#suggested child abuse

[fishybehavior]

Ok this is for my lil sib Kai au.

Tw: suggested child abuse and neglect, basically this is kai getting saved from being kidnapped. But nothing really in detail

----

"My students, I will distract Garmadon. Find the boy and escape before its too late." Wu said, tucking the three golden weapons under his robes.

"But Master, we cannot leave you behind!" Zane stammered in worry. But their master only gave his students a warm smile with an odd glint in his eye.

"Who said I'll be left behind?"

----

They decided to split up, Nya and Jay went west while Zane and Cole to the east. Hopefully the could cover more ground and find Kai.

Cole was a big guy, but in the underground he felt as if he was apart of the walls. Him and Zane crept past skeleton gaurds patrolling, and strolling through the passageways.

Somehow they had not been spotted creeping throught the underground, searching for any cells or prisoners that Kai would be kept in.

They eventually found themselves cautiously crossing through a big room that was pitch black. No skeletons passed through the room that they could see at least. Rhe room qas eerily quiet except for the sound of something creaking as if moving back and forth.

"We might find the prison cells in the adjacent room, oh!" Zane yelped as he hit his head on something hanging low from the ceiling. Zane grabbed the swinging object before it could hit them again, and they heard something move inside the object.

"What's that?" Cole asked taking a step away from the mysterious object. Zane pulled out a flashlight from his belt and shined its light, revealing a cage hanging from the ceiling, with a small person inside. The person hissed as the light hit his sensitive eyes, as he shielding his face from the light.

"Please," his voice shook, "leave me alone." The boy was dressed in a dirty white shirt that looked more brown now and tattered pants. The poor thing was trembling and hiding his face. But Zane and Cole knew who it was.

"Kai?" Zane whispered, "Are you Kai?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Hey kid, we're not skeletons." Cole tried to reassure the young boy. "We're not going to hurt you. We know your big sister, Nya." At the mention of his sister Kai trembling calmed.

"You know Nya?" He tried to peak at them but the light still hurt his eyes.

"Yes, we can take you to her." Zane nodded, "She's also looking for you."

"She is?" The boy almost cried with relief.

Cole smile, "yeah, she's been worried sick. Now let's get you out of here."

---

Gonna stop this here, might write more tomorrow

#ninjago #kai ninajgo #lil sib kai #zane ninjago #cole ninjago #child neglect #rescue #this boi has so much trauma #suggested child abuse

[moonlit-positivity]

You don't need everyone to like you. I understand this can be an overwhelming trauma response to being neglected and otherwise hurt as a kid without the comfort and reassurance of our parents. But please try to remember that your worth is not dependent on how many people can love you. You have something much more important and worth protecting-- your heart and soul and mind and spirit. Not everyone you meet in this world is gonna resonate and vibe with you on those same levels. You've got to get comfortable with the concept of being misunderstood or feeling out of place-- and, rather than fawn to fit in, take that as a sign to find the spaces and people who can better appreciate you for it.

#recovery #ptsd #trauma #mental health #boundaries #healing #healing thoughts #people pleasing #fawn #fawn response #codependency #relationships #communication #shadow work #inner child #inner child healing #abusive relationships #abusive parenting #toxic relationships #suggestions #reminders #advice #self care #bpd

[defiantsuggestions]

I was told, so many times, by people who wanted to hurt me

That I was too sensitive

That I was a baby, too immature and fragile for the "real world"

That if I couldn't handle their jokes then I'd be absolutely destroyed by anyone else

Because they were so """kind""" and """loving""" in comparison to the cartoonishly evil outside

And what have I learned by leaving?

A lot of people are good. A lot of people, when they hear that they're hurting me, they immediately stop and apologize

And the only reason my family wanted to convince me that I was too sensitive was because they wanted to keep bullying me

#defiant suggestion #defiant vent #parental abuse #child abuse vent #actually abused #actuallyabused #actuallytraumatized #actually traumatized

[spookyradluka]

"Exposure to four or more adverse childhood experiences increase the risk of many conditions intertwined with menopause such as heart attack, stroke, sleep disorders, Alzheimer's disease, diabetes, depression, and breast cancer. Trauma literally rewires the brain and the body."

The Menopause Manifesto by Jennifer Gunter

#menopause #trauma #child abuse #intersectional feminism #intersectional feminism 101 #intersectional politics #intersectionality #feminism #book suggestion #book quotes #book quotations

[cluescorner]

Randomized Robins AU - Ages + Worst Trait Exercise:

Steph (25):

Says her worst trait is her murderous rages (she is exaggerating for dramatic/comedic effect, she’s killed 3 people tops and for very good reason)

Thinks her worst trait is her spitefulness (one of the few traits she definitely got from her father + one that prevents her from fixing her relationships and living her best possible life. She’ll refuse to interact with someone she dearly loves after an argument (happens significantly less after Tim’s death) or will say things she knows are hurtful just for the sake of having the last word. This trait will worsen in some ways as the list of people who have wronged her and those she loves grows, but will also ease up as she matures and realizes the harm it’s doing to her relationships with those she loves most.)

Her worst trait really is her spitefulness

Cass (26)

Says her worst trait is her self-righteousness (she believes that her goals are righteous and, as a result, she is righteous. Cass becomes very defensive whenever someone questions the mission and often does not second-guess herself. This is a trait she only develops later in life as she grows closer to Bruce/learns to understand herself more/starts to love herself more. But she knows she isn’t perfect and when somebody she trusts criticizes something she is doing she is willing to listen. She just usually isn’t the one to START the introspection.) 

Thinks her worst trait is her self-righteousness. 

Her worst trait actually is her obsessiveness (she gets it from Bruce and, while not as bad as him, she will easily become preoccupied with her night-life and the mission if someone isn’t there to pull her back. She will do this to the point of self-destruction and it hurts her relationships with the people she loves, especially Steph.)

Tim (24)

Says his worst trait is his spitefulness (he actively rejects the idea of mending his relationships with the older members of the family and this causes him to also lack good relationships with the younger ones)

Thinks his worst trait is his obsessiveness (similar to Cass, if he gets fixated on a task or idea he will neglect everything else in his life in order to dedicate more time to it. Unlike Cass, he will almost never be dragged away from it unless Pierrot snatches control of the body and forces them to take care of themself.)

His worst trait actually is how manipulative he is (the KING of guilt-tripping and using people’s emotions against them. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants, he’s not above crocodile tears. And he will do it to whoever he needs (or wants) to with little care for how his actions impact others.)

Pierrot (Insists: “Age doesn’t apply to me! And even if it did, I'd probably be the oldest. Or the youngest! I’d never be a middle child, though.” Mental assessments by the Bats have put him around 21, with a margin of error of 3 years. Pierrot has called this “blatant character assassination by my eternal rival!”)

Says his worst trait is that he is an irredeemable psychopath without any regard for the wellbeing of others (this is a lie and everyone who's important to him understands this). 

Thinks his worst trait is his parasitic nature (he literally would not exist had Tim not suffered the way he did. Plus he is a living reminder of one of the worst things that happened to many of his loved ones. He is a parasite injected into a functional person's body and contributes to his continued suffering. This is also a largely incorrect judgement of himself, caused by his actual worst trait.)

His worst trait actually is his limited sense of self (he doesn’t really know who he is outside of ‘inheritor to the legacy of the Joker (a man he despises yet also views as a father)’ and ‘chip in Tim’s brain that became sentient’. He slowly develops an identity over the course of his life and relationships with other people, but he lacks the foundations of identity that most people have. Pierrot will often almost become a caricature of himself and what others perceive him to be because it's the only person he knows how to be. This causes wild swings in how he behaves and relates to others, sometimes to the detriment of himself and others.)

Dick (17) 

Says his worst trait is his clinginess (he is a very extraverted person who likes to be around others, which mixed with his fear of abandonment after his parents died means that if he goes a few days without seeing/talking to a friend he will get very anxious.)

Thinks his worst trait is his anger issues (he gets ticked off very easily and will explode on people. He’s kind at his core and is usually very nice, but he has a temper that can escalate significantly. Spoiler (and later Twist) help him channel this anger into something positive.)

His worst trait actually is his anger issues.

Barbara (18)

Says her worst trait is her disability (internalized ableism, she thinks of herself as less valuable than the other Bats because she cannot be out there in the capes like they can. She will grow out of this as she matures and as she learns how invaluable her support for the team is.)  

Thinks her worst trait is her disability 

Her worst trait actually is her overly-independent nature (In an attempt to overcompensate for everything she can no longer do, she has resolved to do literally everything that she possibly can without any help from others. This results in many instances where she either takes on too much and winds up not being able to fully realize any of her tasks or where she makes her life and the lives of others significantly harder by refusing help when offered/not asking for it when she needs it.)

Damian (16)

Says his worst trait is his perfectionism (he is overly critical of both himself and others, taking any flaw or problem and amplifying it to an absurd degree. This is due in part to his life with the LoA (where even a brief misstep could lead to death), in part to how others treated him initially as Spoiler (any flaw was fixated on and used as a reason to either mistrust him or portray him as unworthy of the mantle), and in part due to the fact that he is Bruce’s son (the only person with worse perfectionism problems than Damian). Gradually, Damian has improved in this regard but it’s still a massive barrier to both his own happiness and his relationships with others.)

Thinks his worst trait is his perfectionism 

His worst trait actually is his perfectionism

Duke (16)

Says his worst trait is his definitely-real secret evil side (says this as a ‘my dad is a villain so who knows??’ joke)

Thinks his worst trait is his impulsivity in his words (Sometimes he will crack a joke or say a remark without thinking it through, leading to a LOT of hurt feelings and drama. He’ll say something without thinking it through and wind up seeming insensitive. This isn’t done because of malice, rather because Duke is someone who’s quick to act and speak. But while the mantle of Insight and his awakening powers have helped him with his actions, they do not always help with his loose tongue. As such, Duke gains an unfair reputation in the media as an instigator and will accidentally cause family drama through what he says.)

His worst trait actually is his impulsivity in his words

Jason (14)

Says his worst trait is his bad manners (he grew up on the streets and has no idea how rich-people society works, which he’s pretty insecure about considering he’s now the youngest kid of Bruce freaking Wayne). 

Thinks his worst trait is his reactiveness (Jason never got the privilege of planning ahead for various events in his life, so he instead needed to rely on being swift and harsh in how he could react to situations. It’s saved his life on multiple occasions and helps significantly in his role as Spoiler, but it can also lead to extreme overreactions (accidentally causing kidnapping scare after Jason ran away following a fight with Dick) and a struggle to plan things out ahead of time. As he grows more secure in his place in the family and in life, this trait will lessen but never fully dissipate.)

His worst trait actually is his reactiveness

#stephanie brown #cassandra cain #tim drake #dick grayson #barbara gordon #damian wayne #duke thomas #jason todd #batfamily #randomizedrobinsau #I'm debating whether I should tag this with the Joker Junior tag and those related to it for Pierrot #because like...it's not quite that. but it's also very close to that and is the direct result of that. #but Pierrot would fucking HATE to be tagged as that and sees it as an insult to his identity...which he already has problems with #so I don't think I'm gonna #anyways lmao I am totally projecting my younger self onto Barbara. How could I not? She's literally the reason I view my disability #the way that I do and she actively improved my mental health just by existing and saying some of the shit she did when I was in the #stages of accepting my own disability. So yeah I am projecting a lot onto her because I love her and see myself in her. #I'm mostly basing these characterizations on my favorite versions of them (ie Red Robin 2009 Tim and Birds of Prey Barbara). #so I'm taking the traits I like/think fit in this AU and discarding what I think either is bad or doesn't fit or if I just don't like it. #Damian's 'murder gremlin who is a meanie on purpose because he is a meanie' is entirely unappealing to me and also does not fit this AU #I prefer him when he's portrayed as a sympathetic kid (who is still an asshole) and not a demon child. So that's what I'm using. #same with Talia's 'abusive mother who is totally on-board with all of her father's bullshit and will kill someone for no reason' version #I have read enough comics to know what I like/what is most important and what I don't like/what is #BLATANT CHARACTER ASSASSINATION GRANT MORRISON YOU FUCK YOU SET TALIA BACK SO FUCKING FAR #I also decided to outline their WORST traits because I already know what I like about these characters/their best traits. #most people do. But what was a greater challenge was finding what would make their lives and those of others worse. #what would I hate about this person if I knew them IRL? What would I first suggest they get therapy for? What hurts them and why? #I found these questions really interesting in the context of this AU where some people are forced into completely different roles #the says/thinks/is was inspired by trying to answer that question for myself. I say my worst trait is my impulsiveness but when #I asked others in my life they answered 'oh so you said your weird thing where you don't ask for help right?'

[samwpmarleau]

“jamie’s forgiving james for ~himself~, that’s totally different”

you mean like in every other piece of media ever

i am so so SO tired of that narrative. no, actually, you don’t need to forgive your abuser for them OR for yourself in order to move on. you don’t need to contact them again. you can be your best self without giving them an ounce of your energy.

especially after all the physical, emotional, and sexual horrors james unleashed upon jamie it pisses me off that this show fell right in line with everything else

#like if you're okay with it whatever #but don't try to suggest that it's revolutionary or different because it most definitely is not #it's the norm #jamie tartt #james tartt #tl #tw child abuse

[sunblind-seabird]

memories i wish died with you

#ask to tag #sunblindart #csa tw #suggestive #? prob #child abuse tw #splintercest #slaps leonardo this dude can fit so much trauma inside of him #but also: how theres this pressure to remain quiet about the harm done to you #doubly so once the persons passed #its horrible to both miss and hate someone who aint there tldr

[dollybeagle]

i'm so fucking angry right now, my building has horrible soundproof and i've been listening to my neighbours yelling and even hitting their kids for the past hour

i wanna call the police but no one in my house approves that. wtf

#rowan speaks #child abuse #child abuse tw #child abuse cw #i would have called the police yesterday #and i even suggested the idea to both my parents and other neighbours #they all prevented me

[livelaughwhump]

Whumptober Fic #2

Concept: a whumpee who has only known whump their entire life is rescued and treated with kindness for the first time, but whumpee doesn't understand the concept of kindness that doesn't need to be earned.

. . .

Whumpee shrank back into the farthest corner of their cage, whimpering and hiding their face from their new visitor.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," a gentle voice said. "You don't need to be scared. I'm not going to hurt you."

Whumpee glanced up, eyes gleaming with tears. "You're-You're not?" They choked out. Their voice was hoarse from lack of use. Their visitor smiled and shook their head. "Why-Why not? What do you want from-from me?"

"Nothing," their visitor promised. "I just want to help you. My name is Caretaker." Their visitor reached a gentle hand toward whumpee, who yelped and whined as they shrank into a pitiful ball once again. Caretaker retracted their hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but I promise, I'm only here to help. I'm going to get you home."

Whumpee glanced up again, this time their eyes held more than just tears. Their expression was pained and full of grief and despair. There was a sense of hopelessness in their eyes that made Caretaker's stomach drop.

"But I-I am home," Whumpee mumbled.

Caretaker shook their head. "I know Whumper probably told you that, but this isn't your home. I'm sure your family misses you. Don't you want to see them again?"

Whumpee's lower lip quivered as they gently shook their head. "No, you-you don't understand. Whumper-Whumper is my family. They're-They're my parent." Caretaker's eyes widened and their jaw dropped. Whumpee whimpered and hid their face once more, thinking they upset caretaker.

Caretaker promptly fixed their expression. "No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Please, let me help you."

Whumpee shook their head and cried. "No," they sobbed. "I can't leave, whumper will get angry and hurt me again. Just leave me alone. This is where I belong."

"No, you don't belong in a cage. If you come with me, I can promise you that you will never spend another second locked inside of a cage. Whumper will never hurt you again, I promise." Whumpee stared at their rescuer, the smallest hint of hope sparkling in their eyes for the first time. "Please, let me help you." Caretaker extended their hand to whumpee, who merely stared at it in contemplation before laying a shaking hand atop caretaker's and allowing them to pull whumpee out of their cage.

-

Whumpee didn't speak the entire car ride back to caretaker's house, nor did they say a word once they entered. They didn't know what kind of punishments caretaker would give them if they did something wrong, so they simply opted to do nothing instead.

They still refused to speak until caretaker was in the middle of giving them a bath.

Whumpee stared wordlessly at the murky water they were halfway submerged in as caretaker mercilessly scrubbed at the dirt and blood caked on their skin and matted in their hair.

"Am I scrubbing too hard?" Caretaker asked for possibly the fifth time since they started. Whumpee didn't respond, too fixated on their newly clean skin to hear caretaker's question. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee blinked and turned to look over their shoulder at caretaker. "Hm?"

Caretaker's brows furrowed. "Are you okay? What's on your mind?" Whumpee shrugged and returned to staring silently at nothing. "Are you uncomfortable? Have I done something wrong?"

"No," Whumpee's soft voice answered. "That's-That's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"You-You're being so nice to me, and-and I don't understand why. I haven't-I haven't done anything to deserve your kindness, so-so I'm just waiting for you to get angry and hit me or-or tell me what you want me to do for you so I can make up for-for being such a burden." Whumpee hunched their shoulders, shivering in their cold bathwater. "I know I'm not worth any of this. Just tell me want you want from me, please. I promise, I'll behave."

Caretaker stared at them in shock, their breath hitching as Whumpee's words set in. Whumpee turned to face them after caretaker didn't respond and their eyes widened when they saw caretaker's face.

Tears flooded whumpee's eyes and they wrapped their arms protectively around themself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I can be good, I promise. Please, don't hit me."

Caretaker shook their head. "No, no, sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Look at me." Whumpee didn't dare disobey. They stared at caretaker through the distorted lens of their tears, sniffling all the while. "Whumpee, I don't expect anything from you. I'm doing this because you deserve to be clean and fed and warm. You deserve a room and a bed, not a basement and a cage." Whumpee's gaze wavered. "Comfort and warmth should not be a privilege, whumpee. You deserve good things."

Whumpee looked away and shook their head. "How can I deserve good things? I haven't done anything to earn them."

"You don't need to earn them," Caretaker assured. They released a heavy sigh. "I don't know what whumper taught you, but you are not a bad person."

"You don't know that," whumpee sobbed. "You don't know me. Whumper always said that if I'm not useful, I'm worthless."

"Well, whumper isn't here anymore." Whumpee was silent at that. "And I promise, I will never make you feel worthless."

Whumpee sniffled. "P-Promise?"

Caretaker nodded. "Yes, I promise. I will do everything that I can to help you understand that you deserve kindness, whumpee. I will never treat you like they did."

Whumpee's lower lip was trembling, and they refused to look at caretaker in fear of bursting into tears. "No one-No one's ever been this nice to me before."

Caretaker could feel their heart break as they took in those words.

"Thank-Thank you," whumpee said. "I promise, I'll try to be worthy of your kindness."

Caretaker gave a weak smile. "We'll work on that."

#writing #amwriting #writer #whump #whump prompt #whump writing #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #hurt/comfort #not a pr0mpt #open to suggestions #whump community #whump comfort #captivity #past trauma #implied child abuse #healing #trauma recovery #whumpflies #whump fic #whumptober

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- Vengeance, mon amour Pt.2 [end]

Part One

That sun was bruised and fading when at last we reached a tucked away clearing...and a house. It was not what I expected. To be fair, however, I didn't know what to expect.

Two stories of whitewashed bricks and gleaming windows stared at us, all of it pristine in every manner. From the meticulously tended rose bushes out front—rich and red—to the picket fence surrounding it. Not a blade of grass was out of place, not a speck of dirt muddied all that white. Even the door, tall and wide, was whiter than a nobleman's teeth. That house reeked of perfection, of rigidity, of obedience.

And I shuddered at the threshold.

Hand up to knock, but distinctly not moving to do so, Lucient warned, “Before we meet them, treasure, in my mind so easily, you must have seen their magic.”

Glancing behind us, around us, I marveled at how remote the house was—how removed from the colony it bordered more than lived in—and I grabbed his waist, “Flashes of your nightmares, my love, but not enough to understand.”

“And you wouldn’t have, even if you’d seen more,” tucking his parasol away, he set both hands on my face, “I know what they are, was told, but other mages are not as capable. I’ve never known how they could—”

“I am here, my love,” I told the jittering in his eyes, the shiver in his hands—gloves yet worn despite the evening dim, “whatever they do, you are not alone now.”

Looking first, checking for any that might be watching, he kissed me quick and soft and whispered, “My perfect treasure. Be cautious.” eyeing the door, he shuddered, “Anything could happen in there.”

Then he sighed and turned again to knock...and a slimmer hand than his grasped him through a door opened too quickly.

“Look, daddy,” the woman at the door cooed in a voice too low, too calm, and she was as pristine and white as the house. Save her black hair and lips red as the roses, “our boy's come home.”

No relation, I knew, had seen Lucient’s mother in his memories. I held more relation to his blood than the woman before us. His eyes twitched to me, the fear a confirmation if not the thoughts—muddying as they did in her presence.

“Good show, good show,” just as white, as meticulously groomed the man that joined her—hair as dark, eyes red as her lips—his voice deep and smooth, “we missed you at that little soiree, son. Glad you made it.”

All of me shuddered to see them, to be near them, but I couldn’t find words to speak. That man smiled at me, with his white picket teeth, and I couldn’t even scream. I stood, inert, while they pawed at Lucient. Touching, caressing, as one might a favored doll...

“And almost in time for your birthday,” the woman whispered, too close to his ear, mine that ear and it burned to see her so close, “we have such delights planned for your big day,” she was giddy, close to giggling as she took Lucient's other hand. His lips twitched, perhaps to speak, to scream, and she kissed them, “isn't that lovely, my little Ambroise?”

“Oui, maman,” Lucient responded without emotion, eyes placid, jaw slack.

But I had no chance to question the name, to react to the change, to move at all as daddy grabbed my arms with hands stronger than his lanky frame suggested possible. He clapped something heavy on my wrists after yanking me through the doorway. Burning but cold the shackles, and as I shook from whatever his presence did and made to bite, to curse, he stuffed cloth in my mouth. Acid that cloth, it had to be for how it boiled my tongue and blistered my gums—holy water, I would learn later—carrying more than pain.

It drained my vision, and my strength, but the man caught me as I collapsed.

His voice remained cordial and calm as he dragged me to a stuffed chair—white, too while, with swirls of gold—carefully sitting me in it, “Brought a friend too, didn't he, mother? Big boy this one.”

“That he is, daddy,” mother agreed and while she blurred in my sight I could make out Lucient behind her, walking so stilted to a matched white and gold couch, “you'll have some fun with him, won't you?” she asked daddy as she sat lengthwise on the couch. The white and gold dress she wore hung low and loose and she pulled it far too high on her bare thighs as she patted the cushion between them.

Lucient sat, obedient, expressionless—though the tears were clear, blurred vision be damned, I could see the pain in his eyes—as the woman took a hairbrush from the end table. While she removed his ribbon and began to brush, she cooed words too quiet for me to hear—but I knew them, from his nightmares I knew them, and what would follow.

But I had daddy to contend with. That foul cloth stealing much of my strength, I couldn't stop his hands from squeezing my arms or rubbing my chest through my jacket.

“You are a big one, aren't you, young man?” He asked what he touched—not me, me he did not look at.

Young man, boy, son, the words scraped at my thoughts, clawed with extra meaning I didn't want to find. But I ached to find Lucient, my love, what do I do, how do I help you? I begged him, so still and lost, too far for me to grab—to flee.

He didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t twitch even to look.

But the man on me did more, too much more. He looked at all of me he could, without removing my clothing—and I knew he would, eventually, were he not stopped. With rough hands under my sleeves, digging under my waistcoat and shirt, he touched what he could. Stole what he could.

While I tested the shackles on my wrists. They burned, but not so much as the silver blades had burned, and their pain was not near so much as shark teeth. I could take that pain, again and again, if it meant freeing Lucient from the horrors I knew near.

So distracted by me was the man, and the woman by Lucient, neither noticed the crack beyond my pained groaning for how it burned—a groan they swooned with.

The cloth I swallowed, figuring it less suspicious than spitting, and I regretted it immediately. Almost roaring with agony as it seared my insides, the man took my pain as invitation, noticed my cracked shackles and laughed.

“And what were we hoping for with this, hmm?” He whispered, slipping onto my lap. He broke the shackles clean off and tossed them—revealing bubbling flesh beneath, numbed as it was by the greater pain of the cloth. But those shackles he replaced with his own vice-like grip, forcing my hands to his waist, “Feisty one our boy brought, mother. He's trying to escape.”

“Oh, now that won't do,” the woman trilled, finished brushing Lucient's hair, she had one hand under his chin and another inside his breeches. As he whimpered, shifting away from her, she added, “will it, Ambroise?”

Eyes that had begun to focus lost it again, and he stiffened in her hold, unresponsive to the lips that stole the taste of his neck.

The man on me laughed again, but my eyes stayed on Lucient's. While the pain of what I swallowed remained, its effects were fading and I saw too clearly the agony in his eyes. My eyes, my love, being touched without his permission.

I would not allow anyone to steal what I had been so sweetly given.

The man on me miscalculated and didn't hear my growl—or thought me powerless—when he moved his hands to my shoulders. As he pulled himself up, and forced his tongue between my lips, his shocked cry was delicious. Yet the blood that poured from his tongue, sparking as it did—not near as bright as witchblood, that spark, but close—was not. Unique his blood, to all others I'd tasted—but sadly not all since.

Viscous on my tongue it came, not as blood but oil, as slime down my throat. Bile I had not tasted since my rebirth bubbled in that taste, acrid and sick inside me and I wanted it out. But hunger kept it in, demanded more, even as his salacious moans with my draw of it were echoed by the woman—mother—I held, I fed. When I could wring not another drop from his tongue, I tore into his throat.

Still he moaned, no screams, no pain. He seemed, in fact, to enjoy every second. Until he could enjoy nothing and I threw him on the floor…

But he didn't stay there as he should have, didn’t die.

He sat up, laughing, “My, my, my, you are a feisty one.” While I stood, fuming, confused, he spoke to the woman with Lucient, “Mother, do you see thi—”

I grabbed his head, hands as tight as I could grip on either side and I twisted and twisted until I heard his neck crack. Then I twisted more and more, the rip of skin heard—if only by me—and when it stopped I yanked straight up. Another crack, a snap and a meaty pop followed in quick succession before I held his head well away from his body.

All of the blood I’d swallowed, every drop I drained and still he had such to spare. A geyser of it, spraying my red silks ever redder and raining to stain all of the white around us.

And he laughed, again he laughed; a disembodied head with no lungs to feed him air and he laughed.

The woman laughed with, but she spoke as well, pulling from Lucient—both drenched in blood as I—she took the head from me and spoke to it, “You lost your head again, daddy.”

“I did at that, mother!” He laughed again, loud, guttural, yet mirthless.

Without her cooing, Lucient twitched, blinked and then he was on her, teeth buried deep in her neck.

She traded the head in her hands for the back of Lucient’s, moaning as she spoke, “Oh yes, honey, drink me dry.”

Lucient twitched again but didn't stop and as she made to move her hands to touch him—claim him—I took them. She gasped and grinned, with the heady power of his bite or my grip I don't know, but I hated it. Hated her smiling, her laughter, her possessive hands claiming a love that belonged to me and me alone.

So I broke her.

Twisting as I had the man's head, I spun her wrists until they crackled.

...and she laughed, the whole way through she laughed. I threw each of her hands to the floor, nothing more than broken bone and ragged flesh after my grip of them. Her wrists gushed thick and red as the man's neck and still, still she laughed.

Lucient turned her to face him then, silencing her laughter with his tongue between her lips and soon they gushed as well—pouring blood out of the shared corners of their mouths. It silenced nothing, she moaned with his bite, as the head on the floor laughed at the sight.

Pulling away, arms firm on mother, Lucient looked at me, silver-blue eyes so bright and wild in all the red that soaked him—us.

“Upstairs, there's a cage,” he instructed, voice stern but shaking as he threw her— laughing, wet as it was—over his shoulder.

I carried the separate parts of the man and followed, holding his head by the mouth to gag him—gagging myself with how his tongue played with my fingers.

When Lucient stopped at the cage, he stopped completely, refusing to touch it.

“If mother had her tongue, son, you'd be in that cage, bad boy that y—” That was my mistake, having grown disgusted by his slobbering, and I stuffed my hand back into the man’s mouth to stop more.

Lucient shook and I shoved the head under my arm, ignoring how it cackled, and opened the cage—small it was, fit for rabbits if anything. It stung my fingers as rough as the shackles but I didn't care. Tossing the head and fitting the body of the man in after, I took the woman from Lucient and stuffed her in with—certain they saw my grin at how I cracked and broke them to fit.

“Now what, my love,” I asked, after shutting the cage and locking it with the lock hung from its gate—a lock seemingly meant for a farmhouse.

“I don't, I—” He sputtered, staring at their twisted limbs and grinning faces.

The spark of his bloodied lips and the gentle grip of his hands on my face urged my kiss deeper before I led him out of the room—to let him breathe away from them—and asked, “I've not heard of mages, but aren’t witches burned in some places?”

His eyes jittered, widened and he jumped on me, smearing more of what drenched me with all his eager kisses, “My brilliant treasure. Sigils, on the stones in the kitchen. It's ever-burning fire if you say it right.”

“I'll fetch, you stay,” looking at the broken mess of bone and meat—poking from the cage I’d stuffed them so tight, yet still they giggled—I added, “right here.”

He nodded as he slid away and I rushed to find the stones.

Easy they were to locate, jet black with red symbols carved into them, sitting in a basket on the kitchen counter. I puffed at the sight—not quite laughing but close—as they were pristine, untouched by all the blood. I took the entire basket, although we wouldn’t end up using them all—a number of them would instead end up in my pockets.

Without a word, we surrounded the cage in the stones, setting a few inside. And I followed Lucient's lead, ensuring every single one we laid down touched another, tracing a path out into the hall.

Bending, he tapped that final stone and sneered, “brûlent éternellement,” before stepping into my waiting arms. The sigil sparked, popped and ignited before its fire spread to the next and the next, fanning out to combust every sigil until it reached those in the cage.

They didn't laugh.

They screamed.

Then they wailed and howled, voices gurgling as their throats melted, soaking the room with the stench of burning hair and cooking meat—and a sickly sweet undercurrent of what I would later learn was the marrow of their bones.

We walked out of the house, arm in arm, into a fresh evening—sun too low to bother Lucient, though he grabbed his parasol all the same.

Screaming men with buckets rushed passed us as we reached the other homes of the colony, chasing the smoke we left behind. And while the fire was trapped in its stone path, burning only what they touched, no water would snuff it.

It would burn. Forever.

We didn't run, didn't stop, we took our time; serenaded by crackling fire and terror. But in the screaming and rushing of crowds, I questioned our closeness, for how he fretted before, “What of not touching, lest people see?”

“Let them see,” Lucient said, voice distant until he shoved closer, keeping to thoughts, I need you close.

So I held him as tight as I could without disrupting our gait. While we ignored every shout, every question of the blood coating us, but none brandished the guns Lucient warned of—though I suspect many ran for them when they fled our sight.

Not until the docks did we stop, and all scattered as we did, eyes wide and fearful before they ran toward the shouts and the smoke.

And Lucient’s voice dripped more sorrow than the hollow expression on his face as he watched them, “They’re gone, no threat to me any longer, so,” turning that bloody face to me, cleaned as it was by streams of tears, he whimpered, “why does it still hurt?”

Unable to understand his pain, let alone the relief he longed for, I took his cheeks in my hands. Wiping what I could of his sorrow, I offered what I had, “I have no answers for you, my love, only comfort, only me...however you need me.”

Sniffling, he scooped me up too quickly, smile flashing—if for a second—at my shock before he ran us onto the ship…

#writeblr #snippet #writing #novel #before deluca #vengeance mon amour #tw: blood #like a lot of it #tw: sa #tw: suggestions of child abuse #and yes this is the last bit #two scenes in this chapter

[underclerysclock]

SOME headcanons I've seen about Gerry's childhood rely on the idea that 20th century Ireland was uniquely uncivilised and uncaring. Some people will pretend his childhood was this entirely loveless and emotionally barren landscape and like yeah he's a queer kid growing up in a practical theocracy but despite the thrall of Catholicism, the unchecked power of predatory priests over children, the mother and baby homes like in Tuam, etc etc, Ireland wasn't a wasteland of horrible, compassionless people at the time. I think Gerry cannot have grown up in the environment he did unscathed. Of course he has trauma. But to characterise his childhood as uniquely abusive and loveless feels very. It draws upon very outdated and xenophobic ideas of the Irish experience that I thought were put to bed at the turn of the century.

#flood warning #nr #there is a gerry centric fic i will not name that implies his father is this terrible physically abusive monster #we know nothing about his father and i do personally headcanon him as a piece of shit he does not strike me as a man close to his da #but the way they framed it felt very. indicative of attitudes about irishmen that have not existed since the 1900s #carla's comment about gerry always wanting kids because he was one of nine suggests he was/is very close with his siblings at least #i can see him as a middle child on the older end of middle. people pleasing because of his position in the family #but old enough to care for his younger siblings. he held baby siblings throughout his childhood and it struck a chord with him

[moonlit-positivity]

Growing up in abuse means that there is no one to teach you things that everyone else got to learn as a kid. There is no Trusted Adult Figure to hold on to for your basic wisdom and guidance that normal kids get to have. Instead, we have to learn these things by process of awareness, meaning at some point in your life you're gonna run into lots of things from society, social media, and your peers, that you had absolutely no clue about until that singular moment in time when they tell you about it. And there can be a lot of shame attached to those kinds of revelations, because sometimes you truly genuinely didn't know before hand. Not only that, but a lot of abusive, manipulative behaviors are all too often normalized in abusive homes which makes it all too common to adapt those same behaviors and tactics, and its not always out of malice but rather the ignorance and lack of emotional guidance from our childhoods. Sometimes the only way we find out that's not supposed to be the norm is by simply making these mistakes ourselves and having a very rude awakening hit when we do. And this is gonna be some of the hardest, gut wrenching realizations out there, like a double edged sword in a way, because not only do you feel shameful for repeating the patterns, but there comes a time when you finally understand that the behavior is abusive because it's the same shit they put you through as a kid and you were just too busy focused on survival for most of your life to really process and understand that until the mistakes are already made.

So please be kind to yourself when these moments hit. There can be a lot of shame involved in growing and healing from abuse. There can be a lot of ignorance we inherit from our parents generational trauma. But please remember that there is a fundamental difference between you and what made you, and that is the fact that you are doing everything in your power to call it out and change it. And that makes the world of difference considering your abusers would never even attempt that in a million years. Please know you're walking a path that not many people in this world would even dare attempt. And that makes you ten thousand times stronger than the bullshit you've had to carry all by yourself for this long. You're allowed to be nice and kind to yourself while you figure it out. You're allowed to heal even when you make the same mistakes your parents did. Those moments do not define who you truly are. Please take care of yourselves 🌸

#recovery #ptsd #trauma #mental health #boundaries #healing #child abuse #abuse recovery #actually abused #actually traumatized #trauma awareness #bpd #personality disorders #guilt #mistakes #self care #suggestions #reminders #self compassion #compassion

[defiantsuggestions]

You are important

You are entitled to self care

There is no "worth." Taking care of yourself and striving for happiness isn't something you need to fight to deserve. You don't earn the right to live; you are alive, and by virtue of existance you are tasked to maintain yourself.

You're hurt. The part of your brain that insists you're not good enough is a wound, self hatred and self neglect is a symptom. It is not indicative of reality.

You deserve good things, and you deserve to take care of yourself. You deserve the love and care of others. You deserve to be happy.

#defiant suggestion #defiant suggestions #actually abused #actuallytraumatized #actually traumatized #actuallyabused #important #child abuse

[oraclekleo]

https://www.tumblr.com/oraclekleo/722339270622380032/wonyoungs-ideal-type?source=share

Wonyoung is adult in korea (she is aged 20 yo in kr age)

I'm sorry but Korean age isn't internationally recognised. Also, I might be wrong about this but Korea has recently accepted the international age standards or is in a process of doing so. Wonyoung is 18 and that means she's a minor in Korea. Whenever anyone feels the need to argue about a legal age, it's a clear sign the person in question is too young. That's the end of it.

Plus my new rules and conditions clearly state the celebrity needs to be 21 years old or older. I understand many of my followers are teenagers and for them 17 or 18 year-olds seem mature. I'm 32. Those teens are still children for me. Try to understand that. I'll be changing the header description to avoid any misunderstanding in future.

AND my requests are closed.

Thank you for understanding

Kleo 🦄

#oracle kleo #q&a #legal age is not a matter of interpretation #if you need to search for excuses you might have a problem and I suggest you consider seeking professional help #any type of child or minor abuse is unacceptable on this blog #if you have an issue with it you can unfollow me

[waywardtyrantpirate]

Mdni minors ageless bios I will block you

Tw; speach disorders, medical stuff, the use of a certain slur against a child.

Shout out to all the people who have speech disorders or are mute/ selectively mute.

Ik how hard it is when people get frustrated with you and it's ok if you can't find the words or can't control the sounds coming out.

I had 2 speech disorders growing up due to some mental stuff and physical stuff. I was also selectively mute towards men.

I remember my own mother calling me names or getting angry at me for not talking "correctly" or couldn't respond. People called me the r-word and laughed.

I'm learning what nonverbal means and what selective mutism is. What are some tips on how to accommodate this?

#nonbinary #nonbinary problems #ptsd #actually ptsd #rant post #tw abuse #tw child abuse #help #tw r slur #r slur #disabled #disablility #disability #disabilties #mute #selectively mute #selective mutism #accommodations #accommodation #positive suggestions #i need suggestions #nonverbal #accessibility #accessiblelearning #queer #trauma #cw trauma

[dialogue-prompt-central]

A: How the hell did you find me?

B: Well, um. Actually. I've known where you were the whole time. You never turned your phone's location tracking off. I just... I fucked up, and I... I wanted to give you time. And I needed to find out how to both apologize, and improve. You deserve better than the way I used to be, kiddo.

#character dialogue #dialogue ideas #quote inspiration #random dialogue #writing #writing idea #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writing prompt #writblr #two characters #parent child relationship #implied abuse #<- all just suggestions; ofc!