#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.

[gcldfanged]

“I want to know who you loved.”

[Trigger Warnings: CSAM mention, mutilation/bodily injury, disassociation, trafficking mention, implied CSA. ]

Jae had to recall that he himself had offered to finally answer all of Hewley's inquires with complete honesty. It'd seemed like a good idea at the time, he'd thought the worst of their confrontations had already passed and been deemed somewhat acceptable- Capable of a certain amount of consideration, on the SOLDIER's part.

"You want an itemized list, or...?" he asks with an entirely neutral and eerily calm countenance, the inscrutable sharpness of his features seeming to appear that much starker in the dim lighting of his apartment.

"How much do you really know?"

A pall of silence hangs between them, slowly as a cautious arachnid might descend from a single line of silk.

"First: KUMGANG is a restaurant business acting as a front for one of the largest immigrant-run operations in Midgar's underground. Of course, I'm the current Head."

There's a brief but hollow flash of a smile that makes his fangs glint a sickly golden-green in the florescence of the kitchen bulbs.

"Second: Junon and Midgar have long been involved with global trafficking rings led by various criminal networks. Shinra decided to cut all ties with Wall Market's more ambitious circles under their admittedly loose supervision, but only after they branched out into more... lucrative areas of demand. PHS systems are good for more than simple data management- They've become imperative for recording, sharing, and networking with private clients. Live broadcasts of personal 'debuts' are always heavily sought after once the producers find the right potential that they can mold, reshape into whatever content they need most. Easiest to harvest 'em young, y'know... Unspoiled and underripe."

Yoon glances down at the various ugly patches of thicker skin marring his knuckles from broken and reset bones. He flexes those crooked fingers and some of them barely even move the way they naturally should, lacking that smooth interconnectivity.

"You made such a sad expression before- When you thought it was limited to my hands," the Turk laughs genuinely, eyes now alight with the sour bite of retrospective bitter amusement.

The metal chair he's seated at screeches when he pushes to his feet. The dress shirt he normally dons for work hanging from his thinner frame is suddenly pulled open, small buttons clattering and bouncing off of the stained linoleum floor. It's a quick, but thorough process- Not a show to be enjoyed nor savored. Scars layered upon scars flex and pull at sections of yet untouched honey-olive toned skin.

They cover most of his body, a disjointed web of old lacerations spreading all over his limber physique like cracked glass. Longer fine-lines crisscross, looking more like the kinds of carefully applied scars a makeup artist would render upon a new film's haunted warrior protagonist: a perfect 'X' stretching over a forearm.

There are healed over nicks in the flesh here and there, as if shallow stabbing can be imagined as a casual activity- Deeper toned, raised keloid scars that ached and lacked elasticity. Atrophic scars from cigarette burns overlapping, 'ice-pick' holes and wider sunken pits of missing flesh and pink-reddish contractures- even gouges that had proven too difficult to cosmetically treat.

It wasn't like every scar 'told a story'. Or if they did, it was a really shitty one.

"After awhile, you start to forget how it feels. The pain, the awareness of what happens becomes more... distant, like a memory of a dream that evaporates as soon as you find the coherency to recall all the little details," he admits, running the pad of his finger along an old burn mark.

The flesh had hardened up as it healed, became shrunken like plastic wrap and eventually split open- revealing paler layers of newly grown satiny-soft skin. Kind of like being reborn, in a weird way- Searing away impurities, wabi-sabi and all that.

"Burning hair stink is the worst, though."

He crinkles his nose and smirks, in full anticipation of what he knows is coming: the dawning realization, visible discomfort upon having the naked truth of society laid bare in a perverse litany carved into his smaller body. The disgust over such knowledge that a whole sordid range of human injustices can and will happen, every day. That the most vulnerable of the herd make the most ideal and easy targets to isolate and lure astray, drag them wailing and kicking into the darkness of the hunter's lair.

[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)

[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.

[allourinsides]

"People can depend on us anywhere!" Isha argues as if it's the most obvious and annoying thing. Why did it have to be Noxus? Because they had shit enough luck to be born there? She used to think that too. She hasn't for a long time, but it's just a matter of convincing her best friend to her side. "Don't you wanna see the world? Not have to worry about... being a perfect spy? Don't you wanna know who you are without that place breathing down your neck?" She throws the insulting term back at Maddie. Why was Noxus the only land that deserved their loyalty? They could be helping anyone, noxian or not.

She grabs Maddie's hand, the touch nearly forceful but not without care. "Come on," she eggs on with a smirk. "You've never wanted to find yourself on some far flung beach, not a single thing to give a shit about?" It's not the real reason Isha wants to leave, but maybe if they can give all of the pros for leaving, she would just... agree to go with them. They know its not that easy though, they've spent years vaguely dropping hints and they're starting to get desperate. They can't do this anymore, but they won't leave without Maddie.

"With me?" they asked, their hands moving in a hesitant, insecure way. "We could just go. No one would miss us." But Isha would miss her. Their shoulders sage and their eyes fall to the floor, huffing. "I'm fucking tired, Maddie." They'll never be able to wash off the sheer amount of innocent blood on their hands, but maybe they could balance it out. Help those in need instead of forcing them to give up their land and their lives for a blood thirsty, war mongering empire that didn't even care for their own kind?

Isn't Maddie tired too? Isha never understood how Maddie was just... okay after everything that happened to her. The few times Isha hadn't been able to fight off larger people who just wanted to use her body, she'd never really gotten over it despite her brave face, but on the flip side, Maddie had sought it out and used it to her advantage. So Isha had put her everything into learning how to defend the two of them and put food in their stomachs as frequently as she could, but it was never enough. She just wants everything to be... different, normal, okay.

@strxngertogether said ; x

" we don't need anybody. " Yoooo au noxian Isha that grew up with Maddie

// for a second, maddie considers ignoring what isha said like she hadn't said it. doubt isn't something she normally likes creeping into her mind, for as hard as noxian streets were, she wouldn't want them to have been any other way.

if she could go back in time in any way, she doesn't think she would change a thing. noxus' shaped her for the better. sometimes, when she's really down in the slums, she imagines growing up inside of piltover instead, now that she's been here for a few years, but that's a selfish thought that she prefers to bury.

it's been clear to her for a while that isha clung to her more than she does to the emporium, but it's always something that kind of.. confused her. as a child, back in the streets of noxus, it was rare for her to find anyone that wanted her for anything more than what she would offer in exchange for some coin, or food.

of course, isha was closer to her in age, so it makes a little more sense, though for her to stay with her for all these years and never ask for anything in return leaves her baffled, a lot.

glancing around, as if afraid someone might listen in, she finally looks back at isha, biting her lip. " I know what you're- trying to say with that. we're not leaving the emporium for this- place. " the way she refers to piltover is obviously derogatory.

" nor.. nor am I just running off. people depend on us. "

noxus didn't rise because people would run off and desert it. ( like they don't abandon their children often enough. she doesn't think about that hypocrisy. )

[eugenoid-draws]

Thinking about how little bodily autonomy Daan possessed his whole life

[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

[bpdmaxxer]

“But he was just a child”

So was I

And I’m suffering and he’s not

[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"