#cw child distress

[aquatic-anxiety]

You've been in your pond messing with the flowers for most of the day. Usually you'd be out in the forest after your sword training with Chayanne, but you've been unnaturally tired.

You can't afford to be tired right now, you have to get as much as possible so that your siblings wouldn't have to worry. Still, your limp body lay on the coast of your pond. Your eyes open and closed slowly as you try to remain awake. You feel a sound trying to crawl it's way out of your throat, your skin crawls and jerks under your sweater.

Your body was boiling despite the cold water, you heave every breath. Your fingers dig deep into the blue sands of your coast, teeth gritting together as you feel sharp tugs to your back. Your mouth falls open in silent gasps as you feel yourself slipping deeper into your pool.

The crystal blue pond slowly turns red as your skin rips itself open, something prodding from the inside of you finally finding it's gap to escape. You can feel tears spring into your eyes as it pushes you open, ripping your skin. It's a familiar feeling. Is this another dream? You hope it is. You wish. You beg it is. You plead with... someone. Your nails drag through the sand as you are unceremoniously dragged into the depths of your pond. Blood pooling the surface.

[explorar-curiosity-e-opportunity]

How’re you holding up?

Richas was fine. Completely fine. It doesn't matter that his room was completely organized today or that has been scrolling Tallulah's blog since a few days ago over and over again. He was fine. It's fine. It's fine. If only his skin stop itching.

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet warps to Asha’s house, still in the same daze he was in when he left. His body aches with the phantom warmth and yield of cuddling his sister, needing to make it real more than anything.

The door is open. He walks into the house, croaking “Asha-”

Blood. Blood and claw marks on the floor.

Trumpet is far too smart of a child for him to not immediately understand all of the ramifications of what’s happened, and what could have happened, and what he doesn’t know and what the worst could be and what the best could be and ultimately the only things that are true.

It’s just a matter of his emotions catching up.

He falls to his knees, first. Mentally, the information is still ticking and ticking. Two plus two equals four no matter which way he adds it up. And then strange, shuddering breaths start to leak out through his nose. And then his mouth opens and the breaths start to come with noises and it’s- it’s probably crying, yeah?

Only it’s not. Trumpet is LAUGHING.

Everything all bubbles up in his lungs like carbonation, like steam shoved from an overworked engine. It’s not funny. It’s so not funny that it’s the funniest thing in the world. Of course this would happen. Of course this would happen to him. Why not? He has nothing left for this, nothing at all, nothing, nothing. He was already so far down. He didn’t know there was further to fall. So he laughs.

And then his laughs get higher and longer until he’s just shrieking, over and over, and then the tears come, so he also sobbing and then he doesn’t know if he’s laughing or screaming or sobbing as he kneels on the ground. Whatever it is, his lungs heave it out of his mouth like he’s throwing up, and whatever’s inside of him gets so big and overwhelming that he reaches up with both hands towards his elbows and digs in and scrapes long, deep, triplet gouges into his forearms and lets the rake and the sting and the throb alleviate the pressure in his chest. Only then his own blood is on the floor and there’s so much of it and there’s a profound feeling of loss and despite Asha’s love of color the floor suddenly looks Federation-white and he’s lost his sister and his shoulder hurts and then there’s terror and horror so deep inside of him that it pounds upwards like a piston into his stomach and his vision blurs…

…

…

…

Eventually he starts to exist again.

There’s new blood spatters on the floor, along with vomit. It trails to the corner of the room he finds himself huddled in, staring ahead with dead eyes. Blood still drips from his arms, lazily, like syrup.

Trumpet sniffles and sighs. With shaking hands, he pulls a health potion from his bag. He downs it and lets the cloying taste of melon and gold and wart slide down his throat. The wounds close up. The roiling blankness inside of him doesn’t go away.

Puppet-like, empty like a doll, he gets up. There’s some cleaning supplies in the corner. He cleans up his own blood and sick, moving achingly slow, careful to avoid the dark brown stains of what he knows to be Asha’s. Hers. Her.

Her scent is still everywhere. Trumpet grabs a blanket out from under the bed and smells it. Then, like he’s drinking water, he hugs it right and breathes it in deeply and feels tears start to drip down his cheeks again.

He wraps himself up tight in Asha’s blanket by one of her bloodstains and lets his mind drift away again, eyes open and blank. His finger traces the pattern of the spatter on the floor; runs lazily through the gouges she’s left.

Nothing Trumpet’s body is doing makes sense to him anymore. All he feels is a vague helplessness as it starts to cry again.

[egg-a1]

It's fucking cold.

That's her biggest gripe right now. She's got a mental list going, fingers curled into Minirucho's now wet fabric. It starts with the fact that they took her dress-coat thing. Her clothes. Her clothes, because they were hers and she wore them all the time, and they were stolen from her. So now she's cold in the itchy, itchy and thin dress they need her in, stupid boney arms sticking out all wonky and her scars and burns on display. And she's cold.

Her room wasn't decorated- but neither was the last room in the facility. At least this one was bigger. The bedframe had room to fit under, to smush herself against the wall as much as possible and pretend to be back home. Everything else was a bore.

Another irritating thing: the door sounded different. She claws and yanks and when that doesn't work she listens and waits. Nothing budges- not like the last one- and when they open and close it, it makes this real loud click and hiss noise. She can't slip out like last time.

She's mad. She's so mad it's become blinding, tearing apart whatever she could. Digging her sore fingers into grout, trying to wrench the drain from the floor. Nothing works and it makes her hands hurt, which makes her so mad- so so very mad. Her sore teeth leave sore marks in her hands and wrists as she looked for any way out, anything to do, something to help-

-and when she finds nothing, wailing is the only option left. She screams and kicks and sobs, smacking her feet against the door, banging her head against the frame until all the energy is gone and she's exhausted and wet with tears and sore.

She lays flat on the floor and sniffles, fingers curling into Minirucho. Their little leg was starting to fall off. She was too rough.

That makes her feel so much worse.

[stardustdiiving]

Me explaining in terms of strictly how I read canon I think Nahida not severely punishing the Sages is just meant to convey that Nahida, even when wronged, is not a very vengeful or harsh person and makes the choice to be kind instead, but in my mind I have this idea of a Nahida interpretation which elaborates on that where her self punishing tendencies extend to her being someone who internally downplays her own experiences constantly, and as a result has a hard time feeling she’s allowed or justified in placing a lot of blame on the Sages for what they did to her So while she is following her own philosophies regarding teaching lessons/wisdom/etc in how to handle the Sages and genuinely doesn’t want to be really angry or punishing because of who she is as a person, her decision is also influenced by the fact she’s basically blocked herself out of grappling with how to handle people who hurt her by blaming herself for said hurt instead as a coping mechanism. And like this is all just me being insane about Nahida Trauma and not something explicitly implied in canon but also I really do think this isn’t a far stretch from her canon characterization especially when my vision isn’t to conclude that Nahida needs to be angry and vengeful but she should extend the kindness she shows others to herself and also every day I get tormented thinking about she was the mental equivalent of an average human child when the Sages found her and how they basically specifically discarded her for being a child and the idea of how Nahida would pick up on + internalize that and eventually need time to unlearn it

[fanofthelamb]

idk if im gonna finish this LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL but reminder that the pretty colored pictures start out as complete MESSES

[egg-a1]

"Down, A-1." A scientist speaks. And it's cruel and mean, the way they've got her pressed flat on the stupid metal table, her noise only increasing in volume as they grab at her legs. Rough hand. Rough, mean hands, on scales, feathers, and claws. And they're taking it from her. Everything she can use to defend herself, everything. B4 warned her. B4 told her she had to fight before they made sure she couldn't. But even now she can't. He'd so dissapointed- do angry to know even with her claws and her teeth she still can't stop it.

She can't breathe. She can't breathe. The scientist says breathe and she can't. They're hurting her. They're hurting her. They're-

She gasps, and then a sob rips from her throat, and she's struggling. Her lips separate, little red dots where some teeth broke skin, before that lip immediately sucks in with a desperate inhale; and she exhales in a scream when he reaches and touches her head.

Her body is in a horrible, weird statis. She can't get it to move. She flinches back, heavy and head thick with illness, but her body won't cooperate. She feels like she's being held down. Methodical plucks. Clips. Clinical and orderly. There's gloved hands and- and it's cold and their hands are too warm and the table hurts every part of her.

But this isn't the table. This is a bed. She still can't breathe. Her feet hurt. Her wings hurt. There's- blood in her mouth but it still tastes like- like.... bad medicine. Bad red medicine. Cold. Her nose is runny. She sniffles, her breathe catching as she desperately sucks in a breathe, before that catches in her throat and she devolves into a coughing fit, hunching over. She can't breathe.

She just gives a weak nod. She's not entirely- there.

Bad hums lightly to himself as he makes his way home, trying to avoid jostling the girl in his arms as much as possible.

In his head he’s making a list of things to do. Medicine first, he thinks, with some food, and then if she wants he can clean her up before he puts her to bed. The real problem is going to be keeping Quackity from seeing her.

He puts a pin in that thought and pauses in his mindless humming to check in with A1. “When did this start? Can you tell me where it hurts?” he asks.

[@egg-a1]

[linearao3]

Asylum

T, 1/1

Leida Mothma is a married woman. Her mother is a criminal in exile, her location unknown. Leida ought to be safe from her. But somehow, she's not.

[es-quest]

Everyone can be afraid of unknown. Humans, beasts, animals. The key to survival an least. But of course it can be harmful.

You suppose so, but your parents have warned you greatly of what could happen to you if you let anyone see you and what could happen to them if you revealed yourself like this. Your not sure what would of happened if they did not try to teach you the proper behavior. You still are not the greatest at it but it must be better than the (unknown) alternative.

[almostfini]

My disability story pt 1/?

Check out the CWs in the tags

I was born with problems. Some of it comes down to genetics. It probably didn't help that my mother's only prenatal care was from an untrained midwife. I had problems with my lungs when I was born but my parents waited 3 days to take me to a doctor.

I always say I was one of those sickly Dickensian children. I caught certain respiratory viruses easily and older than most children. When I was 4 I was hospitalized for dehydration following a stomach bug. I have a clear memory of being rushed into my pediatrician's office while vomiting over my father’s shoulder, seeing my sippy cup fall to the pavement as my grip became too weak. My mother told me years later that they catheterized me in the hospital and I screamed in pain.

A few months later I started having agonizing pains in my legs. I remember repeated visits to the children's hospital for testing. I was so small they had a hard time finding a vein for the dye for my bone scan, leading to multiple sessions of sobbing while a nurse jammed a butterfly needle into my wrist. Then I had to lie still in a machine by myself for an eternity. Or at least long enough to watch most of the Monsters Inc tape we brought each time and played on a tiny box TV in the corner.

In the end they concluded it was just growing pains. I gained a ton of medical trauma and my parents decided this was proof I was just overdramatic. They would bring it up the rest of my life with them as a reason to deny me medical care or as evidence I was too fragile to do something (like attend school). My asthma, which was beginning to show symptoms, wouldn't be diagnosed until I was 13 because my parents believed I was faking for attention.

Sometime that same year when I was 4 (probably after all the tests) I broke my collarbone falling off a bouncy horse onto concrete. My mother didn't believe I was truly injured until the next morning when I refused to lift my arm to get dressed. She only took it seriously after she forced my arm up and I screamed.

[aquatic-anxiety]

Sometimes reality and unreality mesh together creating some strange mixture of some lucid dreaming, like you were dreaming while still awake.

Your pond was less clear, instead black sludge that you have to drag yourself out of, the black pool disappearing behind you as you stumble forward, your arms reaching up to hold yourself. You shiver, cold seeping into your bones as you walk, and walk, and walk.

You just need to get away from the source of the dream, just like in the white rooms. Except there's no walls to stop you and tell you that you're still stuck in a singular room and the vastness ahead wasn't real. Your body shake as your body chills with dread that's familiar, warm, and cozy. A state that's so natural you could almost call it home.

Your eyes wide as trees twist into cruel shadows, as animals becomes monsters, but even in the end of it all nothing looks at you. They run from you, abandon you, you're scared. You keep looking back but it only makes it more and more clear that you are the monster.

Your hands reach up and you feel the corals in your cheeks. You pull and you tug them off biting your lip in pain as they exit the holes in your cheeks. You drop them to the ground and blood leak from the holes, sliding down your cheek and chin.

And you feel better.

Still, your hands are shaking and you don't think you've done enough. You can't do anything about your teeth, and you can't tell what else was wrong with you. You need to see, you needed to—

You hear footsteps, and your head snaps up then over, eyes glowing in the dark of the night your mind created. Blonde hair is spotted somewhere in the trees, and you're scrambling to get up.

You don't have anything, you never do, but—

That's Chayanne, surely. And Chayanne is here, and he's fine.

But where was he going? Why was he leaving you?

"Ch—" Your voice is stuck in your throat, it's almost like hands are wrapped around your throat, squeezing and silencing you. And you shut your eyes, when you open them— when you open them to see your attacker—

Chayanne?

[explorar-curiosity-e-opportunity]

Richas couldn't find Pepito nor could he get into contact with Tallulah, he never really expected this to happen. Of course, he understood because Chayanne was missing, and Chayanne was an important person. More important than you. The most important person of their clutch, really. Of course they're worried about Chayanne.

Trick tugs at tricks hair, teeth baring in misplaced anger. Chayanne didn't ask to be kidnapped, and everyone should be worried, Chayanne is missing, stolen, taken. There's literally no, conceivable reason, why Richas of ALL people be upset over not being able to talk to Tallulah or Pepito.

There's something very important happening, that treat only learned about by going through Pepito's blog. (And THAT made treat upset too, treat was Tallulah's best friend why didn't she tell treat?) It really wasn't about treat, at the end of the day but it felt like it was. Was Tallulah upset with treat for making other friends? Maybe, that's fair isn't it.

Richas felt terrible, photo felt like something inside of photoself was being ripped open and shoved down into photos stomach. It was as if the world was crumbling under photo's feet, and photo was falling into a dark abyss of cold self hatred. This could all be fixed if Tallulah just talks to photo, or photo talks to Tallulah.

But in the moment, Richas was filled with so much searing, burning, hatred. That he couldn't even think about where his communicator was. It wasn't where he left it and that only made things worse. Why did someone move is stupid fucking communicator?! His tail lashes with his frustration.

And then it's cold water, and a heavy weight. Of course Tallulah and Pepito stopped talking to trick. Trick was aloof, clingy, and uncaring. Trick was the worst person to be friends with, trick was the worst kid to parent, and trick was the worst person in the world. Trick was a fraud, wasn't even a proper dragon like the others.

Richas falls to treats knees, treats limbs shake as treats world crumbles into a cold echo chamber of loneliness.

[cha-cha-cha-chayanne]

Chayanne makes up for the loss of one arm by hugging as tight as he can with the other. He wraps his wings around both of them, a snowy shield.

"It's okay, it's okay it's okay it's okay…"

- And then he's back again.

Trumpet's eyes shoot open with a gasp.

Chayanne is staring down at him, eyes flooded with tears. Trumpet feels one of them hit his face.

He blinks up at him for a moment, putting things together in his mind, then gasps again, bolting upright. "Did you get it?" he asks excitedly, casting his eyes around. All he can see is huge, snowy white wings and swarms of circling crows.

[egg-a1]

Her wings hurt. Really bad. They've been hurting for a few days now, especially since she got them soaked and wet from the ocean. Which means now most of her body hurts. Her feet, her head, her tummy, and her wings.

She keeps getting these flashes. Hot then cold then hot again. Her chest shudders as she holds Minirucho.

She doesn't know whats happening. Last time she felt like this, the scientists gave her to a different guy in a white coat. He put a stick in her mouth and a needle in her arm and said it'll be better tomorrow. He was nice. He was the guy who gently carried one of her siblings to a robot when they fell down and went to sleep in the middle of their race. She never saw what happened to C9 again.

Her wings hurt. The scientists delt with that too. They wanted her to be clean. Everything in the big white building was clean. But now her feathers are clumped up or falling out and they're so tight it hurts. It hurts.

Maybe she shouldn't have left. Minirucho squeezes tightly in her fingers, her vision blurry. She shouldn't have left.

She coughs and it shakes her whole body. She hopes it'll be better tomorrow.

[dead-dove-orchid]

The Letter Siblings~

Vee (they/them) is in pink, while Elle (she/her) is blue! Not actually related but they’re a found family, of sorts.

[ask-kimerako-therapycarpool]

Just... just let him be. He's feeling feelings, and they'll pass.

Well, I'm feeling feelings, too!! So I'm talking about them!!

((LONG TEXT/IN-CHARACTER RANT INCOMING))

This... freaking idiot still claims he wanted "help" about this whole void thing! And Shiny didn't make anything better by him -- guess what–? Having the nerve to apologize to Neon for asking Tarot to help save him from the void and pull him out, I... Why the hell is he suddenly sorry?! He was worried sick about him being missing when I heard about what happened when the other mes went to the beach! Neon was trapped in there and he needed to get out, but did he thank Tarot from getting him out of it? For being nice enough to use a spell to get him out safely?? NO!! OF COURSE NOT!! He decided to be a royal jerkass and not appreciate the effort!! He wasn't grateful and– and didn't thank Tarot for it!! He's telling Shiny to, like, "fix it" by getting him a new spell or whatever to send him back!! And if memory serves me right, last time he asked such a thing, he hurt Stars! Really badly!! And Neon is just ridiculous enough to say he wants to live there...! The liar...! That void isn't even made for someone like him!! He wasn't born there!! He's not built to live in an environment like that!! It's a horrible place to make a new home in and he should know that!! And it's all that wicked demon's fault he's so involved with it!!