#implied csa tw

[nerves-nebula]

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pages 44-46

I know im being dramatic, but art is the best place to be dramatic so leave me alone. Also, commission me, i’m so broke rn.

[seamuswrynn]

Could you speak on what your siblings were like back in the day?

I was the youngest of four and grew up with two older sisters and an older brother. Their names were Moira, Eileen and Declan.

Moira was a very hard woman, but I suppose you had to be if you wanted to get by. Her being a decade older than myself made it difficult for us to find any common ground; I was a deeply sensitive child too, which did little to advance our relationship. Declan was far less fond of her than I was for reasons I cannot fault.

Ultimately, however, I do not blame Moira for her actions; to be a Wrynn is to be born doomed. I came to understand that when I learned it was not a workplace accident which reduced Declan to a crippled shell of whom he once was, but Moira's own fury. I then understood that to be a Wrynn is to be born of cursed blood; I cannot possibly fault Moira for inheriting my father's temper or my mother's desolation when there was little virtue to inherit in the first place.

I loved Eileen deeply and I still do; I know she loved me as much as I loved her. She was the most intelligent and exhilarating woman I knew. Illness claimed her when I was quite young, leaving her bedridden and occupying the only room we had when we were younger. However, I would often spend the night with her, and she would be sure to express her appreciation of my company. :)

She was a woman who was in a lot of pain, and that she decided she could share not just her pain but her love with me. She felt I was the only person who understood her, and that is the greatest honor to me. Her death was untimely, and it was only once she died that I could truly appreciate everything she did for me. I miss her deeply.

[imaginaryfriendwithbenefits]

Lmao I was kind of nervous to post this but. Here we are. Ash Lynx deserved better, etc.

[knaivcs]

💭 @glvtted

**Trigger Warning: genocide, child harm, implied CSA, Holocaust mention, gore**

He'd brought him to Conrad because he wanted to know, because he needed to know- To what extent.

"Well, I can only speculate, but-" William began, pinching the bridge of his nose tersely.

Words like 'multiple' and 'comorbid' and phrases like 'consistent only with long-term abuse' fell from the good doctor's lips like palettes of bricks and it was all far uglier than Knives had been expecting, but he didn't look away. He didn't stop listening. He didn't 'turn off' the way he oftentimes did when he would sit at the piano and play for hours on end.

His mind drifted back to the old footage of Earth, the skeletal encampment prisoners huddled in their blankets. Some went into shock from eating real food. The doctors had given them new clothes and cosmetics, things to gently remind them of their humanity and it all seemed like some sickeingly grotesque parody of normalcy.

After that, how could anything feel 'normal'? He didn't know.

Weakness meant death when you were just an animal (humans are animals).

The boy was made from hatred and fear and blood and he wasn't sure whose it was. The lumps of meat that used to be an obese city official, he'd seen the kid pick up a shard of glass tight between his little fingers and stab the end into it's eyes over and over- The head turned into a pincushion of broken rebar.

Behind his eyelids he can still see the villages ravaged by imperial soldiers in their stark red and white jumpsuits, the death marches, the children with no arms. Just waving stumps and begging- Not for money, but a bullet. Please. Just one bullet. Kill me.

Maybe he should pick up another slave kid before he does this, just so the boy wouldn't have to be alone, but why wait?

He's still asleep, wearing a old SEED crew uniform that Knives had given him. The same one he'd been wearing when he'd enacted his plan. He walks up without hesitation, claws forming from the knuckles of his left hand. He pulls his arm back.

He'd wanted to die anyway, it's not going to get much better from here on out. Some things just keep their hot-wire edge no matter how many times someone tells you 'it's over', that it's 'gone now'. Because acknowledging it was real meant that the darkening stains of the past made it so there was no point being alive in the present, much less some distant future.

He wants it out, but he can't get that image out of his head, the way he'd smiled when the sweep of the blade kissed his throat.

The blades retract once more and he took a step back. He tilts his head to the side in thought, then leaves, making sure to close the door quietly behind him.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, there will be food and perhaps he will think of a proper name.

[angeltrapz]

ohhh my god (uh. trauma talk in tags)

[rosarionegro]

"You need to drop your pitiful attitude, Punisher. What hardships have you even really been through? The orphanage? Growing up with food in your stomach and surrounded by people who cared about you? The experiments? Do you simply not understand how dangerous this world is? To give you such power and to allow you to serve the strongest person on this rotten planet, you're in a safer position than so many. Is that not worth a little pain? A little suffering? Easy access to food, shelter, weapons... Do you not understand how lucky we are? But you cry and whine and complain. You don't know a thing about suffering. The things I went through before meeting Him would break you. Everything I endured, but you're life is so difficult because... What? Because you grew up a little quick? Because sometimes you have to kill awful people? You're pathetic. You're weak. We should never have bothered with you; your brother is far superior."

Nicholas is ready for another speech about how emotions are unnecessary, that attachments will only hold him back. What comes next has him frozen in place, eyes wide but unseeing, a sudden flush of shame burning the entirety of his face and ears.

Legato isn't even yelling or screaming, he's not throwing things around with his powers. Just verbally laying into him deeper than any scourge or whip could on him physically. There's a cold, logical vehemence in the timbre of his voice- The kind that he recognizes. A sort of... dead quality, devoid of any reasonable emotion. There is no sorrow. There are no indignant tears.

"You don't know a thing about suffering."

He can feel them. Livio's dull eyes searing into his own, more obdurate than stone, yet veins of molten resentment and hatred burn so hotly beneath it all.

It wasn't just him, either. There had been a girl who he'd helped to come out of her shell, little by little, centimeter by centimeter. Then one day they found her huddled up into a ball in the corner of the bathroom with blood stains on her pants. Nicholas hadn't understood what it was at the time, but he'd been worried. He tried to cover her lap with a towel and his presence only made things worse- She screamed in terror, crying out apologies to a father that wasn't there, clawing at her own skin like it was covered in ants. The matron had shoved him aside and told him to leave and he hadn't understood why, either. He'd been hurt, a little angry. He just wanted to help.

The retrospective horror that dawned on him much later in life left a hard knot in his guts. So pathetic, so weak. Blissfully ignorant.

He had no memory of his parents. There was a big white nothing where people should have stood- He'd been given up so early, he didn't have any concept of their appearance or even voices. Unlike the rest, he'd been given to the orphanage in hopes that he might find a better life, with a family that had the means to take care of him.

He'd been lucky, he had been loved enough that he wasn't just abandoned or thrown out on the streets. An unkind hand had never touched him. He'd never had insecurity about when or where his next meal might come from.

And then it's over. Legato turns his back and gracefully walks away, like he'd simply kicked an errant stone aside with his foot, or trod upon an insect and wiped his heel on the grass.

He stands there, motionless, for what feels like an eternity. He wasn't even sure if his lungs were still holding air. His back hits the wall and he fumbles for a cigarette, fingers jittery and a bit too rough with his lighter. The first hit of tobacco is like morphine flowing into his veins, a calming clarity in his addict's brain.

[awesomeuchuu]

Leo - ✘ - Do the...things that happened to you in your past ever make Intimacy difficult now? Are you honest about that with partners?

"How do you kno--"

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Head turned away, arms hugging himself, he's the very image of someone who does not want to speak. Not about this. Not now, not ever.

But he can't seem to keep quiet.

"I don't understand why you know, but... This is super rude. Okay? I don't like it! But... But... Yeah, well... Duh! Of course it's difficult! It's a fucking nightmare! ...And I can't talk about it. I mean, how would I even start?!"

"...And if they don't believe me, then..."

[protectthevulnerable]

@storyofwhoiam

Dear Mummy and Dad,

I know I said I was excited about going away to school. I was. But I would like to come home now, please. It’s miserable and I don’t like it. All of the other boys and the teachers are mean. 

Mr. Beauchamp is weird...

Please let me come home.

Love, Jonty

[astrateiaa]

I submitted a request for an ask game hosted by @streetlight-halo . But then I realized I wanted to do my own version too, so have song #38 on my Revolutionary Girl Utena playlist with Nanami. The song is “I Bet on Losing Dogs” by Mitski, but I think everyone knows that already lol

[arielluva]

the director

still images under the cut (tw for allusions to csa)

[twxins]

"...Okay."

After that hesitant murmur, he raised his glass of wine and knocked it back in one. There was a lengthy pause before he spoke.

"When me an' my brother were jus' lads, 'bout 13 or 14, I think, we lost our dad. Got stabbed by a gang of tea leaves." Tea leaves - thieves.

"Typical back-alley mugging for the area, honestly. After tha', there were a couple of blokes at school tha' took an interest in us. A caretaker an' a teacher. There were into some shit. Nasty shit. They were in cahoots, it turned out - part 'a one of them rings, y'know? An' us? Two newly orphaned lads, grievin', lonely, in desperate need of money - perfect, right?! ...But Lemon, he was too smart for 'em; he knew they were a pair of fuckin' wrong'ns right from the start, but...I weren't smart like 'im, I guess."

He pushed back his hair and sighed out a long breath. He was clearly having difficulty. Somewhere in his mind, he made the vague decision to skim over that whole era. Despite having just swigged a whole glass of wine, he was still way too sober to go into any detail.

"Anyway, we weren't the first the ol'bastards set their sights on. As ya' can imagine, a lot of people wanted 'em dead. An' some of 'em people 'appened to be unsavoury sort, who I don't doubt ya' know all about. An' I guess with their Hercule fuckin' Poirot hats on, all their leads on tha' whole ring led 'em to me. An' I guess I was startin' t'come t'my senses a bit by then, but I was jus' in so fuckin' deep at tha' point, I didn't know what to do, y'know? Didn't know how to get out of it. An' then along comes these James Bond-lookin' pricks offerin' a stack of cash to take out the two freaks an'...well, after a bit of back an' forth, I weren't too difficult to convince."

He gave a bitter chuckle and reached over for the bottle. "Felt like a bloody fortune at the time. 'Course, I look back now an' realise I got scammed. Bastards paid me bloody peanuts for wha' a job like tha' shoulda' offered!" He poured himself another glass. Slowly. Stalling, perhaps.

"...So yeah, anyway, I took one of 'em out, didn't I? An' Lemon helped, didn't he? It were almost like a birthday surprise when he showed up! Crafty fucker knew wha' was up - always one step ahead..." He did smile a little at that memory, if only briefly.

"The other one got away, though. I'm still lookin' for 'im. It's a li'l hobby of mine, actually. Huntin' tha' sick ring of fuckin' freaks - makin' sure they die slowly, an' horribly..."

He gazed vacantly down into the glass of crimson liquid, and his lip twitched a little.

"Him, though... He's target number fuckin' 1..."

His fingers gripping the wine glass, his knuckles went white for a second or two. There was a moment of visible restraint, a tremendous inner effort to keep himself composed.

"...Anyway," he breathed out, "we left school after tha'. Moved into a crack den with a buncha' shady characters we'd got into contact with. Underworld folks, y'know? I guess we impressed 'em. No doubt about it the plan was to 'ave us do the jon an' take the fall - get carted off to juvie as child murderers. Don't think they expected us to be naturals. So they...sorta took us in, I guess. 'Ad us doin' drug runs at first - smugglin' an' tha'. Then body disposal. An' before we knew it, we were makin' the bodies ourselves, an' fat stacks along with 'em."

In fact, the shady people they lived with were their first hit. Their first real job was a dirty double-crossing. Set the theme for the rest of their lives, really. In this world, there was them, and there was everyone else. No in-between. And everyone else was fair game. That philosophy, though ruthless, had kept them alive for years. And now they were known as two of the most feared figures in the whole field. Funny how things turn out...

"An' tha's why I became an assassin." He gave a strained sigh at the conclusion. "An' tha' ain't even half of it, luv." That was indeed a very abridged version of events...

He slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers and took a measured sip from his glass.

"Still wanna share this bed?"

She could barely hold back her laughter at his allegory of comparing her nightmare demons to fact cats. It did ease her a bit, and she truly did appreciate his attempts to peer into her mind a bit more. Though, he won't get that information for free...eye for an eye she thought to herself. What made him choose this path? She wanted to know just how bad she was compared to him.

Hearing the introduction to his story, she would tilt her head with no hint of surprise in her serene smile. They both made choices that were morally gray and one thing led to another and they crossed paths in the end.

Which was a bit ironic considering their profession.

"I got time love, and if you want to hear my sob sorry, I might as well get something in return no? " she gave him a bit more confident grin, soon taking a sip from her glass of red.

"I wont run, that much I can promise you tonight"

[nerves-nebula]

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pages 41-43

it’s donnies turn to be an asshole and little leo has a little baby breakdown about it. hahhhh ok im gonna go play wizard101 until like 6 AM or something.

[eugenoid-draws]

Thinking about how little bodily autonomy Daan possessed his whole life

[cannotflyarc]

as long as the judge is around, everyone gets hurt. he leaves scars like heirlooms. he whispers to her after his hands pry into her skin, he tells her that this is her maidenhood's fault. ( if the madwoman and thief had only had a son, she wouldn't be this broken. women shatter. it is written in the pages of the bible. she wouldn't be as destroyed if she were a man. ) connor still gets hurt. the judge torments him. his own sister betrays him. johanna was abandoned by her own blood. who is she to leave someone she chose to be her family? she looks him directly in the eye. ❝ i'm going to get you. ❞ it is said with the intense firmness of a pastor. ❝ did you hear me? i'm going to get you. ❞ gaze falls away. ❝ i'm sorry. i know . . . i know i said that. i know that was always the plan. but plans don't always turn out. ❞ guardians don't always propose marriage to their wards. ❝ but this way, anthony and i will come get you. we'll find you after church or after your classes. then we'll go away---the three of us---to plymouth. ❞

Connor was clearly panicked, betrayal showing clearly on his drawn, pallid face as he stood there, mouth agape. "I-I..." He gulped, listening to everything his sister was saying, looking at her like he didn't know her. "I suppose I sh-should be glad for you... I mean-" He hesitated, taking a panicky shaken breath. "I am... I am glad for you." All of the sudden, his expression crumpled to a look that could only be described as heartbroken. "He'll hurt me anyway. You know that. I thought..." He paused, his brow frowning as he thought to himself. "I thought we'd escape together... and that you wouldn't leave like everybody else..." He sounded like a child and looked like a caught, wounded animal. Something in his look hardened. "Don't let me keep you. You don't have long, I'm sure."

[angeltrapz]

warning for implied csa under the cut. seriously I'm in the process of remembering smth its not pleasant

why do I remember chains why do I remember them connecting to something around my neck why do I remember something soft like some sort of cloth on the inside of the handcuffs so that it didn't rub my skin raw because someone might notice why why why

[it-never-gets-better]

MY BODY TURNED INTO A CORPSE WHEN YOU TOUCHED IT VIOLENTLY.