#implied neglectful parents tw

[idiot-mushroom]

normal trip to mcdonalds

#this came to me in a memory from when i had to drive with my mom and dad #and after their fight one of my parents had to get out of the car and i got mcdonalds after #implied sa tw #sa tw #emotional neglect #emotional abuse #emotional abuse tw #<— just in case #it’s my au and i get to project onto my characters how i like #ttnm au #ttnm #teenage turtle ninja mutants #tmnt au #my tmnt au #tmnt #my tmnt iteration #tmnt iteration #comic #my comic #my art shit #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt splinter #baron draxum

[legolasghosty]

idk how to actually ask prompts or if ur still doing these (feel free to delete this one if ur not) but i have this scenario in my head where Ray take his 4y/o Julie to the park with his wife and a 5y/o Reggie comes by his back "Dad! Dad, look what i found!...you're not my dad." and Reggie can't actually find his dad

Hello Anon! Yes still taking prompts, sorry this took so long! Irl things were taking too much energy so I've been really slow on the prompt fills. I hope this finds you well! And I hope this matches up with what you were thinking, it's a really good idea!!!

TW: Implied child abuse and neglect.

"Swing, swing!" Julie exclaims, pulling at her parents' hands as the playground comes into view.

Ray laughs. "Of course, mija, we can do swings," he tells his 4-year-old daughter.

"Might have to just be you on that one though," Rose tells him, glancing down at the baby strapped to her chest. "I think Carlos is starting to wake up."

Ray leans over to peck her on the cheek. "Of course, I got it."

"Swing!" Julie cries again, more insistent this time.

Ray chuckles and allows her to tug him towards the tall, metal swing set. Julie clambers up onto one of the seats and Ray ducks around the chains to get behind her.

"Ready, Julie?" he asks, placing one hand on her back.

"Yes!" Julie cheers.

"Ready, set, go!" Ray calls as he pushes her forward.

His daughter giggles as she flies through the air, first up and then back down towards Ray. He can't help but echo the sound as he pushes her higher and higher. Not too high, she's only 4 after all, but enough to give her that magical feeling of weightlessness that Ray misses from his own childhood.

He glances over at one point to see Rose going down the little slide with a gurgling Carlos in her arms. He wishes he had his camera on him so he could get a picture of it. Ah well, another time.

Julie protests when he misses a push so he turns back to his little girl. Her ponytail is bouncing all over as she tips her head back. Ray thanks God every day that Rose knows how to handle her curls. He wouldn't have the faintest clue where to even start with them.

"Dad! Dad, look what I found!" someone yells from behind him.

Ray thinks nothing of it until he feels a small hand tugging on his black and green overshirt. He looks down to see a little boy, probably a little older than Julie, with dark, straight hair that falls over his eyes. Through the fringes, Ray can see the boy's delight and excitement quickly turn to confusion.

"W-wait, you're not my dad," the boy stutters, stepping back quickly.

"It's okay, no worries," Ray assures the boy, giving him a wide smile. He scans the playground quickly. "Is that your dad over there?" he asks, pointing to a man sitting beside the sandbox who looked to be around his build.

The boy squints, then shakes his head. "No, that's not him," he responds. He stares around at all the grown-ups there, and Ray can see him getting tenser with every passing second.

Ray drops into a squat so he can be on eye level with the kid. "Well how about I help you find your dad?" he offers, smiling.

The boy seems unsure. "Mom wouldn't like that," he mutters, dropping his eyes to the ground.

Stranger Danger, Ray thinks. He's glad the kid is cautious at least. "I bet your mom will just be relieved that they found you," he reassures the boy. He holds out a hand. "I'm Ray."

"Reggie," the boy says. He hesitates, then reaches out to shake Ray's hand in his tiny one.

"Who're you?" Julie asks suddenly, jumping off her now slowed swing to run up beside Ray.

"This is Reggie," Ray tells her. "We're gonna help him find his dad."

"Okay!" Julie agrees, grinning through her crooked front teeth. She turns to Reggie. "Hi, I'm Julie, this is my dad!"

Reggie returns her grin slowly. "Hi Juwie."

"Ju-lee," she corrects, giggling.

Reggie goes red. "Sorry, sorry," he stutters, his smile gone and his eyes widening.

Ray frowns at that reaction. Who was teaching a kid this young to be this upset over a simple mistake? Lots of the kids in Julie's preschool class had done the same thing.

"It's okay," Julie says, suddenly alarmed. She darts forward and wraps her arms around Reggie's shoulders.

Reggie seems startled by the hug, but after a second he returns it. Ray's chest feels warm at how Julie has so easily made the boy relax.

When Julie lets him go, Ray clears his throat and glances around the playground again. "Reggie, what's your dad's name?" he asks, getting back to the task at hand. The boy's parents must be frantic at not being able to find him.

Reggie frowns, thinking. "Well most of the grown-ups call him Rob, but mom calls him a word I got in trouble for saying at kindergarten."

Ray doesn't let himself dwell on that second part. "Okay, Rob then. What's your last name?"

"Peters."

Julie smiles. "That's my teacher's name."

Ray chuckles. "Well Julie, Peter is your teacher's first name. It's Reggie's last name. Like how your last name is Molina," he explains.

He racks his brain. He can't think of a Rob Peters that lives in their neighborhood, and that's most of who comes to this park. "Do you know your dad's phone number?" he asks Reggie.

Reggie shakes his head. "He gets mad if I ask about his phone."

Ray isn't sure what to do with that information. He just knows he doesn't like it. But that will have to wait. "Okay, that's okay Reggie," he assures the boy. "Where was the last place you saw him?"

"By the slide," Reggie answers, pointing. "We came over here in the truck and he took me to play."

"Your dad brought you here, but he's not here now?" Ray clarifies.

Reggie nods silently, biting his bottom lip. "He likes hiding sometimes, but I'm really good at finding him."

Ray makes a mental note to mention this to Victoria later. His sister-in-law is a social worker. Hopefully Reggie is just blowing things out of proportion because he's young and doesn't have a solid grasp on the world yet, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. Would rather Reggie be safe.

"Okay, well what does your truck look like?" he asks. "Is it still here?"

"It's blue, Dad uses it for work," Reggie tells him, looking around for the vehicle. His brow furrows. "Where's the truck?"

Ray spots the first tear escaping from the boy's eye. Julie must see it too, because she takes a couple of steps forward and pulls Reggie into another hug.

"Don't worry, my Papi is super good at finding stuff," she tells him. Then she laughs. "Unless it's his keys. Mami always has to find them for him."

Reggie lets out a watery chuckle at that. "My mom never finds things for my dad," he says. "She just yells right back at him."

"Everything okay over here?" Rose inquires, walking up to them with Carlos balanced on her hip.

Reggie retreats behind Julie, but Ray offers his wife a worried smile. "Don't worry, Reggie, this is Julie's mom, Rose," he tells the boy. "Reggie can't find his dad," he explains, rising to his feet.

"Oh no," Rose murmurs, frowning.

"I think his dad might have left him here," Ray adds in a hushed tone so only she can hear. "His truck is gone and Reggie said that his dad likes hiding from him."

"He doesn't know a phone number or an address?" Rose questions, mirroring his volume.

Ray shakes his head. "His dad's name is Rob Peters, and he drives a blue truck, but that's all I know. If he doesn't show up soon, we might have to call the police."

Rose winces. "I hope it doesn't come to that," she says. Then she smiles down at Reggie and Julie. "Well, I have some snacks in my bag," she tells the kids. "Why don't we all sit down and have something to eat. Your dad will probably be back any minute, Reggie."

Both children brighten immediately at the word 'snacks' and Ray thanks heaven for the millionth time for granting him the privilege of being married to Rose Molina. His wife leads them all over to a bench, where she'd left her large purse. She produces crackers and string cheese after a minute of digging around. Ray and Rose had learned soon after having Julie that the number one rule of having little kids was to always have food on hand.

Reggie takes some string cheese and starts tearing it open happily. Julie grabs for the crackers. Carlos whines a little and Rose laughs.

"Don't worry, you can eat too, mijo," she tells him, unbuttoning her shirt enough that he can nurse.

Ray chuckles and settles on the ground with the kids, listening to their very serious discussion about the merits of different snack foods. He wonders if Reggie lives close enough that the two could play together again, under less stressful circumstances. They were getting along pretty well so far.

Just then, Ray hears someone yelling. He looks up to see a man storming towards the playground. The guy might be taller than Ray, and definitely a lot broader. Rose, Reggie, and Julie notice the commotion a moment later.

"Dad!" Reggie exclaims, jumping up. "Dad, I'm over here!"

The man, Rob Peters apparently, turns slowly. His angry expression doesn't soften when he sees his son. "What're you doing over there?!" he demands, crossing his arms. "What have I told you about talking to strangers."

Reggie hangs his head. "I'm sorry, they were being nice," he mumbles.

"I don't care," Rob Peters snaps. "Get in the car."

Ray finally unfreezes and jumps to his feet. "Ah, you must be Reggie's dad," he says, taking a step towards the man and trying for a friendly smile. "I'm Ray, we were helping Reg-"

"I don't care who you are," Rob Peters barks. He takes a few steps forward and grabs Reggie by the arm. "We're going home, kid."

And then they're gone before Ray can get another word out. Reggie manages a little wave over his shoulder. Ray slowly turns back to his family to find them all staring after Reggie as well. Rose glances back at him and their eyes lock.

Ray knows they're in agreement. They're going to mention this to Victoria soon.

#Wait that's the end?! #(I say as if I'm not the one writing it) #anyways Reggie gets removed from his house #Victoria is certified to take in emergency foster kids #so Reggie stays with her for a little while #just until Ray and Rose finish their training courses to become foster parents #and then Reggie becomes their third kid #Because Reggie Molina my beloved #but I'm so sorry for how angsty this got! #tw implied abuse #tw child neglect #legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #jatp #reggie peters #julie molina #ray molina #rose molina

[traumatizedjaguar]

#traumacore #angercore #ragecore #tw fake blood #tw fake gore #tw violence #traumatizedjaguar #tw #tw implied violence #cw mature #tw mature #tw parental neglect #tw family abuse

[carmillatism]

since ao3 is down: carmilla fic @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Sometimes A Mom Is Just A Goth Vampire Lesbian From Outer Space And That's Okay

For Dr. Carmilla Appreciation Week: Mom Monday

trigger warnings for implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, implied/referenced parental abuse, and light self-hatred

note: i will be posting this (and other fanfics for this week) on ao3 once it is up and working again. just don't want to wait any longer for this fic. first time posting a fic on tumblr as well, just so it's known.

fic under the cut

"So, how was your mother?"

"Oh, starting with the hard-hitting questions, huh?" She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She scooches around on the chair before giving up. She stares.

"I mean there's no other way to start it, is there? You didn't give me much to work with, so…" Carmilla narrows her eyes.

"Watch it. Just because you're giving me therapy, doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." She tries to add a hint of humor to her voice because she knows she doesn't mean it. Really. …Well, she kind of does. It's weird. That's why she's in therapy.

She sighs before leaning back in her chair, folding into herself. "Well, I guess she was fine. She wasn't as bad as my father; that's for sure."

"I'm not going to ask you about your father as we aren't here for that, don't worry, but you said 'not as bad'. What does that mean?"

She sighs, frowning slightly. She really was going to divulge this information to a stranger then. "She wasn't actively bad, really. She just allowed so many things to pass. She never really tried to stop anyone from doing anything. She was so passive, so easily used by people who just wanted to hurt her- her kids- me. She wasn't good in that way."

"And that passive response can be just as bad as the people who actively hurt you." She cringes at that.

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh, okay. How come?"

She pauses, thinking about the question. Well, she did help her sometimes. …Sometimes. "She… um, well, she helped me on occasion. She taught me how to take care of myself, make food. She sometimes helped me with my studies."

"So, the bare minimum?" The question is innocent and she knows they're trying to help, but that statement snaps something in her. The very fragile dam of emotions she built about that topic crumbles. It was never that strong anyways.

She always knew what her mother did wasn't the best. That was why she was here for the Gods' sake. But she hadn't ever thought about it in that way. Her mom had barely done the bare minimum and yet she still praised her so much… She did the bare minimum and much worse so often that Carmilla just felt like she had to praise her just for doing something… kind, that she should do. She praised her for doing what all mothers should do for their children.

She couldn't stop it. She felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes. A few started to leak out. She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box laying on the table next to her.

"I never really thought about it in that way, but… yes. If that. She did the bare minimum sometimes, and other times- most times- she didn't. She just let me get hurt and let my father hurt me with not a care in the world. And she never really apologized, more so made it about herself than anything else. She didn't focus on me that much, and if she did, it was because I messed up somehow."

Her therapist looks down at their paper before scribbling on a pad resting in their lap. Tears are streaming down her face, but she's surprisingly calm. It was almost relieving to get this out.

"And this… you mentioned that you wanted to talk about being a mom…?" Her head perks up at that and she stares at them for a moment. Did she write that down…? Oh. Right. Curse her past, emotionally volatile self.

"Oh, I guess. It's just I was wondering about how I am as a mother. I try to help a lot; I do. But sometimes it just doesn't come out right. I feel like I make situations worse when I try to help." She cringes and looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

"And what do you do to help them?"

She thinks for a second. There was a lot, she thought. Maybe… too much? She should probably mention the things she did that usually made her Mechanisms worse, though.

"Well, a lot of times I would think their mechanisms were acting up and making them feel bad, so I'd take them to the lab and get them the help they needed."

Her therapist frowns, writing something down on their paper. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. This is a safe space for her to talk about herself. She won't be judged. …But even so, she couldn't stop herself from judging her own words that came from out of her mouth.

Her therapist looks down at their clipboard, tapping their pen against it, thinking. "And what did you do to help?"

She frowns, thinks. Was it really helping? Did she actually help them? Or was what she did something that only made them worse? "I would usually perform surgery on them…" Her therapist seems to have to hold back a reaction. "I'd get to the root of the problem, their mechanism, and make sure it was all up to date and working well."

Her therapist hums thoughtfully, and she stiffens before relaxing. Her therapist leans a bit forward, chin in hand. "And were their… mechanisms really the problem?"

She stops at that. Were they? She had always thought that it had to have been something with the mechanisms that were making them feel bad. They usually worked just fine, but they were still experimental tech that hadn't been used before. She just always assumed that it had to be that. The mechanisms are the clear reason, so what else could it be?

"I mean, yeah." She stops. Well, actually, a lot of times when she'd knock them out, get into their mechanism, they would be just fine, running smoothly. So if it wasn't the mechanism then what was it?

The therapist takes her silence as a cue to add, "Did there seem to be a common throughline for why they needed help? What signs were there?

"Well… they seemed okay at first. Usually right after they were mechanized there was understandable fear and confusion, but they'd soon come to find a routine. They grew comfortable on the ship. I'd take them in to check on them, their mechanisms. I think it was only after that they seemed to get worse. Did I scare them about their mechanisms too much? Did I make them worried? They always seemed so scared and worried, sometimes defensive."

Her therapist just continued to look at her, a sad look on their face. Did she say something wrong? No. No. The therapist wouldn't judge her for that. She was just judging herself too harshly.

"I mean they would usually be fine before I took them back. I'd watch them from the other room, and they would seem fine. They would talk, play games and music, and destroy stuff sometimes." She thinks fondly about those memories before continuing. "And then when I would walk into the room with the news that I needed to double check their mechanism, that's when they would get scared. They'd always back away, beg me not to take them back. I can't believe I scared them so much about their own mechanisms." She looks up to the therapist to see if they have anything to add. They just stare at her before motioning for her to continue. She does. "But… well, even when I didn't bring up surgeries, treatment, or their mechanisms, they would get scared like that often. Almost all the time. It was always when…"

Her hand flies to her mouth before she can utter the next part. A noise between a strangled yell and a cry parts her lips and she instinctively pushes her hand harder against her mouth to stop it from getting out.

Her therapist smiles sadly, nodding just slightly.

She… was the problem. They were always scared when she walked in. They were always fine right before. They always got scared when she entered. They were scared of… her.

That… she can't believe she could do something like that, make her own kids so scared of her. That was… insane. She thinks morbidly to herself that it's almost as insane as making people immortal. It was insane just as much as it was true. Her therapist had only confirmed it.

"How could I… How did I never realize?"

Her therapist looks at her hard for a moment, and she thinks she can truly see them for the first time. She's actually focused on who they are. They're a real, living person that she's just spilt her guts to. "People can get stuck in their own head sometimes. They think what they're doing is the right thing because that's all they've ever known." Tissues barely made a dent in the tears streaming down her face. They were silent, however. Acceptance could hurt just as much as any pain. "You can think you're doing the right thing, but the right thing for one person can be the wrong thing for another. Kind of like the opposite version of 'one's man treasure can be another man's trash'."

So that's why they always seemed so scared. It was her. They were scared of her. She thought she was helping them with those surgeries, with mechanizing them in the first place, but she wasn't… She had never even thought she could be the problem.

"How could I be so bad…?" Her body was a coiled wire. A coiled wire, ready to be let go and lash out at anything and everything. But, well, not anything nor everything. She just wanted to lash out at herself.

How could she fix this? This wasn't something you fixed with a handsaw, anesthetic, and some morphine.

"It's hard. It's hard to know what you're doing, especially when you never had a good example to begin with." Oh. Oh that- That makes sense. "What you did was bad-" She cringes at that but nods. It was. "-but bad things happen and people do those bad things. But that doesn't always make them bad people. Even if they were once bad, they don't have to stay that way. It's not up to you to decide if they forgive you, but you can, either way, decide to be a better person." Oh. That was nice. She… She could be better. She had all of eternity to make things better. She could do that. She could, at least, make things better than they once were. That was a promise.

"I… Thank you. Thank you very much."

Her therapist nods. "Of course. It will take time, but you can become better. You can do it for them. Just… give them time and space right now. Rushing into it will just make things worse. And… don't be scared to reach out to help on how to become better. People are working every day to better themselves. I'm sure there's many people who would respect your endeavors and could provide advice. People do fucked up things, but that doesn't have to mean they're fucked up people."

That was… Maybe she understood why people went to therapy.

Her tears had stopped rolling, thankfully having stopped before she got to the end of the tissue box. She was… glad she went here. It was a lot to hear that she hadn't been as good a mother as she had thought she tried to be, but it was nice to have confirmation that she could get better. She could do better. So much better. She could be a better mom.

She smiles and nods at her therapist and they smile back.

And… since the session was coming to a close, she could ask the therapist a question. Maybe for a little more comfort. Mostly just because she was interested. Damn that cat curiosity killed.

"Do you think the mechanisms see me as their mom?"

The therapist thinks for a second. Yeah. From what I know, I would say so." They stop, then, contemplating something. "I don't think of you as my mom, though." Oh, WHAT? Come the fuck on.

She frowns before arching a brow at that, staring him down. "...Marius, now, why would you say that?"

Marius shifts in his seat uncomfortable, clipboard still in hand, but he has stopped tapping his hand. Carmilla laughs to herself and thinks they're more weary of the gun they have on their hip, now.

"Well, I mean, you just really didn't make me like the rest, you know? You didn't make Tim, Raph or me." Marius looks at her and Carmilla looks anywhere but him, just to rile him up some more.

She looks to her left then right before pursing her lips at him, looking slightly disappointed. Marius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They seem to want to throw their hands up in the air, before thinking better of it.

"Doc, come on. You're more like a family friend than anyone else. You're like someone who pops in sometimes to see what's going on." Carmilla feigns anger at that, and Marius sighs even deeper this time, resting their head against their hand.

"Oh, so I'm just a family friend, am I? I make almost all of you, and I'm just a family friend. I see how it is, Marius." She hangs her head downcast and sniffles a bit for emphasis.

Marius closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. They open their eyes again, and level a stare at Carmilla. "Carmilla, it's just that Raph was more the one that made me and I still don't know you that well. Like, the others are definitely your kids, but I'm- we're- just not." Carmilla notices that whilst exasperated, he doesn't seem to be stressed, moreso playing along with her. But either way, it is nice to hear where the two of them stood in reference to her. She still didn't know the two that well.

"That's docteur to you, Marius." Marius gives an exasperated sound before finally throwing his hands in the air, clipboard flying to the floor. "And, I mean, would you consider Raphaella your mom?"

"What? No!" Marius' face has turned into a grimace. He looks somewhat sick.

Carmilla hides a smile, trying to keep the conversation as serious as possible. She arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Well, then, being made by someone obviously doesn't make them your mom."

"Well-" She cuts them off.

"So me creating you obviously doesn't matter here. I think it should be more about the fact that I take care of all of you and make sure your mechanisms are working just fine. Plus, I cook for you and help you when you're feeling down. And! I do that all in a motherly way." Carmilla looks proud of herself. Marius looks… confused. "So why are you so hesitant to call me mom when it's clear that's what I am to you?" She was actually a bit curious at the answer.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me! Also, wouldn't this break some type of rule in therapy if I was treating my mom since you 'are' my mom?" He's really against calling her his mom. Interesting. Either way, Carmilla isn't worried. She'll make them see she's their mom soon.

"You're not an actual therapist, Marius. If you were, you wouldn't be giving out therapy on a ship in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a license and some of your therapy sessions wouldn't include se-"

"Hey! Low blow! You don't always need a license from some big industry to be able to do something." He's red in the face but laughing good-naturedly, and Carmilla allows herself a giggle.

"You quite literally need a license to be a therapist, Marius." Marius rolls their eyes at that.

"Oh, well, I guess that means you aren't a doctor anymore because your license surely has been taken away after breaking the hippocratic oath so many times."

Carmilla's mouth drops open and she has to stop herself from blurting out a laugh. Yeah, she could get used to this Marius kid.

"Oh, Marius, you're grounded for like 3 years now."

Now it's time for Marius' jaw to drop. He stares at her, bug eyed. "You literally can't do that! You're not my mom!"

"You may not see me as your mom, Marius, but that doesn't make me any less a mom in general, so I can most definitely ground you."

"How can you even ground me on a ship, light-years away from any planet?" Marius actually looks somewhat worried.

She thinks on that for a second and then says, "You're going to be stuck in your room for 3 years, then."

"TIM!"

Dr. Carmilla glares at Marius, tapping her foot against the floor. Of course Marius has to try and use someone else to support his bullshit claim. Can't back it up on his own. She hears Tim running towards them and rolls her eyes when she sees Tim pop his head in through the door frame.

"Uh, what's up?" She asks, before looking between Dr. Carmilla sitting in an armchair and Marius holding a clipboard, glasses on his forehead, and wearing clothes that seem more business casual than his normal outfit. This was some type of therapy session then. Tim looks behind him before looking back in the room, furrowing his brows and squinting slightly. "...If you're having a therapy session, I can just… leave…" She starts backing up, seeming to not want any part in whatever Carmilla and Marius were doing.

Marius holds up a hand out to stop Tim. "No, no, nope. The therapy session is over and I need to ask you a question." Carmila sighs, looking between Tim and Marius. Marius always had to cause a scene (which was another reason why they were her kid).

Tim comes back to the door frame, but steps a bit back and out of the way, apparently scared of what he's about to be asked. Marius would either want her to come practice some type of fucked up form of therapy, or pretend he was a Baron. Which Marius really seemed to think he was even though it was obvious to Tim that Marius didn't even know where Britain was in the first place. And Carmilla, she would probably just stare at her eyes. For a long time. A long long time.

"Uh, ask away, then-"

Marius barely allows Tim to get their sentence out before asking, "Would you say Dr. Carmilla is my mom?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. Why are they wondering about the schematics of moms…? Why couldn't they just be normal and murder people? Why talk when you can… oh, she doesn't know, explode a couple planets.

"Tim." Her head snaps to Marius and her goggles zoom in on their face. He looks… serious? Well, as serious as Marius could be.

"I mean I don't really know how to answer that-"

"Tim, just answer their question so this conversation can end." Carmilla just stares at him, tired.

"Uh, well, probably not, then." Carmilla exclaims and Tim cuts her off before she can say anything. "I mean! You didn't really make him nor have you been around him for that long, so…" Tim stops, thinking for a moment, tapping their chin for added effect. "I guess you're more like a stepmother."

"A STEPMOTHER?" Carmilla yells and Tim shrugs. Marius is laughing, doubled over.

"You know, she has a point, Doc." Marius says through tears of laughter.

"A POINT? I'LL SHOW YOU A POINT, MARIUS VON RAUM-"

"HEY. CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET AN OLD-ASS TV THEY LOOTED TO WORK PROPERLY." Jonny's muffled yells can be heard from the common rooms.

They all shut up, looking between each other, barely keeping back laughs. And then they're all in hysterics: cackling, sobbing, hiccupping, rolling over themselves as they try to gain any semblance of control over their bodies. But they just can't stop, the absurdity of the conversation– the situation– making them lose it.

And Carmilla, there, in that moment, as she's shaking from laughing so hard, realizes something. Maybe Mom was less about the title, itself, and more about the experience the word describes.

#dr. carmilla appreciation week #dr. carmilla #the mechanisms #marius von raum #gunpowder tim #mom monday #fanfic #writing #short story #tw implied child abuse #tw implied child neglect #tw parental abuse #tw self-hatred #therapy session fic #jonny d'ville

[liliallowed]

aren't you proud?

feels warning

may be triggering, proceed with caution after reading tags please.

Noelle Holliday

HP: 2000/2000

LV: ???

exp: ???

*misguided innocence.

*are you proud? did I make you proud?

*I tried my best. I'm going to save dad... you'll be proud of me then, right?

#dustgrave #Noelle Holliday #mommy issues #tw neglect #tw implied murder #implied parental neglect #genocide run #controling parent

[brain-bumbler]

Whumptober Day 2

Thermometer | Delirium

They don't care about you.

"Stop that!" Grisol sniffled loudly, his clogged sinuses aching. The nurse dabbing his brow flinched.

"My prince, please-"

"Shut up!" he demanded again, face scrunched up in a tight scowl, throat raw like sandpaper. His normally commanding and strong shouts were reduced to crackly cries.

He lashed his arm out and it made contact with the woman's hand, making a sharp smack. She yelped, and his hand stung. Tears pricked in his eyes from the pain. How dare they let him be injured as he lay, sick and weak in bed. He was their prince!

"Your highness, there is no need for such behavior." The nurse's tone was polite, but dry and tired. She'd said that half a dozen times today.

"You aren't doing it right!" The water from the cloth dripped into his eyes when she pressed too hard. His mother's touch was more gentle.

He could remember when he was younger and she sat in his nursery when he was sick, dabbing at his brow, while the Gzar stood by his bedside.

"Please save your strength, Prince." The nurse sighed again, wiping his forehead. Another set of hands poked the thermometer to his mouth, and yet another were tugging at his blanket. Stop touching me!

"Quiet! Where is my father?" His throat stung, his chest ached. He glared around the room, the uniforms and faces of nameless servants blurring together.

"Prince Gristol," a maid spreading smelly herbs around the bed tittered nervously, "his Majesty is very busy. I'm sure he will come visit-" Another maid, older, grabbed her arm to stop her.

"SHUT UP! GET OUT! GET OUT YOU STUPI-" As his voice cracked, his sore throat clenched and gave out, his shrill cry cut short. When his voice disappeared, he threw himself back, kicking and flailing and hissing for everyone to leave, smacking every hand that got close again.

Slowly, the maids stepped back, shuffling out of the room. And the little prince was left alone, his tantrum dying down as he was finally given peace from the poking and prodding and hushed whispers by his bedside.

He curled up under his thick pile of goosefeather blankets. When father came he'd tell him how they'd treated their future Gzar, and they'd all be punished, and from then on only his mother would be trusted to watch over the gem of the country. His father would praise him for putting his foot down on the incompetent servants who dared to... who dared to say...

Hours later, Prince Gristol woke, too sore to move, a wet silk handherchief pressed to his forehead. Water streamed down his head and soaked his hair and eyes. The whispers of servants passed over his head like mosquitos hovering.

"Mother," he groaned, "father." The speaking stopped abruptly, but when he could do nothing else, it continued as if he'd never spoken at all.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #psychonauts 2 #implied parental neglect tw #sick kid tw #gristol malik #idk why i did this one for gristol #but ya know. we can feel sad for a poor little rich boy #sometimes as a treat #no edits we post and die like men with adhd #its okay his parents get him that cotton candy maker when he's better

[samijami]

Whenever one bruise fades, my mum throws her phone at me very hard and bruises it right back a-fucking-gain on the same spot

I love life

#tw abuse #tw implied abuse #tw child abuse #tw child harm #tw childhood trauma #abuse mention #parental abuse #verbal abuse #emotional abuse #tw emotional abuse #abuse cw #fuck parents #neglectful parents #insane parents #fuck my parents #abusiveness #physical abuse #tw harm

[naos-necrozma]

wat are u talking about? where did u get that info? cus its like completely wrong

theyre way better now ! turned over a new leaf!

I was there last like… August? September? Lusamine was in charge. Punched her in the stomach. She stayed in charge. She’s still in charge. Her family is still broken and she’s probably never going to see her kids again but oh well, would suck for her, if she actually cared about them

They haven’t. They’ve gone back to their “weapons” testing after all

#pkmn irl #irl pkmn #irl pokemon #pokemon irl #pkmn rp #rotomblr #asks #tw violence mention #tw implied dehumanization #tw implied parental neglect

[borderlinereminders]

I have that this blog helps me. I don't know if I have bpd and thanks to some therapy related trauma I'll probably never find out for sure but I just read through these simple tips on how to not act like such a child and as thankful as I am for it I get so resentful sometimes that no one, especially my parents, ever taught me any of that and that I can't tell if that's me blaming them for my issues and making excuses or not (I know they loved me but wow did they do some stuff wrong in ways I never realized before) or if I should have just learned all that on my own. Regardless, I hate that I'm almost thirty but this stuff still helps. Sorry if this was rambly but basically thanks for what you do.

Hello anon,

You know what? It's okay that this blog helps you. In fact, I think that it's great. My blog is not just for people with BPD. While I write stuff from the perspective of someone with BPD, a lot of the advice/resources I provide are useful for a range of people, including those without any sort of disorder, mental illness or anything like that.

I am also 28, turning 29 soonish, and the skills and that I write about still help me and I need reminders a lot of the time.

I'm not sure by what you mean by "act like such a child" but I can tell you that it's okay to struggle sometimes or even do things people would deem "childish."

I'm glad that this stuff helps you. And for what it's worth, being self-aware that tips like I post help you is really big in itself.

#april answers #tw parental neglect #possibly #not saying your parents neglected you #but it seems it could be implied from this #or taken from this #so trigger warning for followers #tw neglect

[inkydark]

i think often about telling my parents how badly i wanted to die

screaming it on our black paved driveway

begging for help

begging to be seen

my voice echoing in the dark country night

emotion cracking my voice

eyes on fire

hair like electricity flew through it

nothing but insults and degrading slurs

threats

punishments

and finally

silence

i laid in my shower floor that night surrounded by my own dark redness

oozing and rolling over my fingers

the corners of my vision turning dark

fuzzy

the water is cold

nobody listened on that night when i screamed for help so loud the trees shook

why would they ever listen if I spoke my truth again?

week after week

month after month

rip

tear

swallow

choke

anything to make the dark corners cover my whole iris

it never came

and they still don’t listen

#parental neglect #tw sui implied #darkness #alone in the dark

[solsticeamaris]

a mother's love can only extend so far.

it stops at a dismal shore, and gravel slices at small feet.

the comfort of a favorite meal is further out.

the comfort of a warm embrace is further out.

the comfort of a path to healing is much, much further out.

so much so, in fact, that rather than assisting me on my path, a "mother's love" stands in the way.

and so i let myself drift further out to sea,

where memories of being left behind,

of my hair tugged this way,

my arm yanked that way,

when tender wounds colored in red and green and grey

would bloom across my skin,

disgust, distaste, neglect

a torrent of insults,

thinly veiled by a siren's deceptive call

lack of food, lack of care

an intentionally ignorant hand tracing my scars

dirty clothes and sweaty palms and greasy hair,

the choice to mar the child you bore.

i will forever drown beside these memories,

and they will drown with me-

there is no lighthouse for a mother's love

not when she so maliciously continues to stare

and stand in my path.

still, i do not push past her

i do not swim to the shore.

i drown in the emptiness occupying the space in which there should have been connection.

i inhale the scent of my own agony.

i learn to relish the taste of solitude.

i learn to live (and die) alone.

the sun sets, and an adult has been twisted out of my once-adolescent shadow.

the woman is rendered helpless, no longer in control of her child.

she finally steps out of our way,

but it is too late.

both lady and daughter have decayed amidst the crushing expectation of being what cannot be.

being enough.

the sirens cheer.

they eat my corpse alive, feast on the cries for help repressed beneath my jugular

and the hatred growing cold between my ribs.

the last remains of my existence wash up onto shore,

mottled,

but content.

i am content.

for i have been the comfort of a favorite meal.

#mmm mommy issues #child abuse tw #actually cptsd #parental abuse tw #neglect tw #poetry #writing #ptsd recovery #parental abuse #maternal narcissism #toxic mother #abusive mother tw #sirens #tw implied abuse #tw implied violence #childhood trauma

[orchidsforblade]

Some scraps of my stinky little semi-fic that was called “the cat and it’s canary” but is now “Rest, oh child of mine”

He rested his head upon his mothers leg, her hand faintly running through his hair. She’s sewing, she’s sewing his coat. He got it dirty, but he can’t remember how. No matter how hard he racks his mind, the coat was just dirty.

He let out a silent sigh, he felt exhausted, he played to hard with his brother.

He didn’t have one.

His brother is gone. He wasn’t supposed to remember them, the ones in the council made sure he wouldn’t remember. His brothers face blurred from vision, he can’t see them. He isn’t supposed to, but the cats above loved their little canary.

How else are you supposed to keep such powerful gods at bay, if not with a plaything. Maybe that’s why his parents never cared to take possession of him.

His mother shifted above him, humming a tune he hadn’t heard before. She sighed, placing the coat to be discarded by the maids. He was to tired to care about the coat, even if it was his favourite.

“Rest, weary child of mine. Rest and regain your strength for tomorrow, you’ll need it. Aeor knows.” His mother whispers, she always radiated a cold energy, anger pulsing off her. Bust she never pushed her child off her leg. Only paying as little attention as she could to him, it never bothered him, she never payed him much mind. She always favoured the eldest.

Even if her beloved child was gone, corrupted with her husband. Gods above know what happens when you marry into a god given family.

She didn’t know.

#scott smajor #empires scott #empires #angst #but childhood angst #implied violence #tw implied death #corruption #xornoth #Scott’s parents hate him but he’s lowkey with it because he wants his brother back #Xornoth corruption arc #the king and queen are horrible parents #but worse people #empires season one #neglect #neglect of a child #rivendell

[dont-look-me-in-the-eye]

lmao today my English teacher was talking about what might be on the exam and she was like "Yeah, so this character has a parental figure who helps him grow in his character and one of the essay questions might be you having to connect that with your own personal experience, like what people in your life are like that/what role models you might have..."

and im sitting there like. ma'am. you do realize. my parents. are not like that.

you do realize. that. literally no adult. gives a solitary shit. about my wellbeing.

#like haha imagine having parental figures #im totally failing that exam #i never had role models. i have people who i want to be nothing like tho does that count? #like literally my parents only care that i appear to be a perfect healthy mature smart child so they look like good parents. #which they are NOT #daily scream into the void #depressed humour #toxic parenting #idk if this is really abuse bc they never hit me THAT hard or like. starve me. #they just yell a lot #but ill tag it bc it might be triggering so: #tw: implied neglect #tw: abuse #tw: bad parenting

[taarokeshabd]

can someone tell me why indian fathers, have the ego of a narcissistic dude and act like they’re the president of the fucking works but get scammed by their own siblings and forget their kids exist for the first 16-ish years of their life?

what makes them think they’re the shit? i need to know, thanks!

#pari.txt #desi tag #desi tumblr #desiblr #desi #desi fathers #parental issues #fathers #fathers and daughters #we’re back on trauma dumping tales #tw: implied neglect #meri jaan <3 #i’m so angry

[gothyyy]

i love going for short walks by myself in the evenings..my mom isn’t here right now..she can’t yell and scream at me for no reason, she can’t hurt me in this moment. the sun is fading my bruises and scars, the warmth of the fading summer sun feels so nice.

#tw implied abuse #emotional abuse #tw toxic household #toxic parents #and before anyone asks i am NOT being physically abused #only emotionally #but i am being both physically and emotionally neglected so that’s fun ig #i feel safer here than in my own apartment #because she’s not here #i’m just sitting on the grass and looking at flowers

[recklessinventor]

“Funny story, actually, I learned to read and write at two or three. Much, much earlier than when I learned to speak at almost five, heh...”

#𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕖 [ DASH COMM. ] #parental neglect tw #[Implied] #𝔸𝕟 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕤 [ HEADCANON ] #[mentioned this with psy in discord and i wanted to write it] #[i gotta flesh out his whole dr a removal situation hc again] #[daily reminder that i want to kill doctor andonoughuts]