud, shut up.

#twicecut #lol surprise sdfj) #thought it should start with a favorite sibling not really intending harm) #you look like antonio banderas (diego) #ptsd cw #trauma cw #death cw #domestic violence cw #not that diego is doing that but yk to be safe) #reference #save tag #Snapped: thread one

[godblooded]

i just gotta say peoples' obsessions with writing toxic relationships just concerns the shit outta me on this hellsite.

#ooc. your local bodega kat. #[everyone: i love complex relationships! what everyone means: couples fighting is normal! so if they're horrendous to each other #sometimes it's normal!! #couples fight like... of course. it's unhealthy NOT to fight. but there's a level where it's....uhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH and some of what's said #or done that people condone on here is wild. if i had a nickel for every time i saw someone say their character was a wonderful spouse and #then display like 10 reasons why they're covertly emotionally or verbally abusive. the rpc has such a tendency to refer to dv in one #specific term when it comes to ic ships and it's always physical but everything else is 'complex' and man that's worrying. see also: why #i was taught in grad school never to teach streetcar with marlon brando because students excuse him immediately due to his looks and his #bullshit angst. it's alarming as fuck. coming from parents who were sometimes physically abusive (to me and each other) like... this also #needs to be recognized in self-critical media. there's so much shit that needs evaluating. and it's not like i've never written a toxic #ship. i wrote the fucking WORST on at one point because i was too chickenshit to get alana out of it. and it ended in her being DESTROYED. #you know. like those kind of relationships tend to end in. like. my ex-father beat the fuck out of a dude in a bar who hit on my mom and #then when he found out the guy died a day later it was military or jail and he went military. and then my mom took him BACK. this is REAL #LIFE SHIT. writing it is virtually incredibly depressing and writing it without making clear it's fucked up is worse. whether you've been #through it or not. in that case: why even. shit hurts enough when you go through it. why would you want to vicariously go through it #being a fake person if there was no way to turn the outcome through healing and positive growth. sorry for being an optimist basically.] #domestic violence mention / #domestic abuse mention / #abuse mention / #murder mention / #[i'm just thinking back on the most toxic fucking verse i ever had and how glad i am said person and i no longer speak.]

[ejzah]

Can you do a post ep for last night's episode where deeks is sad and tells kensi about his day and also talks about his dad and kensi comforts him

The Bruises That Never Fade

“You look like you could use this,” Kensi said, coming up behind Deeks on the back patio. A cookie appeared in his field of vision, and he chuckled, accepting the offering.

“Thanks.” He turned it slowly between his fingers instead of taking a bite. Kensi looped her arms around his upper chest, kissing the back of his neck.

“Rough day?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Deeks answered. He put the cookie to the side and laid his hand over hers, sighing heavily as a wave of exhaustion permeated his body. In some ways, it felt like he’d aged significantly in just a few hours. He turned his head enough to see Kensi’s face.

“Today’s case involved a murdered Navy Lieutenant. The prime suspect was his wife, Alice, uh—“ Deeks paused to scratch at the side of his head. “She was he victim of domestic abuse.”

“Oh my god. Deeks,” Kensi gasped, releasing him to come around and sit by his side. “Is she ok?”

“I mean, he’s dead, so she’s safe. And we found her a place to stay for now, but, uh, no. No, she’s probably, not ok at all,” he said honestly. “At least she can maybe start healing now.”

Taking his hand, Kensi shook it slightly to get him to look at her.

“Are you ok?”

He inhaled unsteadily. It was such a loaded and complicated question.

“No, not really.” His throat tightened and he had to look away to control himself. “After I figured out that she’d been abused, I told her a story about my and me when my dad was still in the picture to get her to open up.”

Kensi made a sharp noise, her hand squeezing around his, but didn’t interrupt.

“It was like I was ten all over again. I could almost feel the bruises on my legs and arms.”

“Oh baby.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, barely hearing Kensi’s soft exclamation or her hands over his.

“I hate that he still has that control over me after all this time and even though he’s dead,” he continued softly. “I thought I’d finally put that part of my life behind me.” He blinked back the tight, heavy feeling of building tears behind his eyes.

“Deeks, he doesn’t control you,” Kensi told him, shifting to cup his chin. He leaned into her touch, feeling weak and defeated in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

“Then why does it hurt so damn much?” he whispered.

“I don’t know why. I wish i did.” Kensi brushed her thumb over his cheek, her tenderness bringing his tears front and center. “But something I do know is that your are strong, and caring enough to share that part of yourself with Alice. Even though you knew how it could affect you.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much.” He made a bitter sound, and Kensi shook her head gently.

“I don’t. It’s one of the many reasons I love you, and what makes you such a good man,” Kensi told him, thumbing away a tear as it rolled down his cheek. Without another word, she tugged him into her arms, holding him as he cried in earnest. For Alice, for the ten year old boy he was once, and for the man who felt he’d never be quite whole.

***

Thanks for the prompt!

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #flesh & blood #hurt/comfort #references to domestic violence #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

[itsyourcoffinnowmylove]

Aside from that stuff, I don't really care about a majority of the changes they made but they better have a scene of Lestat being dumped in the swamp. If his body isn't disposed of in the swamp I may cry.

#I enjoy the swamp scene #in the movie or the book #especially the book bc I love the emotions captured there #watching the corpse of your lover sink into the murky water and wanting to lay down beside it #I felt some emotions there #also it's just funny when Lestat references it later #vc #interview with the vampire #amc's interview with the vampire #that stuff being the domestic violence and such

[ashintheairlikesnow]

jake and kauri: what was the moment you realised kauri was ready to be in an actual relationship with jake? the invitation for a relationship was there the entire time and jake had to keep denying it until their first night together, so what was the big moment before that night / how did it get initiated?

Kauri is the one to answer. "I started going to therapy after... a really bad night. And it didn't make everything okay, but after a couple of years... A couple years of that, I wasn't... using the way I lived to punish myself for not being good enough for Owen any longer."

Jake's jaw works. "Kauri-"

Kauri takes his hand. "It's okay," He says softly. "I don't mean that I needed to. Just that I was trying. Every guy, it was about... about hurting myself before they could hurt me. And I would've done that with Jake, too. I loved him a long time before I could love myself. And I had to figure that bit out first."

"There wasn't any one moment," Jake chimes in. "Just realizing that for a long time, he had been the person I was in love with, and that he had stopped... I don't know."

"Stopped being hurt and calling it love."

"Yeah. I had to learn how to do that, too. How to stop thinking it was kind of all the same thing."

#kauri asks #jake asks #domestic violence references

[edupunkn00b]

Logan Croft Sanders - I'm Not Crying, You're Crying

Thinking about the juxtaposition of these three songs in Logan Croft’s Sanders’s life, most especially in It Could Always Be Worse and The Uses of Adversity.

Arms Wide Open

Arms Wide Open tells the story of a man finding out he's about to be a father.

Well, I don't know if I'm ready To be the man I have to be I'll take a breath, I'll take her by my side We stand in awe, we've created life … I’ll show you love… I’ll show you everything… If I have just one wish, only one demand, I hope he’s not like me, I hope he understands that He can take this life, and hold it by the hand and he can greet the world with arms wide open…

Live to Tell

There’s some interpretation, of course, but it is the story of someone surviving abuse and wondering how to tell their story and to move on and do more than survive.

I have a tale to tell Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well I was not ready for the fall Too blind to see the writing on the wall The truth is never far behind You kept it hidden well If I live to tell the secret I knew then Will I ever have the chance again?

Hello My Old Heart

Then, finally, the hope he can't quite force away. The hope that kept him loving Kelly for far, far longer than he should have. The hope that he could somehow make it through, keep them all safe until Patton turned eighteen. The hope that he could find another way when Kelly made it clear that just wasn't an option.

The hope he feels when he looks into Roman's eyes.

Hello, my old heart How have you been? How is it being locked away? Don't you worry In there, you're safe And it's true, you'll never beat But you'll never break Nothing lasts forever Some things aren't meant to be But you'll never find the answers Until you set your old heart free Until you set your old heart free

See, told you it was you crying and not just me.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #logince #eventually #It Could Always Be Worse #The Uses of Adversity #abuse mention #Arms Wide Open #Live to Tell #Hello My Old Heart #domestic violence reference

[illputdownmyrootswhenimdead]

“marriages used to be so much more stable! there were no divorces people just worked their problems out and stayed married!”

yeah mate that’s because women weren’t really considered people and couldn’t do anything but stay in a bad marriage, because they couldn’t buy property, or have their own bank accounts, or even legally divorce their husband. marriages weren’t more stable, women were forced to stay in them and at best were quietly miserable for their entire lives

#this isn’t in reference to any posts or anything it’s actually in reference to a song i listened to lol #abuse // #domestic violence // #misogyny // #ask to tag #dove talks

[amelies]

this is the fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448965/chapters/41085542#workskin it’s GOOD okay😭😭😭

i went into the patrick/rihanna tag and this is the only other fic and it's inspired by the one you linked. it starts with bronx going "aunt rihanna!" 😭 did pete wentz himself write this

#patrick/rihanna is literally making me cry im sorry #2010 was a different universe #IT'S TAGGED DOMESTIC VIOLENCE? #also sorry just understood what a spare umbrella is a reference to #a note on the door

[hartsnkises]

The thing about Johnny Depp and Amber Heard - and I'm not making claims about the case, this isn't even about this case - is that I remember Depp claiming Heard had abused him. And I don't know if that's true but we MUST extend believing women to believing victims and survivors regardless of gender. And I don't know how much of this is my perception, but it feels like we're doing at least some degree of believe women more than believe survivors

#johnny depp #amber heard #survivors #cw: domestic violence #at least by reference

[radlymona]

GET HIS FUCKING ASS

#you guys don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this #the ATP (men’s tennis organisation) handled the investigation of domestic abuse against his girlfriend #so so poorly #clearly with the intent to keep one of their biggest stars playing #for reference he’s the 2021 Olympic gold medallist #I hope Olga Sharypova gets the justice she deserves #she’s been waiting for so long #male violence #tennis

[morebedsidebooks]

The Little Peul by Mariama Barry

You know that you belong to a very hierarchical society— there are trials you have to undergo at each sage in order to go from one level to the next. I might even say from one world to another.

The Little Peul by Mariama Barry is a coming-of-age autofiction of a girl who is part of the widespread African Peul (Fula) people of which Guinea and Senegal have significant populations. The novel gaining notoriety for the opening scene of female excision, however, has a rich story and (feminist) themes to offer. Barry captures well the mind of a child and both the gulf and bridges between worlds. While so much abuse, suffering and oppression is normalized, fortunately the Little Peul possess an indomitable spirit. Published in French in 2000 the text as well incorporates several languages. The English edition, translated by Carrol F. Coates as part of the CARAF Books line, contains many footnotes and a glossary while retaining some French or for English infrequent spellings. There is also an afterword entitled “To Be Born a Woman” by Professor Irène Assiba d’Almeida, who may be familiar from the Francophone African poetry anthology A Rain of Words. A lovely package anyone interested in African Women’s writing should appreciate to get to know Mariama Barry’s work.

  The Little Peul by Mariama Barry is available in English, translated by Carrol F. Coates, in print from University of Virginia Press

#french literature #the little peul #mariama barry #la petite peule #wit month #francophone50 #cw: female excision child abuse abandonment sexism violence domestic violence bullying illness circumcision #cw: references to alcohol classism pregnancy child death infidelity polygamy child brides anti-vax sentiments