#religious abuse tw

[brandstifter-sys]

I'm Here, You're Safe

@dukexietyweek Day 5 - Horror

Word Count: 4307 (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Roman, Remus, Virgil

Pairing: Dukexiety

Warnings: Major Character Death, abuse mention, religious abuse mention, gore, body horror, spiders, cannibalism (sorta), spider!Virgil, transformation, sex mention

Please heed the warnings.

Remus would rather be anywhere than the place he grew up, but his brother needs his help clearing the old house out after their mother passed away. The horrors in his head have to be worse than reality, don't they?

---

Sometimes Remus wondered if he was cursed. Sometimes he wondered if the monster under the bed was real. At least one monster was out of his life forever. 

Remus really did not want to come here. The old dingy house was so far removed from civilization, surrounded by trees. He could still see the tire hanging from the large oak in front of the porch, and he could see a black SUV parked beside it. 

So Roman got here first. At least he wouldn't have anything nice to say about her either. Remus decided that maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

He parked his old truck next to Roman’s car and got out, expecting the noise would summon his brother. 

When Roman didn't come running to scold him, Remus figured he was lost in old memories. That was something Remus couldn't bring himself to do. 

He wanted to jump back in his truck and leave the bitter past behind. His mother was dead and she could rot, just like this house. 

He loathed the creak of the old steps as he approached the weathered old door. The last time he heard that sound he was running for his life. The last time he was ready to kill. 

But any negative feelings faded when he reached for the handle. There was a jumping spider sitting on it, staring at him. 

“Hey little lady,” he chuckled softly, “Pardon me, I need to get inside.” He grabbed the handle carefully and turned it, but the spider didn't move. And she didn't move when he stepped inside and released the handle.

“Thank you, sweetie!” he giggled and waved to the spider before closing the door. His real challenge was just beginning. 

The hall was similar to the day he ran away. The hardwood was a little worse for wear and the staircase to his right was covered in cobwebs, but the fake plant and umbrella can were still there. The old walking stick was still in the corner, and it still had brown dried blood on it. His blood.

And then there was the door under the stairs that led to the basement. Remus' blood ran cold as he stared at it. The cruelty of hell couldn't compare to the memories that basement held. His usually disquiet mind screamed at him, flashing glimpses into his past right before his eyes. 

“I'm here, you're safe now” words meant to soothe him after breaching the surface in tears

“There you are!” Roman's irate voice cut through his fog. He was in the archway that led to the den, hair out of place and eyes red from exhaustion. 

“I called and told you there was a tractor in front of me. Or maybe you wanted me to run over old Billy Bob Joe Bob,” Remus scoffed. Check your voicemail before you get pissy.” 

Roman sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew better than anyone that it was a miracle Remus even agreed to help. 

“Fine. I already sorted through the china and knickknacks and gathered the documents in the safe,” Roman said with a yawn, “We still have to clear the basement and move the majority of the furniture to your truck.” 

“It's a lot of work for this dump,” Remus commented and stretched his arms above his head. 

“And you only have to deal with it for one day,” Roman huffed.

“Did you find a motel around here?” Remus pouted. The drive here was not an easy one. 

“My bed is still upstairs. It's the only room I cleared of spiders. They're everywhere!” Roman said with a shudder. 

“That's why you need me—to clear the basement, isn't it?” Remus pouted. That was the last place he wanted to go. 

Roman said nothing and returned to the den. That was certainly one of the reasons he needed Remus there. He also needed Remus' truck, his old little piece of shit truck. They had to remove some furniture. 

Remus relented and followed him further inside. His skin crawled when he saw how little had changed. Sure, everything was covered in webs and dust, but that was the only stuff he didn't remember. The old TV was still standing on a stand. The crosses and religious pictures still hung on the wall behind it. The old armchair was still positioned right in front of it. He almost didn't want to get a closer look at that chair. 

“It's odd,” Roman said from the kitchen, “She died in that chair at least three years ago but it looks rather pristine.” 

“That's really weird,” Remus agreed and peeked at the seat of the chair. There were no stains, only dust. It didn't even smell like a body rotted away in it. The only thing that stood out was a large orb weaver spider crawling on the arm. 

“We're throwing it out regardless. Who would want to sit on that?” Roman scoffed, “This is disgusting work.” 

Remus stepped into the kitchen and saw that Roman was throwing away old food from the cabinets. He was scowling at the unopened cans, reading the expiration dates and then throwing them in a large black trash bag. 

“So what do you want me to do now?” Remus asked and sat on the kitchen table. 

“You can clear the fridge or start in the basement—go through the boxes and see if there's anything of value,” Roman said and grabbed an open cereal box, “Albums, antiques, anything like—

Dear Zeus!” 

Remus jolted when Roman threw the box across the room, letting it skid across the floor to the back door. 

“What the hell?” Remus snapped. 

And then he saw exactly what scared Roman. A large wolf spider crawled out of the cereal box. She had a ton of spiderlings on her back and she was trying to get away. 

Roman grabbed a can and held it, ready to attack. 

“Put that down—she won't hurt you,” Remus scoffed and got up. He knelt by the spider and held out his hand. He was pleasantly surprised when she crawled onto his palm. 

“How can you stand to touch that thing?!” Roman yelped and inched away from him. 

“Easily. It's like holding a hamster,” Remus responded and stepped out the back door. He set the spider down on the porch. 

“You take care, Momma, keep yourself safe,” he said softly and went back inside. 

“This house is infested!” Roman complained and slumped against the counter pathetically. Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed a trash bag. He was going to deal with the fridge. 

“It's not so bad, and they're easy to relocate,” Remus said and braced himself. Whatever was left in the fridge would be fouler than a few leggy babies. 

He expected the rancid stench of rotting meat, the sour odor of curdled milk and yogurt. There would be mold and mildew, maggots and rotting vegetables. 

He should have grabbed some gloves and a mask, but he couldn't bring himself to care when he wrapped his fingers around the handle. 

EEEEK! 

Roman screeched when Remus flung the door open and hundreds—no thousands—of spiders poured out of the refrigerator. 

“Looks like no food went to waste!” Remus beamed as the spiders scurried across the floor and up his leg. 

“How are you so calm around these beasts!?” Roman panted, clutching his heart. 

“Because they're harmless. They might look creepy crawly but they're doing their own thing,” Remus countered and peeked in the fridge. It was completely empty, save for a ton of webs, a bottle of hot sauce and a couple styrofoam meat packages. Clearly the spiders had their fill! 

“Get down from there,” Remus scoffed and grabbed everything from the fridge. He promptly tossed the garbage in Roman's trash bag and dusted off his hands. 

“You and your spiders!” Roman huffed and got his feet on the floor, “They’re menaces, just like you.” 

“You wound me, dear brother!” Remus laughed and went back to double check the fridge. He didn't want to remind Roman that he was worse than just a menace growing up. Their mother was one of those fire and brimstone types, and he was the epitome of sinful. 

“Oh please, I could never land a hit on you. Besides, I left your old room as it is, so you can roll around in all your spiders.” 

“You cleared your room?” Remus paused and glanced back at him. Roman was throwing away old cans and boxes, acting like he was focused on his task. 

“As I told you before, yes. I used up all my hairspray and accidentally set the curtains on fire. But I was able to get a few hours of rest,” Roman said flatly. Remus shuddered at the idea. He knew what it felt like to burn.

His back was still scarred, just like his psyche. 

Fire...

“That's fucked up, and that's coming from me!” Remus said and closed the empty fridge with shaking hands. He still had a few spiders crawling on his leg, tickling him, keeping him from slipping into dark memories. It wasn't working.

“I would be more merciful if it were just one or two, but they were quite literally everywhere. I had to do it if I wanted to sleep.” 

“The old bag of bones thought she had to do so many things, and she didn't!” Remus snapped and slammed his fist against the fridge. Roman was taken aback. 

“Remus,” Roman said gently, “perhaps you should take a few minutes outside. I don't know the full extent of what happened to you here, but I can see it's bothering you.” 

“Of course you don't! You're Mommy's little angel. If you want to know what fucked up shit happened look in the basement. We both know you never went down there!” Remus snarled and grabbed at his hair. 

“Remus—” Roman hesitated. Remus was shaking, his knees knocking together. He had tears running down his cheeks.

“If you want to burn the spiders, burn the whole house down with them!” Remus huffed and stormed out the back door. 

Roman was left with a slack jaw. He never really paid attention to the times when he would be allowed out while Remus was grounded. He knew that their mother was fond of corporal punishment. How much worse could it have been than the spankings he knew about? Surely Remus was just more sensitive to them than him.

Curiosity clawed at the back of his mind, like a feral cat trying to escape a bath. It ate away at him. He knew he was a horrible brother to Remus, tattling on him, pushing him away when he was desperate and lonely, never once covering for him when he snuck out for the most innocuous things. 

What was in that basement? What horrors were hidden below? 

He couldn't concentrate. Roman was throwing everything in the trash without checking the dates anymore. 

He needed to know. 

Roman finally tied the trash bag closed and sighed, glad that task was done. He could always go out and check on Remus, but those words echoed in his skull. 

Look in the basement 

Roman stepped out of the kitchen and made his way to the staircase. He was almost afraid of what he would find. If it wasn't the horror Remus implied, it would be spiders. So many spiders. 

But when he approached the door, Roman was surprised to find that there were no spiders crawling on it despite the vast number of webs nearby.

He took a deep breath and pushed his unease aside. He would have to go down there anyway, he might as well scope out the area. 

He opened the door slowly, expecting the spiders to be on the other side. He was both relieved and unnerved when none jumped out at him. 

With a flick of the light switch he steeled his nerves and made his descent. 

-

Meanwhile, Remus was at the edge of the woods, leaning on an old tree and trying to calm his head. 

Sinners must be penitent. They must disown their pride. 

He could still hear her voice, so calm and patronizing. His back burned with the ghost of the rod. He ached as if he were trapped in that small space again. He shivered as if his clothes were gone. 

“I'm glad that bitch is dead,” he muttered to himself and dried his eyes, “And after this I never have to see that whiny bastard again.” 

Remus couldn't believe that he agreed to help Roman. After years of claiming Remus was exaggerating, ignoring him, pushing him away, Roman had no right to ask for his help. He just had to play the brother card. If Roman actually cared about him, Remus wouldn't be so reluctant. No one here ever seemed to have cared.

No one who was real. Remus could still remember one person, an imaginary friend or a hallucination, and that person cared. Remus almost wished they were real, that Virgil was a real person who he didn't have to name. He missed hearing them comforting him from under his bed. He missed the way they would sing him to sleep and listen to him. 

He laughed to himself at some of their conversations. They had always shown interest in his ramblings about spiders and bugs, ocean oddities, and horror movies that he had watched at a friend's house. He even remembered telling them that he had a crush on them, even though they were just a voice in his head. 

“I'm here, you're safe now…” 

And he believed Virgil every time. At least until he didn't come back. 

---

Roman made his way to the bottom of the stairs. The dim light made everything seem so sinister. The unfinished walls and boiler were covered in cobwebs, and the ceiling was white with a full blanket of spidery weaving. At least the light was untouched. 

He could feel eyes boring into him. Stalking him from the shadows. He felt like a deer in the fields, hunted. 

But then he noticed it, standing next to the boiler. It was old and rusty. Or maybe that brown stuff wasn't rust. He could hardly believe his eyes. 

A cage meant for a large dog. It was sitting there, as if it had been there for years. 

On top of that cage was a bible, a branding iron, and a leather belt. And leaning against the wall was a thin cane. 

Roman’s heart sank. How many times did he put Remus through hell inadvertently? How many times did he think it was justified to get his brother in trouble? 

The hair stood on the back of his neck. The odd feeling that he was being watched was stronger. He could taste the venom in that gaze. 

It was too quiet...

He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. 

Roman couldn't move his feet, locked in place and staring at the instruments his mother used to “purify” his brother. 

The walls seemed to move around him, webs shifting and swaying. There had to be hundreds of spiders hiding in their mesh. 

It was time to leave.

It had been time to leave for a while. 

It was too late. 

Roman screamed as something heavy fell on him, pounced on his shoulders. 

He hit the ground with a weight on his back, pinning him down. 

A searing pain ripped through his shoulders, like knives were piercing his flesh. His eyes welled with tears as an agonizing cry tore from his throat. 

And then the world faded to black. 

---

After two hours of calming down, Remus was ready to face the house again, as opposed to the woods at night. He would tell Roman what he could about his experience, move some old furniture, and then leave. He was exhausted but he didn't care, he needed to get away from this place. 

His body was heavy with fatigue as he trudged through the grass to the old building. The only thing that he could think of to keep him from spiraling as he neared was his imaginary friend. With any luck he would be able to hear them again. 

Remus entered through the back door into the kitchen. The lights weren't on but it looked like the trash was ready to go to the dump. 

Still, he couldn't shake the odd feeling that something was wrong. 

Roman would have come running to check on him, or to demand his help. Maybe he was on the second floor and didn't hear Remus come in. 

It was just so quiet…

...

Too quiet…

Remus chalked up all of the discomfort to his trauma and his mental health tanking. 

As he moved through the kitchen to the den, he failed to notice the spiders following him. He failed to notice that they weren't scattered across the furniture or in their webs. 

What he did notice made his heart stop. 

The basement door was open. The light was on. 

Roman actually went down there. 

He would have to go down there if he wanted to find Roman. He didn't. He didn't want to hear any apologies or alleviate any guilt. He only wanted to leave. But to do that, he needed to get the unsalvageable furniture in his truck, and he needed help with that. 

Remus' hands trembled as he reached for the handrail. His heart rate spiked as he slowly descended the stairs. 

Nothing bad would happen to him. 

She was dead.

Roman wouldn't have the guts to try anything. 

He could destroy this place. 

Remus glanced around the room. There were more spider webs than he remembered, so many more. They were like curtains on the walls. He avoided looking at the old cage for his own sanity, but scanned for any sign of Roman. 

But there was nothing. 

“Roman?” Remus called out, half expecting that Roman ran away as soon as he saw a spider. 

That's when his eyes landed on the cage. 

There was a large bundle of webs next to it. Large enough to encompass a person. 

Remus inched closer to confirm his worst suspicion. 

Roman’s head stuck out of one end of the bundle. But it was emaciated, skin taut and suctioned to his skull. His lips were thin and pulled back to reveal his teeth. 

His eyes were gone. The empty sockets were like voids. There was no blood or fluid, just deep holes in his skull. 

Remus should have been more concerned about finding his brother like this, and he would have to take it up with his therapist later, because he felt nothing. No anger or sadness, no joy, no fear. Emotional exhaustion couldn't be the only explanation. 

He could hear skittering overheard. 

Whatever did this to Roman was still there.

And he was fine with being next. 

Thud 

Remus knew something was behind him, something big. Probably the same thing that killed Roman. 

“It's been a while,” Remus chuckled and turned around, “And the one time I come back is the one time I won't leave.” 

He was not at all horrified by the giant spider standing in front of him. It was the size of a wolf, fuzzy and black, and its eyes shone with understanding. Its fangs were bright purple and stained with red, but it made no move to attack. 

“Oh, you're pretty!” Remus noted with a small smile. If he was dessert, he would be happy to feed a beautiful creature like this. 

The spider inched away from him and reared back on its hind legs. 

Remus was in awe as the creature quaked and bulged, its exoskeleton cracking. Its first and last pairs of leggings expanded and shortened, cracking as they took on a human shape. It kept morphing its entire body, stretching and shrinking just so, and turning Remus on in the process.

“Okay, I retract my statement,” Remus gawked. The person standing in front of him had four spider limbs coming out of his back, deathly pale skin, and gorgeous shaggy hair. His human eyes were purple and full of mixed emotions, while the four just below them were beady and black. The only shame was, that this person was fully clothed in jeans, a tee, and hoodie.

“You're fucking hot!” Remus gasped. 

“What?!” the spidery man yelped. Remus knew that voice. He knew that voice better than anyone. 

“Virgil?” Remus asked as his face split into a grin. 

“You remember,” Virgil muttered. 

“Of course I remember! You're the only person who believed me and you comforted me! Ooh—are you saving me for dessert? I'm a tasty snack!” Remus gushed and clapped his hands. 

“What the fuck? No! You haven't done anything to warrant that,” Virgil bristled, “He killed my children. I grew up watching him ignoring the horrors you went through and what he didn’t do.” 

“Your children?” Remus pouted, “The spiders? But they're all different species.” 

“Do you really think I can create spiders without a mate?” Virgil scoffed, “I'm their guardian, a sort of spirit type thing.” 

“So I have a bestie who's a spirit and I have a heart boner for a spirit?” Remus gasped and bounced on his heels. 

“I’m not a spirit, I’m not sure what I am—wait. You do?” 

“Yeah! You're the only thing I missed when I ran away,” Remus giggled, “I hated leaving you behind.” 

Virgil was blushing, backing into the wall shyly. Remus couldn't handle the fact that the terrifying monster was so cute and flustered. 

Remus bopped up to him and pressed against his chest. 

“I want to be all yours, even if that means we fuck and I become dinner for your children,” he purred and stared up at Virgil. 

“I killed your entire family and ate them,” Virgil muttered, “And you actually want—?” 

“I do! I would become a little leggy baby if I could, if it meant I could stay with you!” 

“What if you could be like me?” 

“A sexy spider spirit thing? I would kill for that!” Remus beamed. 

Virgil ran a hand down his cheek and cupped his chin. Remus was in awe, staring into his six eyes. 

“That's something I can do,” Virgil said and leaned down. Remus vibrated with excitement. 

The second their lips met, Remus melted into Virgil’s chest. Virgil wrapped all of his arms around Remus and held him close. 

Remus moaned softly when Virgil took his lower lip between his teeth. This was too good to be true. 

And then a searing pain shot through his gums. Remus cried out, but Virgil didn't pull away, he held Remus tighter. 

Remus' legs quaked and his blood boiled. All of his muscles burned and turned to goo. He could feel himself peeling away from his skeleton while his skin tore open to make way for chitinous plates to take over. 

Virgil retracted his fangs and gently laid Remus on the cold cement ground. The cold ground felt heavenly against him. 

“The pain will go away soon,” Virgil said softly and stroked his hair, “I’m here, you're safe.” 

Remus could have sobbed at those words. They were so comforting, enough to numb the pain. 

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't cry. He couldn't see. He could feel his flesh peeling off his skeleton, his brain and spinal cord liquefying and seeping out of their boney prisons. 

“It's almost over, Remus,” Virgil said softly, “You're holding up so well.” 

Remus writhed and contorted. He couldn't scream when two new pairs of limbs erupted from his torso. And then his mouth sealed shut and two more limbs sprouted from his face.

And then the pain stopped. His vision came back, although much different than before. Virgil was kneeling beside him, smiling at him. 

“You’re cuter like this,” Virgil hummed and helped Remus stand on his eight legs. Remus chirped and wiggled his abdomen, unable to speak. He wanted to speak.

“You’re too weak to transform,” Virgil said, completely understanding him, “You need to eat.” 

Remus was hungry. There had to be food somewhere. He could smell fresh meat. 

Virgil stood and let him scurry about. Remus would find food. 

There was a large lump of webs on the ground. The source of the smell. 

He didn’t have a second thought before he jammed his chelicerae into the lump and liquefied the flesh. It didn’t occur to him what was in that web bundle, only that it was sustenance. 

By the time he was sated, the skin on Roman’s skull had melted off. 

With a little bit of willpower, Remus reared back on his last two sets of legs and morphed into a humanoid similar to Virgil. He was grinning and clapping like an excited child. 

Virgil pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek. 

“I’m here, you’re safe now, and we can leave this shithole behind, together.”

“Can we burn it to the ground and cuddle?” Remus asked and glanced at the floor. The pair of skeletons on the ground should have been terrifying. One of them was his! He ate his own brother! He should have been disgusted. But all he could feel was elation. 

“Let me get everyone out first, and then we can,” Virgil hummed, “I wanted to watch you destroy this place and the people in it for years. Revenge is sweeter when you do it yourself.” 

Remus giggled and kissed him again, just a quick little thing to make his spider blush. 

“You’re sweeter than any revenge. Let’s clear out the babies so we can cuddle by the fire,” he hummed. Virgil scooped him up and smiled softly. 

“You want to do more than that.” 

“You know it!” Remus laughed. He was thrilled that he could find happiness in the worst place in his world. And he had just the spider to keep it there.

[the-dumb-smart-friend]

Made a quick comic for my silly DnD character

[swordsonnet]

témoin, or: guidance for a martyr

and in the morning, when the men come with their pitchforks and flaming torches, to drag you across the village square and to your violent end, let it be known that you did not resist. you have always known this was going to happen. you have always prayed for this to happen.

to be a woman in this world is to be an open wound. to have a body like yours is to have a target painted on your back. you tried to purify your body, turn it into a temple, but it was never clean enough for that, so you had to make it a sacrifice instead. the lamb, after all, is always innocent.

when they strip the skin off your naked body, when they burn the flesh clean off your bones, when they cut off your breasts and leave you androgynous as an angel, you must not scream. your lips must not make a single sound that is not prayer.

remember that your torment is the divine weapon you wield, not just another act of senseless violence. remember that you are a torchbearer, a blaze of righteous truth, not just another beautiful corpse. remember that your flesh was rotten from the start. remember that your body is only holy when it bleeds.

when they rip your still-beating heart from the desecrated ruin of your body, will they hold one last fragile piece of god in their hands? will your suffering have been worth it?

you have to believe that. whatever happens, you must have faith. faith that the sun will rise for you once more. faith that you will leave your fleshly prison far behind and ascend to a kingdom of pure light, where the rivers run golden and the trees bear the sweetest fruit, where your wounds will be healed and your blood turned to honey, where pain is but a distant memory.

you must believe. if you don't, all of this will have been for nothing. if you don't, your blood will just be blood, soaking into vulgar soil. even when there is nothing left to hold onto, no more holiness to claw from your broken bones, you must believe.

fix your eyes upon the light. trust that there is a god above who has seen something to love in your shattered soul and will not let you fall.

don't lose sight of that light. maybe every scar you bear has been a sign from god. maybe you were never a victim, always a saint. the most tragic thing in the world is pain without a purpose.

[one-abuse-survivor]

I feel safe and comfortable talking about my abuse and bad experience I went through or have a bad panic attack and unwanted flashbacks without mentioning religion with strangers online who are in the same situation as me. I feel bad that I just want a normal conversation without having religion in it, all the time.

Like example - I have a sudden panic attack and unwanted flashbacks, what reply I got from my religion Christian mom is "Your heart has a hole and you let evil spirits in it", "must pray and read the Bible", "the Lord is here" etc etc... that's it. I don't want to hurt my mother that All I want is to talk without religion in it. All ears, listen to my problems. Am I wrong?

Hi. I sent an ask before, about I want a normal conversation with my mom without religion in it. I told her that people (here) were nice and never mentioned or used religion. And here's what mom replied (English is not her first language): - Anything as you wish - You trust someone online mami trust God - Coz my breath given by God... I thanks God in every circumstances... - I never find pple online to help... You n (my siblings) both the same... That's is why mami now keep quiet... Everything you two know coz you can go yr self - Trust thing online... Right wrong but put God 1st... Seek God 1st It hurts to see those messages.

Hey, nonnie.

I'm really sorry you're going through this. You are absolutely not wrong for not wanting religion brought up in conversation like your mom constantly does. It's clearly a trigger for you, and even if it wasn't, it's a perfectly valid boundary to not want people to preach to you about their God for any reason. She's the one in the wrong here for not wanting to respect that.

If you have the ability to put some space between you and your mom, I would consider doing so, because she's clearly not interested in respecting you or care about your well-being. If not, please remember that what you're asking of her is perfectly reasonable, and her attitude is not a reflection of who you are, but of who she is.

Sending all my support your way ❤️

[thedepressedweasel]

Drag queens coming to libraries and reading books to children is not child abuse; y'all are just a bunch of transphobic, queerphobic and homophobic idiots who are perfectly fine with priests, rabbis and pastors actually abusing children!

[epicwafflepie]

Thinking about my religious trauma and I'm realizing there's a lot more to it than what I initially thought. Trigger warning for RAMCOA and religious abuse under the cut.

I have severe religious trauma from multiple different sources. One is from the organization (or cult but idk if this would be considered one) that abused me. They used Christianity as an excuse for their horrific abuse and torture. They told me that everything they did to me "was part of God's plan" and if I ever died "it would be a noble sacrifice" and "it'll give you a very special spot in heaven". I can't remember everything they told me and groomed me to believe, those just stick out to me the most. It still confuses me to this day and I wonder if they actually did believe that or didn't and just used it as a tool to groom children. And I still wonder what kind of org it really was outside of a child and animal trafficking ring that used Christianity as an excuse and a grooming tactic. Like I wonder if it was a church or some kind or a doctor's office or smth. It feels like a mix of both because they used a mix of religious and medical stuff. Which probably also explains my fear of medical stuff, specifically injections, to where I get panic attacks. And why male doctors terrify me. I still remember it smelling like a hospital room or a doctor's office. I remember people who handled the injections of drugs and "took care" children who were badly hurt from the abuse dressed up as doctors. Wearing white coats, blue gloves, and blue medical face masks. And I say "took care" very lightly, they showed no emotion towards us and were cold. Parts of the building was so similar to a hospital or doctor's office. But also parts if it felt like some kind of church or religious sanctuary. There were crosses all over the damn place. Like in every room and hallway. Even the ones where my horrific abuse took place. I don't really remember anything else. And even these memories I have of the people involved are very fuzzy.

Another part of my religious trauma is very different and I'll just go over it quickly. When I was 11 I had a foster mom who was a Baptist Christian. She was fucking insane and had insane beliefs. The biggest thing is that she thought autism wasn't real and was the devil possessing you. I wasn't diagnosed at the time but my sister was. She singled out my younger sister a lot and I remember her attempting a diy exorcist on her. Which was just her taking a bible and screaming versus and "get out of her satan" right in my sister's face as she cried. I remember me and my brother trying to get up and leave from the room then she told us to sit back down because "the devil could get us too" and "nobody would want a foster child contaminated by the devil". She was a fucking insane bitch and we weren't even supposed to be there. Apparently according to my mom I told her and my great aunt everything and then they found out that she had her foster parents rights taken from her. So she legally wasn't supposed to be a foster parent. We were taken out of there quickly after that cuz my great aunt threatened to sue if they didn't. To this day I still hold hatred towards CPS and the foster care system because of it. They're corrupted as fuck and needs a new system.

Idk I just felt like rambling. I've been dealing with flashbacks and more repressed memories of my RAMCOA coming out. Idk when it'll end. I want it to end soon it's making me distressed.

[t-o-r-t-u-r-e-d-p-o-e-t]

I can't believe homophobia is still a thing in 20 fuckin 24 🙄 clearly this motherfucker didn't hear TS when she said SHADE NEVER MADE ANYBODY LESS GAY 🙃 and this specific conversation/person I'm referring to was using the Bible as his reasoning FOR his homophobic bullshit, continuously cutting me off by yelling "IT SAYS IN THIS BOOK!" or some variation of that when a few of us that live in my building were having a discussion that went a bit wayward. He was saying that you can't be both Christian and LGBTQ.And up until last night, I had considered him a friend. I even gave him another chance TWO previous times that he showed me red flags, but after last night, he's cut off. Also, I was a victim of religious abuse when I was a freshman in high school by a teacher when I had my first girlfriend, and last night with that dude really triggered me and reminded me of that shit and how awful I felt just because I refused to hide being bisexual. And that is just unacceptable.

[fragmented-artist]

X

Blaine

[aphidclan-clangen]

part 2 out of 3

[a-hell-of-a-lot-of-muses]

"I have been gifted with the Word of God; The Scarlet Letter administers punishment to the unjust and unrepentant sinners, leaving an engraving mark upon them.

God has tasked me with the mission of punishing heavy sinners and convicting them of their sin in the hopes of repentance." Or so he sincerely believed. It was better than having his ability be the work of Satan, like his mother loved to claim.

A flutter of feathers, taking flight for a moment before returning back to human form, looking up to the man with a smile. "I do use my gift to see the world in so many ways~ To swim as a fish~ To fly as a bird~ And to run as a horse~ It's so fun~!! May I ask what you were gifted with?"

[hadesmediocreart]

Me when the religious imagery gets me

[one-abuse-survivor]

Ice Anon -

Oh my God, I think my dad is going to hit me later. For context I just had a breakdown again because I was going to be forced to church again, I was fighting going, I told mom how going makes me want to die/kill myself, and even explained some stuff to my father.

I felt like throwing up, I was shaking, my breathing was not right, even my heartbeat was fucked up. I was getting vivid images on how to kill myself, I actually picked up some scissors and tried to cut into my neck and wrist but they were too dull.

He kept preaching to me about how I was a slave to fear and how I needed to stop, how I needed to go cause it was the right thing to do and how I might miss something. How the devil is trying to attack me by making me feel this way. He kept talking about love and how I need to go.

I can't stand it, people like him make me hate church, they preach love but hurt me all the time. Mom actually listened to me and was trying to convince dad to not make me go, she seems worried and I even admitted to her while crying that I fucking hate him.

The reason I'm scared my dad is going to hit me when he gets back is cause the more I refused to go, the angrier he go, and right before he left he said, "I'll deal with you when I get back." I'm so scared, I don't know what to do.

My tears have dried by now, but I don't want to deal with that man when he gets back, I have the door locked but since we're traveling we all share a room. My sister said if he goes to hit me she will jump in front, but I told her that she should record it instead, and she agreed and asked me to charge her phone for her cause it's dead. She went to church with our parents and was very concerned.

I'm going to try and not think about it anymore

Ice Anon - Update, he didn't hit me but the fact that both my sister and I's first thoughts was that he was going to hit me isn't great. Also doesn't help that last night I realized I might have delusions sometimes.

To elaborate sometimes I will be convinced the world is ending and nothing I, or anyone else does can convince me other wise, and since that is a big fear of mine I freak out. It goes away on it's own eventually but in the moment I am convinced it is true, even if I tell myself it's stupid while it's happening. (Meaning when in this state I sometimes know this thinking is bullshit but I am still convinced)

So I don't know how to feel anymore

Hi again, nonnie. I'm so, so sorry this happened. This sounds like an extremely traumatic and distressing situation, and one where you needed your safety to be put first. Instead, your dad decided to overstep all your boundaries and abuse and threaten you. I'm so sorry he said those things about the devil; I frankly can't begin to understand how horrible that must be to hear when you've already gone through this kind of abuse/trauma. You have every right to hate him for what he's put you through.

I'm really relieved to hear he didn't hit you in the end—but that doesn't make his threats and verbal abuse any better.

You deserved so much better than this, nonnie. I'm truly sorry you've been put through so much.

I don't think I've ever experienced delusions, so I can't help with that; but I hope you find answers and support in that regard as well.

Sending so much support your way ❤️

[luvrgreyy]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, ii

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 3k summary: realizing parents don’t always know whats best. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

previous chapter | next chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. religious themes, religious trauma, neglectful/abusive parents, physical abuse(not by leon), mentions of bruises and physical injury, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), reader tries coffee for the first time. there will be smut in future chapters.

a/n: sorry for making you guys wait, i wasn’t really contented with the first version i made of this so i decided to redo most of it, which didn’t turn out that good either. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

you had returned from leon’s house, the familiar scent of home enveloping you. the floral aroma of your mother's cleaning products mingled with the rich scent of your father's coffee, yet neither could dispel the unease that clung to you. the house was empty, amplifying the loneliness that settled like a weight in your chest.

of course, the chores. you still needed to finish them before your parents returned. you rushed to sweep the kitchen floor, hastening to the laundry next. the clock ticked ominously, each second a reminder of how little time you had.

but leon’s image haunted you, an uninvited specter in your mind. you tried to forget, to focus on your tasks, but your hands trembled as you attempted to fold a shirt, the fabric slipping from your grasp. frustration welled up within you, a sigh escaping your lips, as you envisioned his eyes, his smile, the warmth that seemed so foreign in your own home.

you moved onto the dishes, hoping the mundanity of the task would distract you. but the clattering plates only evoked memories of leon’s chuckle, his voice echoing in your thoughts, a gentle reminder of the fleeting moments you shared.

and despite your efforts, the chores remained unfinished. the broom leaned against the wall, dishes piled high in the sink, and the laundry lay untouched on the living room floor. the weight of your failure pressed down on you, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil.

you couldn’t recall how it happened, your mind always foggy afterward. one moment you were rushing to complete your tasks, the next you were lying on the floor, pain throbbing in your head. vision blurred, you struggled to sit up, the room spinning around you. you reached out, steadying yourself against the coffee table, the cold surface grounding you in reality.

that's when you noticed them — bruises blooming on your arms, smaller ones on your knees, cuts shallow but jagged on your knees and elbows, and tiny splinters embedded in your fingers. each mark a testament to the chaos that reigned in your home.

your parents towered over you, a sight you'd grown used to. their faces were contorted into rage, though you weren't entirely sure what you had done to deserve it. their anger was a constant companion, an ever-present threat.

your father grabbed you by the hair, yanking your head back painfully. "ain't this all you had to do before we came home? 'ts not so hard, is it? don't get what you had to do that's so much more important than what we tell you." you opened your mouth, but only a groan emerged, the pain throbbing in your head, each word a dagger to your heart.

your mother knelt down, roughly grabbing your chin to force you to look at her. "don't you dare act like you're hurt, missy. ain't nothin' hurt. you just want an excuse not to do your chores." her grip tightened, nails digging into your skin.

"we'll give you an excuse, you spoiled brat."

your mother kicked you hard in the side, a shout of pain escaping your lips. your father dragged you to your feet, his grip iron on your upper arm. he wrenched you toward the staircase, each step a reminder of your helplessness.

"up to your room, young lady. don't wanna see you down here till morning." you stumbled up the stairs, each step sending jolts of pain through your bruised body.

you remember it vividly, collapsing onto your bed that night, tears pricking at your eyes, attempting to sob quietly in the darkness of your room.

a storm brewed closer, and you sat in your disheveled cream-colored dress, swinging your legs from the trunk of a tree that stood between your house and his. your face was streaked with dirt and wind-blown hair. you gazed into the distance, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, oblivious to the world around you.

the front door creaked open, but you remained unaware, lost in your thoughts.

"hi, neighbor," you heard. your head snapped down, eyes meeting his, a flicker of surprise crossing your features.

"hi," a small peep escaped your lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

he stood there, looking up at you, concern etched on his face.

"everything okay up there?" he gestured vaguely at the branches surrounding you. you opened your mouth, but no words came out. just gasps and wheezes. your lungs felt like they were on fire. and all you managed was a quiet hum, just enough for him to hear.

his attempts to climb the tree were futile, making it halfway before he stood on the ground. "you know, there's a perfectly good porch down here. the grass is really nice this time of year too." his voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness you were accustomed to.

you awkwardly shifted on the branch, attempting to cover your legs, the bark digging into your thighs through your dress. "how'd you get those?" his eyes lingered on your bruises, concern deepening.

"i— i'm not supposed to talk to you," you try to avoid eye contact. "sorry."

his brow furrowed slightly at your whispered response. "oh, come on. don't be like that," he leaned against the trunk, looking up at you with intense blue eyes. "talk to me." his voice was low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine, a strange comfort in his persistence.

"i can't," your voice barely reached his ears, but he caught it. "i'm not supposed to tell."

"not supposed to tell what?" he sounded genuinely curious and a little amused, like he thought you were playing a game. his gaze drifted over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "honey, you can tell me anything. i'm your neighbor, remember? you even bought me cookies. we're friends now."

you glanced down, then back up, then down again. your eyes darted around, worried someone might be watching. when they flicked back up to him, your brows furrowed, eyes frightened. "please, you can't tell anyone, okay? i'd get in so much trouble if my parents found out i told you..." you trailed off, biting your lip. your hands curled tightly around the branches above your head. you trembled slightly, the fear palpable.

"i promise, i won't."

"you gotta tell me why you're so scared to talk. what's going on at home?" his eyes... they just kept looking at you, seeing right through you. you swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. how could you explain? they'd hate you more if you told. and leon... he'd probably think you were weird. or broken. or worse.

but he asked. and he seemed like he wanted to know. and you really didn't want to cry in front of him. so you took a deep breath and told him the truth. "my parents... they hit me. only sometimes. when i don't do what they want." tears pricked your eyes, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold them back.

you weren't crying. you weren't crying. you weren't... a sob escaped your throat, and soon you were hiccuping and sniffling, clinging to the branches as you cried. he just looked at you as you cried. "sorry."

he didn't say anything. didn't move. just kept looking at you as you cried. this was so embarrassing. but it also felt like a relief, finally telling someone the truth. even if that someone was a boy from next door you barely knew. after a few moments, he finally spoke.

"you know i'm here for you, right? you can talk to me, about anything." his voice was gentle now, not gravelly and teasing like before. "care to come down now?"

"can't," you timidly shook your head and turned away slightly. "it's almost dinner."

the wind whipped through the branches, the only sound echoing through the neighborhood. you looked down at him, his gaze fixed on you. the tears wouldn't stop. "please don't look at me like that," you sniffled, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

his lips parted as if to say something, but he was interrupted by the door squeaking open, your mother calling out.

"dinner's ready!” the sternness in her voice made you go rigid. your eyes widened, and your hand quickly slapped over your mouth to hold back a whimper. there wasn't much time left. you clambered down the tree, wincing with each bruise pushed to its limit.

halfway down, he reached up to help, his hand grasping your arm to steady you. your feet planted on the grass, you were met with a reassuring smile. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

"okay."

you turned back to your house, swallowing the dread building in your stomach. your mother stood at the front door, arms crossed, a stern look on her face.

"where've you been?" she snapped as you approached. "dinner's been waiting, you know."

"sorry," you swallowed your words. "i— i was outside. in the garden."

"in the garden," she repeated, a hint of suspicion in her voice, masked behind false care. she scrutinized you with her piercing gaze, taking note of your messy hair, dress covered in twigs, dirt stains. the evidence was all over you, each mark a silent accusation.

"well, c'mon then. no point in standing out here all night," she snapped. "go clean up. you're filthy."

later that night, after dinner and chores, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. thoughts fixated on leon. the way he looked at you. the way he listened. the way he didn't judge. his presence was a balm to your wounded soul, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

hours ticked by, sleep eluding you. every time your eyes shut, images of him popped into your head. his intense gaze, the small quirks of his expression, the timbre of his voice, and that slight, warm smile. each memory a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

you rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push away the strange feelings stirring within. the uncertainty gnawed at you, a constant companion.

eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, sleep came at last. but it did not bring peace. your fears came to life in your dreams, the pain and dread all too real, haunting you, a relentless reminder of your reality.

the following morning, rain pelted against your window, the sound echoing through your small room. the weather matched your mood, a reflection of the storm within. groggily, you lifted yourself off the bed, body covered in aches and bruises from the previous day.

the rain continued, drumming against the roof. you stood at your window, staring into the gloom, mind wandering back to yesterday. to leon. to the way his presence had offered a momentary respite from your suffering.

a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. you flinched, heart racing. the pain in your body faded as unease washed over you, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within, each rumble a reminder of your unrest.

your groggy mind struggled to shake off sleep's haze. you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the nightmare's memories lingered like a bad taste. rain lashed the window, creating a steady rhythm that filled the morning air, a symphony of sorrow.

carefully, you climbed out of bed, feeling the throb in your body, and pulled on the first outfit you found, not bothering to change into something clean. your hair was a mess, eyes heavy with unshed tears, the weight of the previous day still hanging over you.

you hesitated at the door, the rain's sound intensifying. but something pushed you forward. maybe it was the need for distraction, the curiosity of seeing leon again, or just the need for human interaction. the need to feel less alone.

you made your way to his house, shivering as cold droplets soaked through your clothes. the front door creaked open at your knock, revealing leon in all his disheveled glory. he looked as tired as you felt, but seeing him lifted a weight off your chest, a small comfort amidst the chaos.

"hey," he greeted, voice rough from sleep, his eyes warming as he took in your bedraggled appearance.

"hi," you smiled awkwardly. "i hope you don't mind, i was hoping we could kind of..."

"i don’t know, talk��� i guess."

he blinked, slowly registering your smile. he stepped aside, allowing you in, his presence a silent reassurance.

"mind? are you kidding me? you're soaked. come in." he led you into the living room, closing the door behind you, the warmth of his home a stark contrast to the cold outside.

you shivered again, and he noticed, throwing you a towel. "here, dry off a bit." as you wrapped the towel around your shoulders, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, his gaze seeming to strip you bare. it made you shiver for an entirely different reason, a strange warmth spreading through you.

"i was just about to make coffee. want some?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen, his voice a gentle invitation.

"no, thank you."

"are you sure? i just brewed a fresh pot," he stands there expectantly, hands resting on his hips. his gaze bores into you, studying you. like he's trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours. you shift uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"okay," he eventually drops it. "so, what're you doing here this early?" he gestured, his curiosity evident.

why did you come here? oh right. to distract yourself. and also, because you sort of wanted... to see him. "i just... i had some free time, and i thought..." you trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. this felt so awkward, so vulnerable. he filled the silence with his understanding.

"no need to explain," he said. his voice was casual, but his eyes held concern. he studied you for a moment. "i get it."

the way your hair stuck to your face, the slight trembling in your fingers, the faint tinge of pink on your cheeks. you were vulnerable, and he sensed your deep troubles. he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his presence a silent support.

"you're shivering," he pointed out, voice concerned. "are you sure you don't want coffee?"

you shook your head. "i don't drink coffee," you cleared your throat. "my parents don't let me."

he quirked a brow, confusion and disbelief washing over his features. but his response held no judgment, just a matter-of-fact tone, his concern evident.

"your parents don't let you?" his voice was calm, yet his words carried a subtle bite.

you nodded. the tension was palpable. the silence that followed was filled with understanding, deeper than words. he saw through you, understood what you weren't saying, his gaze a silent promise.

"you're kidding,” he continued. "what kind of parents don't let their kid drink coffee?"

he said it half-jokingly, but not to tease. he was genuinely surprised at your strict situation, an absurdity to him, his disbelief a reflection of his concern.

"it's just coffee," he muttered. "not like its hard drugs or anything,"

"yeah," you chuckled uncomfortably, the sound a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

he stepped closer, leaning down to get a better look at you, eyes searching your face. "your parents... they don't let you do a lot of things, do they?"

"no," you mumbled, eyes shifting away. "but they say it's what's best for me."

his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you confirmed his hunch. your relationship with your parents wasn't healthy, a truth that weighed heavily on him.

he scoffed softly, pulling back. "right," he said, voice dripping with cynicism. "because your parents clearly know what's best for you, huh?"

"of course they do," your voice cracks. "they're my parents—“

"so what? being a parent means controlling your kid’s life?" he scoffed. "bullshit."

despite his bluntness, he didn't raise his voice. he wasn't angry, just frustrated. he wanted you to see the fallacy in your logic. it was difficult for him to witness your treatment, his concern a silent plea for you to see the truth.

he paused, gaze softening. he saw how much you held back, the tension in your shoulders, the nervous fiddling with your shirt's hem, each movement a silent cry for help.

"i—" you wanted to say something, but your voice was strained, just quiet squeaks, the words caught in your throat.

his face softened, realizing pushing further wouldn't help. his concern a gentle reminder that he was there for you.

"how about that coffee? i'll even make it decaf, so you don’t get those caffeine jitters," he smiled. "sound good?"

you nodded. "yeah, okay."

satisfied, he headed to the kitchen, returning with a steaming mug. placing it in your hands, he ensured your fingers were securely wrapped around it before letting go. his actions were gentle but firm, fearing you might crumble if too rough, his presence a silent comfort.

"careful," he cautioned. "it's hot."

the rain had stopped, replaced by a gentle patter of raindrops on the windowpane. finally, you broke the silence.

"thank you," you said softly. for the coffee, yes, but for everything else too.

tags: @lottiies @arcane5019 @crowleyco @catnipchannie

[thedepressedweasel]

@/Parents who turn off their kids' WiFi every night with the intention of brainwashing them into their worldviews in addition to limiting their exposure to the outside world:

I HOPE YOU FUCKING ROT!!!

[fishersfall]

Procrastinated last night and drew some more edgy art of Travis :)

[wildfeather5002]

Indigenous folks, ex-christians & anyone who's knowledgeable on social issues, I have two questions that have bothered me for a long while and I believe y'all might know how to answer them.

The question: I read a webcomic about community A living on an island along with another community B with different culture & beliefs from them. Community A believes that their culture & religion are the correct ones and that members of community B are dooming themselves to eternal damnation (in a religious sense) if they don't adopt the beliefs & practices of community A.

I saw someone talking about the comic in its comment section, saying that one of the characters who's a member of community B is selfish for not adopting the burial practices from community A's religion, because according to that someone, not burying their loved one like community A believes is correct is " potentially dooming their loved one to eternal damnation".

If you're indigenous, has rhetoric / talking points like this been used against your own religious / cultural practices? Could you give any concrete examples?

If you have religious trauma / are ex christian of any kind, have people used talking points like this to guilt trip, to frighten, or to shame you into obeying religious rules? (People belonging to other religions than christianity are welcome to give their perspectives as well!)