#generational child abuse

[lostmf]

By 11 shit was already fucked up

So I would be still 5 I guess

[pearsfears]

happy mothers day

[hajihiko]

It runs in the family

[serial-unaliver]

I just wanna say as someone who's made a lot of posts directly discussing topics like incest and pedophilia I roll my eyes when people say "paraphilia" obviously referencing one of these things instead of being straight up. I can't find the post I reblogged on the issue with the concept of and term paraphilia but the origin of the term itself is fucking horrible. I know you don't want your mutuals to hate you but if they think it's a crime to discuss any unsavory topic maybe get better mutuals.Mine have critical thinking skills and good reading comprehension personally

[fallenclan]

SUNNYCOTTON!!!!! a win for the lesbians <3

i'm trying to implement more traditions and culture for Fallenclan, so behold!! giving someone a cool bug as an old-fashioned way of asking to be mates :D

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[froody]

fr gen x love to randomly tell you in heavy detail about the toe-curling horrific horror movie level child abuse/neglect they suffered at the hands of their parents

[weareweirdpeople]

Maybe its just me but I think its really fucked up that the only way teachers can "help" a child is with cps and the fucking police. I think its really fucked up that they're constantly talking about "tell a trusted adult" when sometimes you just don't fucking have one. Because all of them were bad options. I think its fucked up that my, and many many many children's only fucking options have been tell someone and put everything in danger or do nothing and continue on in silence. I think its fucked up that even without saying it I had to start understanding that no matter how kinda a teacher, or counselor, or school staff member was to me at times, that they would never put me over them being held liable or their job. I would never be that important. They get to pat themselves on the back while I get put in handcuffs and put treated like an example of what not to do as if im not even there. I think its really fucked up that at a certain point it will never matter how nice a teacher is, no matter how many "I know it sucks...." or "I'm sorry but it's my job..."s or "I don't want to have to do this..."s you get, because its always the same fucking thing. Your a liability, and no adult is going to risk their job with a child that they could easily just hand to someone else more 'qualified' to handle.

[furiousgoldfish]

Not calling out abusers because they had 'a tough life' and didn't know any better --> abusers using the 'tough life' and 'not knowing any better' excuse to keep abusing --> abuse is always excused and never has any consequences for the abuser --> abuse continues endlessly

Calling out abusers and holding them directly responsible and liable for abuse --> abusers forced to acknowledge they can't excuse their behaviour by invoking compassion in the accuser --> their behaviour has direct consequences for them and they're forced to change their behaviour in order to stop the bad consequences --> abuse is stopped

[nashvillethotchicken]

The fact I haven't seen that many people talk about how lestat did the exact same thing his father did to him to Claudia by forcibly removing her from the train in ep 6 is a real disservice to both Claudia and Lestat

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - The Prologue

“The Boy”

Copyright © 2024 by tightjeansjavi. I do not give permission for my writing to be copied and reposted. I do not give permission for my writing to be fed to Ai bots or chat GPT.

A/N: well…🤭 it’s here! I decided to bite the bullet and post the prologue sooner because I am an impulsive Aries after all! This story has taken over my mind body and soul 🫠 just ask @sinsofsummers @penvisions @beardedjoel @corazondebeskar @punkshort & @kenobiwanx (just to name a few moots who have listened to me yap and yap and yap 🥹) it’s an understatement when I say just how I excited I am for this story. I currently have 17 chapters written, and we are only at the halfway point! There is so much more to come 😉

Summary: Marcus Acacius, from a young age was taught to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. His mother, Lucia, has kept her son’s true identity hidden from his callous father, Varus. On the eve of Marcus’s 10th birthday, an accident occurs, and when the truth is revealed, Marcus learns firsthand just how cruel the world he was born into could truly be.

word count : 1.6k

Warnings: enslavement, child enslavement, child abuse, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, death of a minor character, language, minors dni! +18

Timeline : Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus - ruled from April 13th 193AD - February 4th 211AD (historical) Succeeded by: Publius Septimius (Geta) born 191AD (birthdate is fictional) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) born 193AD (birthdate is fictional)

Marcus was born May 17th 193AD (Taurus) 203AD - Marcus is 10 206AD - Marcus is 13 211AD - Marcus is 18 when he meets Geta 216AD - Marcus is 23

Geta was born June 9th 191AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Gemini) 203AD - Geta is 12 206AD - Geta is 15 211AD - Geta is 20 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Geta is 25

Caracalla was born October 27th 193AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Scorpio) 203AD - Caracalla is 10 206AD - Caracalla is 13 211AD - Caracalla is 18 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Caracalla is 23

Translations : Acacius (Roman, male) - one who is free from evil (innocence) also symbolizes strength, resilience & protection Varus (Roman, male) - bent, crooked Lucia (Roman, female) - light Medicus - physician, doctor Dominus - master

Under the rule of Emperor Septimius Severus May 17th, 193 AD

When Marcus Acacius was born into the world, he did not scream like most babes did. He cooed and babbled, his long lashes opened and revealed the deepest brown eyes, rich in color like the soil that nurtures life. His mother wept as he clung to her breast. She did not shed tears of joy, but tears of sorrow and dread as she had prayed to the gods for a daughter. Not because she wouldn’t have been grateful for a son, but because his father; her Dominus, wanted a daughter, as he already possessed many sons.

She concealed him from the midwives who gave the new mother her much needed privacy after birth. It would only be a matter of time before their Dominus would return home from his travels.

“Marcus.” She whispered, lips gentle and motherly against his soft, fragile forehead. “Marcus…Acacius.” She sniffled. “Do you know what your name means, my son? It symbolizes innocence, strength, protection, and resilience. An honorable name for a special boy.” She cradled him close to her chest. “Your father will not love you the way that I will, but you mustn’t let it hurt you, Marcus. You must always be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate.”

Marcus’s true identity was carefully hidden beneath clothing designed for girls, and his hair grew long and lustrous. His mother, Lucia kept him close to her side as she tended to the gardens and helped prepare all the Dominus’s meals. Varus was neither kind nor cold, but he appeared to be pleased with Lucia blessing him with what he believed to be his first daughter. So much so, that he intended to marry her the following year—right before Marcus’s tenth birthday.

Tragedy struck days before the planned wedding date. On the eve of Marcus’s tenth birthday, he suffered an injury falling off of his horse, but that was not the worst of it. While the medicus was examining the injuries Marcus sustained, the truth was discovered that Varus’s daughter was in fact a boy.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Varus booming voice could be heard just outside the cracked doorway of Marcus’s bedroom.

“Sir, I understand that this news is upsetting and the most shocking, but it is true. Your daughter is a fraud, and is in fact a boy.”

“Mother.” Marcus croaked from where he laid with tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I swear, I was being careful! I lost my stirrup and—”

Lucia squeezed her son’s trembling hand firmly and reassuringly. She leaned over, brushing his temple with a soft kiss. “Shh, my son. You have done nothing wrong, Marcus. Accidents happen, and it was only a matter of time before Varus would discover the truth. I am the one who is sorry, my beautiful boy.”

“This is an outrage! My to-be wife has been lying to me all these years?! This is a disgrace, and I will seek to have her severely punished for her crimes of treachery against me!”

“No, mother! You have nothing to be sorry for! You have done everything to protect me, and I am forever grateful. You have taught me to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. Remember? It is my fault for being so careless.” He uttered in frustration.

“No, my son. You are but a child. The fault cannot fall on your shoulders. You must continue to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.” She cradled his cheek in her hand, brushing away stray tears and rested her forehead against his. “In this life and the next, you will always be my son.”

The door slammed open to reveal a seething Varus and Marcus never feared for his life more until the man who was half responsible for bringing him into this world looked at him as if he was nothing—not a person with feelings and emotions just like him. No, Varus looked upon his unwanted son as if he were the filth beneath his shoes and the very bane of his existence.

“Varus, please. Let me explain. I beg you to show our son mercy. He is just a boy! A bright, innocent, beautiful, kind boy!” Lucia exclaimed from his bedside, pleading for Varus to be merciful. She stood up quickly from the bedside to try and block Varus from reaching Marcus.

Varus stalked into the room, fury stricken in his irises, and when Lucia dared to place herself in his way, he struck her across the cheek hard enough that she fell against the wall, smacking her head against the stone, falling unconscious from the impact.

Marcus let out a terrified scream, his eyes wide with fear. He yelled his mothers name when Varus reached for the covers and yanked them back from his trembling body.

“She demands I show you mercy, boy.” He said between gritted teeth, malice dripping in his cold tone. He clasped his hand against Marcus’s wounded right shoulder, squeezing it tightly with no remorse.

Marcus let out a pained sound from the back of his throat, clawing desperately at his father’s hand to release him. “Father, please!” He cried, “you’re hurting me!”

“You are no son of mine.” Varus seethed and dragged the young boy from his bed and far away from where his mother laid. Marcus was never given the chance to tell her one last time just how much he loved her, or to say goodbye.

Marcus screamed for his mother till his throat was rubbed raw and he no longer had a voice. The pain in his shoulder weakened him to a state of unconsciousness, and when he woke, he found himself stuffed into an iron cage along the back of a horse-drawn carriage with ten other boys all around his age. His wrists and ankles were shackled in iron, and a collar around his neck signified his ownership to a new Dominus.

Varus had sold Marcus to a slave trader that was well known for training young boys and men to be gladiators for the barbaric games that took place in the Colosseum. Lucia would never see her son again or know of his fate.

To this day, Marcus favors his left side as the injury he sustained to his dominate shoulder never properly healed, and sometimes it still causes him pain, especially after a brutal fight.

Because he was not born with violence in his veins and rage in his heart, Marcus refused to fight even after his new Dominus would beat him, he would not grasp a sword in his palm. This made him an easy target for the other boys to take their rage and frustrations out on. Runt, they would call him. Jabbering at him like squawking crows. Coward. Pathetic. Their insults would ricochet off his body as if he was wearing invisible armor. He remained quiet and reserved till one night he had been pushed to his limits.

“Do you think you’re better than the rest of us, Acacius? Is that why you choose to not fight?” One of the boys questioned him around the dying fire.

“No. I don’t think myself to be better than anyone.” Marcus quietly said under his breath and moved to stand up from where he was sitting, but a hand on his bad shoulder forced him back down.

“Then why don’t you fight, hm? The runt won’t even defend himself!” The boy cackled and his friends joined in.

“Please stop.” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

“I bet your whore of a mother was ashamed that her son turned out to be such a coward! That’s why she sold you off, right? She couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes any longer!” He laughed. “And who could blame her?”

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother as if you knew her!” Marcus roughly brushed the hand from his shoulder and stood up in a fury.

“Your mother was a whore and I bet she died as one too!”

Marcus couldn’t remember the events that transpired moments later. All he could recall was the sound of steel being unsheathed, and seeing red behind his eyes. He was thirteen years of age when he killed for the first time. He plunged his sword so deeply into the boy's gut that it appeared through the other side, dripping in crimson.

Under the new rule of Emperor Publius Septimius (Geta) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) April, 211 AD

After five years of extensive, unforgiving, and grueling training to become a gladiator, Marcus was taken before the two young emperors who had only just recently succeeded their late father, emperor Septimius Severus, to be observed in training before the next anticipated fight in the Colosseum.

“This one appears promising.” Emperor Geta, twenty years of age, sat alongside his younger brother, Caracalla in his golden throne. “I intend to meet him officially.”

“He is weak. Do you not see the way he favors one side to the other? He is unbalanced, and his opponents will pick their teeth with his bones.” Caracalla said with a jabbing snicker. “He surely won’t survive through a single fight.”

“We shall see.”

When he was approached by the emperors after the training session had wrapped up, Marcus quickly bowed in their regal, commanding presence. He brought his sword to rest against the breastplate of his armor out of respect.

“What do they call you, gladiator?” Geta inquired with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Acacius, sir.”

“And what do you desire most in this life, Acacius?”

Marcus lowered his sword, the edge of the blade dug into the coarse sand below. His emotionless gaze, directed at the eldest emperor, was contrasted by emotionally charged words of a man whose only desire in life was to be free.

“To be a free man.”

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[lostmf]

[deservedgrace]

cult jokes are a symptom of and contribute to the simultaneous sensationalizing of cults (cults are all dark cloaks and animal sacrifices and devil worship and group suicide and despicable/unhinged beliefs) and diminishing of cults ("uwu come join my CULT XD we're gonna make cookies and WORSHIP SATAN teehee"), but i'm realizing how they go so hand-in-hand with the mindset of "only ~stupid/evil/crazy/etc.~ people could possibly join a cult. if it were me i would simply not fall for cult propaganda."

the diminishing part means that people don't take you seriously if you say you're an ex cult member or talk about your experiences in a cult or believe you are a current victim of a cult, because cults are just silly little groups that have weird beliefs but are otherwise innocuous. the sensationalizing part means people will also not take you seriously because if it was Actually a cult cult, that does harm and has evil beliefs, you should've known better because any reasonable person would have seen through it. the other side of "only an [xyz] person joins a cult" is "i am not an [xyz] person so i will never join a cult or be victim to propaganda and other cult tactics." the other side of "if it were me i would simply not fall for propaganda" is "someone falling for propaganda is fully a choice and a personal failing on their part." and combined they make: if you were [xyz] enough to join a cult and fall for propaganda, that means you deserved it.

people who would never make jokes about any other kind of abuse but feel perfectly fine making cult jokes used to kind of baffle me, because why is joking about personal abuse a problem but large-scale/group abuse is fine? why is it suddenly funny when you're the one that wants to perpetuate the abuse? but if your belief around cults is: "your experience wasn't that bad [diminishing], and if it was that bad [sensationalizing] it was your own fault and personal failing [i would simply not fall for propaganda], which means you deserved what you went through [only stupid/evil/crazy/etc people join cults]" and you don't understand how cults or cult tactics work, cult survivors/victims probably feel like a fair target for jokes (they are not, to be clear).

[will-pilled]

"Your generation is so sensitive!"

Your generation literally smacks children for even so much as breathing incorrectly and yells at them when you're in a bad mood.

[normalbrothers]

TOMMY: The war is done! Shut the door on it like I did.

[unreal]

My Name Is Kanaya Maryam

You Fucked My Wife

PREPARE TO DIE

[adventures-in-teyvat]

arlecchino: put a bunch of wrapped, empty presents under a christmas tree so that every time a child misbehaves you can throw one into the fire

dottore: what do i do when i run out of children