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furiousgoldfish · 1 year

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My family are okay, and it could be a lot worse than it becoming more ... influenced these days? They've been listening much more frequently to gateway alt right stuff (in front of me at least) and gone a bit heavy in the religion aspect of stuff. Had a bit of a panic attack when they listened to some anti-lgbt stuff in front of me (in the closet)

They themselves were abused in their own childhoods (though they definitely wouldn't put it that way + normalized back when they were growing up) so maybe i should cut them some slack? Apart from occasional slaps on my hand and when i was younger they used to bang my head with knuckles a bit if they were really mad. Theyve apologised for it but do mention how back in their day it was way worse.

I dont know i guess ive been thinking much more about the future recently and how theyd HATE it if they found out some of the stuff i really think. Lots of yelling. Its embarrassing to talk about this with friends.

This sounds dumb when i put it into words but for years now ive been forced to keep a diary. I liked the idea of having one and writing down about my self so i went with it until one day i wrote about how mad i was at them. They read it despite me telling them not to and made me apologise and write down how sorry i was for doing that. There was a lot of yelling. I cried. They openly read what i write now and kinda force me to do it. ngl I kinda hate the thing now. Was that wrong of them?

maybe this is too vague for a checklist but request for one about signs your family is going down a conspiracy rabbithole/signs your parents are victims of misinformation would be nice. This ended up rambly im sorry.

Anon, I am so sorry, this sounds like an absolutely terrifying experience. You're blameless in all of this, you're perfect as you are, but your parents are actively participating in a hate group against your own person, in front of you, consistently exposing you to that narrative, and that is like being in the enemy's lair, isn't it? It has to affect your well being negatively, to hear those sorts of things, it's like you're forced every day to listen to perspectives of people who absolutely despise you, think you shouldn't exist or be the way you are, and who are ready to go and hurt anyone who is like you.

No, you do not need to cut them any slack. Were you any of their parents who did those things to them? No? Were you the founder of the culture where were hit, or force children to hit themselves? I don't think it's possible, since you weren't even born when that shit started. So your responsibility for this is zero. Yet these two people are coming at you asking you to be grateful they're not doing worse to you. Apparently by the logic of 'we had it bad, now you have to be grateful when we do bad things to you'. As if.

No person or being who was abused in the past, regardless of how badly, has the 'free card' to now inflict similar abuse on you. That is completely ridiculous and if that were true, than anyone abused would be going around hurting everyone else and it would be 'fine' because that person was abused as well. That kind of thinking only brings forth more abuse and trauma and nothing else. You did nothing to deserve any of that shit. If their parents hurt them, they should go ahead and take it up with their own parents. Except, they don't, do they? Because they cowards and prefer blaming and directing it towards their child.

If you had a kid, would you want that kid to be grateful you're hurting them slightly less than your parents are doing to you? It sounds insane, doesn't it. You'd want your kid to be happy and safe from ANY abuse, not paying for whatever anyone else has done to you in the past. Because that kid is innocent and did nothing to warrant bearing the burden of your past. And you are that kid right now, you are asked to bear the burden of the abuse that got absorbed into culture, abuse that your parents suffered and abuse they feel entitled to inflict onto you, and for what? It doesn't make anything better or fairer. It doesn't make the world a better place if you're getting hurt in it. If your parents think it's normal they can do it to their parents, thats none of your business. You're a kid brought into that family by no will of your own, subjected to horrifying shit and told you should bear it like it's normal. It's not normal. No child deserves this.

I also have to say that banging your own head with knuckles is especially vicious and victim-blaming abuse to do, I'm sickened by the very thought, and if they felt sorry for that, they would have never done it. It sounds like they'll do just anything in anger and expect 'sorry' to fix it. Sorry doesn't fix abuse. They shouldn't have slapped your wrists either.

The last part of your ask really had me in shock and horror, because that was such an intimate invasion of your privacy, and for them not even even feel sorry or ashamed for invading your private boundaries like that, but to be enraged you dared to feel anger? It's disgusting what they did. They should be so deeply ashamed. Any normal people would realize there's something wrong with them if their child is so mad and would take it as a sign to do some introspection and to evaluate whether they've been unfair, cruel, abusive or hateful to the kid, that is if they already went so far to read your diary without your permission, that they forced you to have!

Their reactions prove that they're so dead-set on controlling you, they even want to control your inner thoughts, convince you that you have no right to anger, no right to human feelings or human expressions, that you should be like a robot who only listens to commands and reacts in the way they want to. It's dehumanizing, disgusting and insanely cruel. You're a human being who's been hurt. Of course you're angry. You have the right to anger. You should have the right to express it in any way you want to, not just to write it in your private diary, but to yell and scream and fight back. But you got punished and had to take your own words back, when you did the least possible expression of it, writing it down privately.

Here's a post that feels relevant, explaining why it's wrong for parents to suppress anger in their children. Here's another one on importance of anger.

They know that any sign of your anger is a proof of their abuse, and that's why they're fighting so hard to suppress it. If they put that energy in trying to be good parents, they could have been great parents to you. They made their choices. Just based on this shameless and gross invasion of privacy and trying to control even your thoughts, it sounds like they have narcissistic tendencies, and they should not be trusted with a child.

I wish I could give you the checklist you asked for, but I have no experience whatsoever on parents, or people, who are being sucked into conspiracy theories, I think I've read articles about it, on topics like QAnon, explaining the phenomena, I'll try to find the post explaining why do people fall for conspiracy theories in general. Here it is. I hope it helps.

If anyone has more resources on conspiracy theories or knows about a checklist, please link it to this post.

#abusive parents #physical violence tw #child abuse #victim blaming #victim shaming #invasion of privacy #breach of privacy #punishing anger

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just-foster · 23 days

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Happy birthday, your life is over…

Foster comes home late on the eve of his 18th birthday, and is confronted by some harsh truths. (Triggers: abuse, vomit, physical violence)

1:19am. He was officially 18 years old, and he slunk into the house through the front door feeling giddy and tipsy. No sneaky climbing in through the window for Foster — he was an adult, and he could do as he damn well pleased. Seven more months and he’d be out of this house for good. Au revoir, you shit-box. Bon Voy-fucking-age. He chuckled to himself as he stumbled out of his shoes, defiantly leaving them where they lay because today his father couldn’t touch him. It’s my birthday, you bastard. Your power over me is gone. He wasn’t expecting cake or presents; the best thing his father could give him was the same thing he always had: Neglect.

Of course as soon as he thought that, a light clicked on in the living room — Doug Foster sitting in his trusty armchair with his usual dour expression. “You’re late,” he said gruffly, and Foster, high both from the night and from an admittedly potent cocktail of alcohol and illicit substances didn’t have the higher brain function (he’d laugh at that one later) to stop himself.

“Or I’m just extra early for tomorrow,” he slurred snarkily. It wasn’t like his father had ever cared enough to set out boundaries like a curfew. Curfew was whenever the man was in a sour enough mood, and Foster wasn’t around to help make him feel bigger. But it wouldn’t work today, Pops; Foster was invincible.

“The fuck you just say?” And quicker than he could even process, his dad was across the room, pushing him up against the door and getting ugly in his face. Foster’s head slammed back against solid wood, and he winced as he saw stars. “You need to learn some manners, boy. Where’d you get that smart fucking mouth? I oughta smack it right off you.” It only took one whiff of the man’s breath for Foster to realize they’d both been imbibing tonight…

His head was spinning — no longer in the pleasant way — and that paired with the smell was enough to make his stomach turn. He only had one second to realize what was coming before the contents of his stomach were out of his mouth and down his father’s shirt.

Foster felt the floor rise up to meet him before he felt the sting bloom in his jaw, the taste of copper flooding his mouth in an all-too-familiar sensation. Smart mouths, he had come to find, were often also bloody ones…

“Shit,” Doug Foster cursed. “Un-fucking-believable. Waste of fucking breath you are, and this goddamn shirt, too.” The man’s closet was full of shirts exactly like it, all as generic and white as he was, but Foster didn’t doubt he loved that shirt a fuck of a lot more than he’d ever loved him.

Foster stayed on the floor, pressing his head to the cool tile like it could stop his head from throbbing. “18 years of service,” he drawled, lazily lifting a hand as if to salute. 18 years of ruining everything, of being a disappointment, of being a punching bag. He thought his dad might do him the decency of ignoring him today, but now he wondered if the man even knew its significance.

“What?” the man asked harshly, too occupied with his shit-soaked shirt to try to decipher his son’s drunken ramblings.

“18 years,” Foster repeated louder, turning to sit on his ass and face his father. “Today. That’s 18 years today.”

His father sneered. “You think I didn’t know that?” And whether he did or was just covering, Foster had never gotten to know his father well enough to get that kind of read. “The birth of the death of my family. How could I possibly forget?”

“I guess I’ll wait for your card in the mail,” he replied, because he never knew when to quit, or how not to make things worse. He expected the backhand that came for him this time, and his shoulders tensed to brace for it.

“I wouldn’t be so flippant if I was you. That’s your mother and sister you’re talking about.” And funny how it was only ever his mother and his sister when his father wanted to guilt him for it… “They’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you. Fucking curse you are to the whole goddamn world.” He’d heard that line before; it looked like he was in for Papa’s Greatest Hits to celebrate the special occasion…

In truth, all of his father’s favorite insults had lost their potency lately. The I wish you’d never been borns, the your mother is spinning in her graves… All of them just felt trite since he and Ginny had started plotting their big escape. If he was such a fucking waste of life, then why was someone as good as her planning her life around him? He rolled his eyes. “Can we do this tomorrow?” he asked boredly. “I got plans in the morning, and something tells me your gonna want me to clean that puke before it starts to crust over.” Another smart aleck comment, and he braced again for retaliation, only for it to never come.

Instead, his father got a wicked glint in his eye, one that terrified him more than anything else he could possibly do. “That girl, huh? The one next door?” Foster felt his blood run cold; he hadn’t even known his dad knew about Ginny and, too shocked hide his surprise, the answer was clear across his face. “The one whose window you climb into almost every night like some lovesick rabid dog in heat?”

How did he know? How did he know? Doug Foster wasn’t supposed to pay close enough attention to know… But he did. As if reading his mind, he answered, “It’s my job to know what goes on in this town. I know all about her, and your plan to run away together. If you wanted it to be a secret, you shouldn’t make your plans so loudly.”

It was fine. It was fine. Just because the man knew, that didn’t mean it changed anything. What did he care what his son did after graduation? It wasn’t like Doug Foster would dare lay a hand on someone else — a girl, of all people. But he’d long since proven physical violence wasn’t the only weapon in his arsenal… Could he make sure Ginny didn’t graduate? Could he tank her chances of getting into college? The man was a powerful enemy, and Foster wouldn’t put anything past him when it came to punishing him. He had never cared enough about anything for his father to lord it over him, but Ginny… it would kill Ginny if she didn’t get her diploma.

“It’s not- It’s just a joke,” he said quickly, all his smug rebellion wiped clean now that it was someone else in jeopardy. “It’s just a stupid inside joke.” It wasn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt for his father to think so. Not that he was going a good job of being convincing.

“Good,” his father nodded, clearly not convinced but also not caring. The cruelness of his words would hit either way. “For her sake, son, more than your own. You’re gonna ruin her, Matthew. You can’t even help it. It’s just your nature. Don’t you ever forget that.” There was a sick gleam of pleasure in his eye, like he savored laying out his son’s ruin. “Even if you think you can escape it. You take that girl, steal her from everything she knows, eventually, you’ll fuck up. You always fuck up, and you know what happens when you get careless and she ends up pregnant? You’re a curse, boy. You’ll only be resigning her to the same fate as your mother. You’re gonna kill her, one way or another, and when that happens you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Foster did a good job pretending his father’s words never bothered him — sometimes, he did so well, he even had himself convinced. But to say he didn’t care was even more of a lie than saying his plans were just a joke, more of a lie than saying he and Ginny were only friends… And for the first time, his father’s threats weren’t just against himself — they were against the only person Foster had ever truly cared about.

Did that make them true? He couldn’t say, but it was far too great a risk not to be sure. Hadn’t he just said Ginny not being able to graduate would destroy her? And that was the best case scenario — the one where his father was their greatest threat. The worst case scenario? The threat was himself…

You’re gonna kill her, one way or another, and when that happens you’ll only have yourself to blame.

He felt sick all over again — nauseous and shaky, and closer to crying than he’d been in ages. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was his birthday. He was supposed to be invincible.

“Think about it, Matthew,” his father continued. “For once in your life, make the right decision.” With one last pitying look, his father retreated, leaving Foster alone in the dark, cold entryway.

#muse #hc #abuse tw #vomit tw #physical violence tw

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fletcherwilbury · 9 months

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@sicktember Day 6: Sick and Injured

Warning for injury, joint dislocation, mention of broken bones, arguing, physical violence, illness

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i-am-still-bb · 7 months

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No. 14

“Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Flare | Water Inhalation | "Just hold on."

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: T Words: 2245

Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) AU (Tumblr / Ao3)

Takes place 1-2 months before "Too late, too late, your love gave me life."

Warnings: domestic abuse, physical violence, mild sexual content, slurs, homophobia

/ Kili / / I know you have your phone. / Missed Call from Fili @ 9:37pm Missed Call from Fili @ 9:38pm Missed Call from Fili @ 9:39pm / I just want to know that you’re okay. / / please call me back /

—

Earlier

/ The bike’s working again. / / !!! / / Want to go for a ride ;) / / On the bike / / Both? /

Kili grinned before replying.

/ Just the bike / / Tease / / 10 min /

It was the first nice day in the valley. Jackets had been discarded in favor of bare arms that were warmed by the sun. The breeze still had a bite to it, but it was only February. It was forecast to last only a few days before the temperatures dipped low again and the clouds returned and everyone was taking advantage of it. The hum of lawn equipment filled the narrow streets of Kili’s neighborhood. Some girls next door were laying out in the sun in swimsuit tops.

Kili managed to slip outside and down to the corner without being wrangled into doing lawn work by his father. The man needed a hobby. His obsession with landscaping was unhealthy. But Kili would much rather have his father paying attention to the bushes in the backyard than him.

The rumble of the dirtbike announced Fili’s arrival before he even turned the corner.

“Show off!” Kili shouted with a grin.

Fili smirked.

He was shirtless. A flannel shirt was tied around his waist and tucked beneath his thighs.

“Ready?”

Kili swung a leg over the back of the back. He accepted the helmet from Fili. “Where are we going?”

Fili shrugged. “Where do you want to go”

“The reservoir?” Kili suggested, tucking his hair back beneath the helmet’s black nylon straps.

“Too many people.”

“Really?” Kili teased, sensing Fili’s intent.

“Yeah, really!”

“Hmm.” Kili wrapped his arms around Fili’s waist, his hips now pressed tightly against Fili’s backside. Fili gripped one of Kili’s thighs and squeezed. Kili ducked his head, tilting too the side to avoid knocking their helmets together, and ran his nose over the bare skin of Fili’s upper back. “How about…” he gently bit down on Fili’s shoulder. Fili tipped his head to allow easier access. “That one place,” Kili suggested.

“That could work.”

Kili gave Fili a squeeze.

“You have to promise to go skinny dipping though.”

“What?! That water will be freezing! It’s ice cold even in July!”

Fili’s voice pitched low, “I’ll warm you up afterwards.”

The prospect of seeing Fili naked in full sunlight left Kili more than willing to do just about anything.

—

Kili was not really naked. He was still wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. Not that those were going to do a whole lot of concealing when he got out of the water.

“How long do I have to stay in for?” His teeth were already chattering.

“Five minutes!”

Kili scowled and dug his fingers into the river bed.

This river was one fed by the snow melt from higher elevations. In a few weeks it would be too dangerous to even consider setting foot in, but right now the water was only 1-2 feet deep at the deepest. But it was still icy. And Kili had lost the bet. He had said he did not think Fili could make it here in less than 40 minutes. They had made it 39. They had both timed it.

So here Kili was; sitting in frigid water in his boxers.

They had both conceded to the “underwear-stays-on-clause.” Sitting naked in a river was not how Kili wanted to see Fili naked for the first time. Not that it would really be the first time. They had both seen each other naked at various times before; usually when changing, but that was before.

“Time?” Kili asked.

“Two minutes and 17 seconds… 18… 19… Do you give up?”

“What happens if I do?”

“You have to let me copy your English paper.”

“No!”

“Then you’ve still got over two minutes left,” Fili grinned. He sat down on the bank and dipped his bare feet in, but quickly yanked them out again with a shiver.

The stopwatch beeped loudly when it reached 5 minutes. Kili was out of the water before Fili could turn it off. Arms wrapped tightly around his chest he bounded from the water as quickly as he dared. It almost felt colder now than it did when he got in. “Fuck. We don’t have a towel,” Kili swore. He bounced on the balls of his feet in his efforts to warm up.

“I said I’d warm you back up.”

“I don’t think your shirt’s going to cut it, Fee.”

Fili slipped his hands around Kili’s hips. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You're going to get all wet, and then we’ll both be cold,” Kili protested weakly. His hair was already leaving wet spots on Fili’s t-shirt from where it was dripping.

“Then we’re both cold,” Fili shrugged.

Fili’s mouth was warm against Kili’s. Soon Kili forgot how cold he was because wherever their skin touched, Fili’s hands on his hips, Kili’s hands on Fili’s cheeks, his shoulders, where their thighs touched, he was warmed through.

“You’re beautiful,” Kili said. He was looking up at Fili who was straddling Kili’s thighs. The sun behind Fili turned his wind mussed, and now hand mussed hair into a golden halo. Everything about Fili was warm and sunkissed. Kili ran a hand up Fili’s side.

“And you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Fili said playfully.

Kili frowned earnestly, “I’m serious, Fee.”

Fili’s playful expression dropped away, “So am I.” His eyes seemed to flicker with intensity.

Kili dropped his gaze and seemed to curl in on himself. He wanted to cross his arms, but could not bring himself to do so.

“Kili.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it.”

—

It was cooler when they rode back into town. Fili was wearing his flannel. The open tails snapped sharply in the wind, but it was soft beneath Kili’s cheek as they took turns more slowly than required. Neither of them wanted the day to end. They would see each other tomorrow, but today was something that they wanted to hold on to. Tomorrow would not be the same.

Fili stopped the bike in front of the low, single story brick ranch house. The neighborhood was full of more houses that fit the same mold. They all had large backyards, chain link fences, brick or stone facades. Some houses had basement windows peeking out from the foundation, but some did not. Kili’s house was one that lacked a basement, but it did have a two car garage. Half the garage was cleared for a car while the other half was filled with every item imaginable, from Kili’s bicycle, to holiday decorations, to things that really should be thrown out, but no one had the heart to. In that last category there were boxes of Kili’s mom’s clothes in the back corner. Kili knew they should be donated and he sometimes thought about finding one or two items to keep, like the horrible vest she wore for Christmas, or her nice top that she wore for birthday parties. But he never did. He only ever made it as far as the door into the garage from the kitchen.

Everything was too still when Fili turned the bike off. The sound and vibration of the bike were so familiar that sometimes Kili still felt like he was on it even hours later. Kili rubbed his cheek on the yoke of Fili’s shirt.

“I like this shirt.”

Fili snorted.

“It’s soft.”

“I can let you steal it next time you’re over,” Fili chuckled.

“Borrow,” Kili corrected.

“Steal.”

Kili huffed and kissed the side of Fili’s neck. “Fine.”

“If you do that again I’ll let you keep it.”

Kili’s breath danced over Fili’s skin. “But I like it when you wear it.” Kili kissed Fili’s neck again, this time adding his tongue and licking the sweat-dampened skin. Kili grinned into Fili’s neck when he felt the shudder travel up Fili’s back.

“And I like it when you wear my clothes.”

“You prefer it when my clothes are on the floor.”

“Absolutely,” Fili grinned. He took hold of Kili’s hand that was still wrapped around his waist and moved it lower so that Kili could feel Fili in his jeans.

Kili snorted. And gently closed his hand around Fili’s hardening dick.

Fili exhaled in surprise. Kili normally shied away from too much physical contact when they were in full view of anyone who could see them. Hand holding, a quick kiss here or there, but he often shut down anything more salacious very quickly.

“Kili…”

“Hmmm?” Kili pressed against Fili’s back and with this kiss he gently bit down where Fili’s neck joined his shoulder.

“Not that I’m not,” Fili paused to gather his thoughts, and continued a bit breathlessly, “Not that I’m not enjoying thi—”

Kili was yanked back and off the back of the bike by the collar of his shirt, it tore, to hang loosely around his neck. Fili was jerked sideways by Kili’s arms as he disappeared. Fili stumbled. Losing his balance, and the bike fell over. Slamming into Fili’s calf. A dark black bruise was already forming before Fili could move. He caught the handlebars to right the bike. “Wha—?”

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” Kili’s dad roared. He had half dropped Kili, half flung him to the hard ground of the verge.

“Dad, I—” Kili started, eyes wide, skin pale.

He was shouting, his face red, spit flying. “Doing that… that… garbage where people can see you? What the hell is wrong with you? I should have done what Mike said,” he was advancing on Kili.

Kili scrambled back, his hands slipping on the dry grass. “Please—”

His dad continued. He did not let Kili finish even a single word. “He said I should beat the faggot out of you. And keep doing it until it works.” His breath smelled of sour beer. He was unbuckling his belt to yank it free, to do just what he had said.

Kili flinched back, eyes closed, arm thrown up to protect his head.

Fili dropped the bike without a thought.

“No!” Fili pushed the larger man back. Placing himself between Kili and Dave.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus on Fili. “You better get out of here, boy. Or I’ll do the same to you,” his voice was low in a snarl.

“I’d like to see you try!” Fili shot back, squaring his shoulders.

Dave shoved Fili then, hands slamming into Fili’s chest. Fili exhaled hard, stumbled back, and nearly fell, tripping over Kili’s legs, and kicking up light brown dust from the ground.

“Fili!” Kili cried out. He scrambled to his feet.

“Is that the best you have, you old drunk?” Fili’s eyes were on fire. His fists clenched, and his voice full of an emotion that Kili had never heard before.

Dave snarled and made to grab Fili. Kili jumped in between them. “Don’t!” His father roughly shoved Kili out of the way. There would be bruises later, but Kili did not even feel the contact. Dave had a fist full of Fili’s shirt, the one that Kili liked. Dave grunted when Fili did something that Kili could not see. But he did not let go. He drew back a fist…

“Stop!” Kili grabbed his dad’s arm and dragged him back with all of his weight and all of the power that he could muster. It was enough to drag Dave off balance. He fell heavily to the ground on his ass. This seemed to bring him back to himself, just a bit.

“You,” he growled, pointing at Fili. “Get away from here before I call the cops.”

Fili’s cheeks were bright with emotion. “Do it!” He snapped. “I’d like to see what they have to say about this!”

Kili stepped between Fili and his father. “Fili, please,” he pleaded, grabbing for Fili’s hands. “Please just go?”

“I’m not leaving you here with that bastard!” Fili spit out. His eyes were still fixed on Dave.

“Please…” Kili pleaded. “I… I don’t… Just leave? Please?” His eyes were involuntarily filling with tears. He gently pushed Fili in the direction of the road.

Fili switched his focus to Kili. “Kili, I don’t—”

“Please, just go?”

“What if he hurts you? Again?”

Now Kili recognized that emotion in Fili’s voice. It was fear. Kili felt sick. “I… I’ll be alright.”

Fili looked past Kili to where Dave had pulled his phone out. He scowled at Fili.

“Okay…” Fili sounded uncertain. He squeezed Kili’s hand twice. Their signal.

Dave started counting, “One… Two…”

“I’m going!” Fili shouted, glaring at Dave. He turned his attention back to Kili. “Call me later? Let me know you’re alright?”

Kili nodded.

“Or I’ll be the one calling the cops.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“I know.”

—

Later

/ Kili? / / Fili <3 Calling / / Call Declined / / I’m okay. / / Why won’t you answer? / / I’m not in the mood to talk / / I just want to hear your voice… / / I’ve been worrying about you since I left. / / i don’t know how much longer i can do this / / what does that mean? / / ? / / Kili? / / what does that mean? / Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 9:59pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 10:01pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 10:33pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 11:57pm

Taglist Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

#whumptober2023 #no. 14 #lyrics #“Just hold on.”#the hobbit #fic #homophobia tw #physical violence tw #bb writes #fili/kili #fiki #dead batteries au #fast car au

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foster-notmatty · 7 months

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Happy birthday, your life is over...

Foster comes home late on the eve of his 18th birthday, and is confronted by some harsh truths. (Triggers: abuse, vomit, physical violence)

1:19am. He was officially 18 years old, and he slunk into the house through the front door feeling giddy and tipsy. No sneaky climbing in through the window for Foster — he was an adult, and he could do as he damn well pleased. Seven more months and he'd be out of this house for good. Au revoir, you shit-box. Bon Voy-fucking-age. He chuckled to himself as he stumbled out of his shoes, defiantly leaving them where they lay because today his father couldn't touch him. It's my birthday, you bastard. Your power over me is gone. He wasn't expecting cake or presents; the best thing his father could give him was the same thing he always had: Neglect.

Of course as soon as he thought that, a light clicked on in the living room — Doug Foster sitting in his trusty armchair with his usual dour expression. "You're late," he said gruffly, and Foster, high both from the night and from an admittedly potent cocktail of alcohol and illicit substances didn't have the higher brain function (he'd laugh at that one later) to stop himself.

"Or I'm just extra early for tomorrow," he slurred snarkily. It wasn't like his father had ever cared enough to set out boundaries like a curfew. Curfew was whenever the man was in a sour enough mood, and Foster wasn't around to help make him feel bigger. But it wouldn't work today, Pops; Foster was invincible.

"The fuck you just say?" And quicker than he could even process, his dad was across the room, pushing him up against the door and getting ugly in his face. Foster's head slammed back against solid wood, and he winced as he saw stars. "You need to learn some manners, boy. Where'd you get that smart fucking mouth? I oughta smack it right off you." It only took one whiff of the man's breath for Foster to realize they'd both been imbibing tonight...

"Shit," Doug Foster cursed. "Un-fucking-believable. Waste of fucking breath you are, and this goddamn shirt, too." The man's closet was full of shirts exactly like it, all as generic and white as he was, but Foster didn't doubt he loved that shirt a fuck of a lot more than he'd ever loved him.

Foster stayed on the floor, pressing his head to the cool tile like it could stop his head from throbbing. "18 years of service," he drawled, lazily lifting a hand as if to salute. 18 years of ruining everything, of being a disappointment, of being a punching bag. He thought his dad might do him the decency of ignoring him today, but now he wondered if the man even knew its significance.

"What?" the man asked harshly, too occupied with his shit-soaked shirt to try to decipher his son's drunken ramblings.

"18 years," Foster repeated louder, turning to sit on his ass and face his father. "Today. That's 18 years today."

His father sneered. "You think I didn't know that?" And whether he did or was just covering, Foster had never gotten to know his father well enough to get that kind of read. "The birth of the death of my family. How could I possibly forget?"

"I guess I'll wait for your card in the mail," he replied, because he never knew when to quit, or how not to make things worse. He expected the backhand that came for him this time, and his shoulders tensed to brace for it.

"I wouldn't be so flippant if I was you. That's your mother and sister you're talking about." And funny how it was only ever his mother and his sister when his father wanted to guilt him for it... "They'd still be alive if it wasn't for you. Fucking curse you are to the whole goddamn world." He'd heard that line before; it looked like he was in for Papa's Greatest Hits to celebrate the special occasion...

In truth, all of his father's favorite insults had lost their potency lately. The I wish you'd never been borns, the your mother is spinning in her graves... All of them just felt trite since he and Ginny had started plotting their big escape. If he was such a fucking waste of life, then why was someone as good as her planning her life around him? He rolled his eyes. "Can we do this tomorrow?" he asked boredly. "I got plans in the morning, and something tells me your gonna want me to clean that puke before it starts to crust over." Another smart aleck comment, and he braced again for retaliation, only for it to never come.

Instead, his father got a wicked glint in his eye, one that terrified him more than anything else he could possibly do. "That girl, huh? The one next door?" Foster felt his blood run cold; he hadn't even known his dad knew about Ginny and, too shocked hide his surprise, the answer was clear across his face. "The one whose window you climb into almost every night like some lovesick rabid dog in heat?"

How did he know? How did he know? Doug Foster wasn't supposed to pay close enough attention to know... But he did. As if reading his mind, he answered, "It's my job to know what goes on in my schools. I know all about her, and your plan to run away together. If you wanted it to be a secret, you shouldn't make your plans so loudly."

It was fine. It was fine. Just because the man knew, that didn't mean it changed anything. What did he care what his son did after graduation? It wasn't like Doug Foster would dare lay a hand on someone else — a girl, of all people. But he'd long since proven physical violence wasn't the only weapon in his arsenal... Could he make sure Ginny didn't graduate? Could he tank all her chances of getting into college? The man was a powerful enemy, and Foster wouldn't put anything past him when it came to punishing him. He had never cared enough about school for his father to lord it over him, but Ginny... it would kill Ginny if she didn't get her diploma.

"It's not- It's just a joke," he said quickly, all his smug rebellion wiped clean now that it was someone else in jeopardy. "It's just a stupid inside joke." It wasn't, but it wouldn't hurt for his father to think so. Not that he was going a good job of being convincing.

"Good," his father nodded, clearly not convinced but also not caring. The cruelness of his words would hit either way. "For her sake, son, more than your own. You're gonna ruin her, Matthew. You can't even help it. It's just your nature. Don't you ever forget that." There was a sick gleam of pleasure in his eye, like he savored laying out his son's ruin. "Even if you think you can escape it. You take that girl, steal her from everything she knows, eventually, you'll fuck up. You always fuck up, and you know what happens when you get careless and she ends up pregnant? You're a curse, boy. You'll only be resigning her to the same fate as your mother. You're gonna kill her, one way or another, and when that happens you'll only have yourself to blame."

Foster did a good job pretending his father's words never bothered him — sometimes, he did so well, he even had himself convinced. But to say he didn't care was even more of a lie than saying his plans were just a joke, more of a lie than saying he and Ginny were only friends... And for the first time, his father's threats weren't just against himself — they were against the only person Foster had ever truly cared about.

Did that make them true? He couldn't say, but it was far too great a risk not to be sure. Hadn't he just said Ginny not being able to graduate would destroy her? And that was the best case scenario — the one where his father was their greatest threat. The worst case scenario? The threat was himself...

You're gonna kill her, one way or another, and when that happens you'll only have yourself to blame.

He felt sick all over again — nauseous and shaky, and closer to crying than he'd been in ages. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was his birthday. He was supposed to be invincible.

"Think about it, Matthew," his father continued. "For once in your life, make the right decision." With one last pitying look, his father retreated, leaving Foster alone in the dark, cold entryway.

#muse #monologue #abuse tw #vomit tw #physical violence tw #(i tried to be as vague as possible but it's in there just a heads up)#buckle up it's a long one

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grislyintentions · 3 months

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|| Excerpt ||

The branding heat of the Guardian's eyes are in direct contrast to the fluid grace of her movement when she towers above her opponent. Breathing harsh in exertion, the dagger Candace pressed right along their jugular is steady. An everlooming threat.

"I asked you a question."

She reminds with an air of casualness. Momentum and strategic bursts of strength drive home an indomitable will as she forcibly folds their legs upwards by the backs of their knees and locks them in place against their chest. Constant pressure strains muscles. They aren't going to break out of this one.

Candace forces them further, weakening their center of gravity by wedging her torso against them. A blow to their face. Once. Twice. Three times over.

"Do you yield?"

#charac: candace #physical violence tw #physical aggression tw #suggestive cw

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 11 months

Note

Whump dialogue #14 with c!prime. (Probably during the exile chase/reunion scene as that is what it reminded me of.)

i wanted to let c!tommy knee c!dream in the dick. so here’s c!tommy kneeing c!dream in the dick.

TW: Abuse, obsession, possessive behaviour, threats of human experimentation, physical violence, strangulation, murder, dehumanisation, unreliable narrator.

——

Dream had lived a long, long life.

He wouldn’t go as far as to call it a good one, or even a close-to-decent one, but he’d been around long enough he had so many positive memories to hold onto. The days he'd met Bad, and George, and Punz. Learning to fight with XD. The screams of the people who’d hurt him as he made sure they regretted it, blood beneath his claws and staining rows and rows of needle-sharp fangs. It’d be hard to pick a favourite.

The moment he saw Tommy for the first time in so, so long, shivering in his pyjamas and petrified out of his mind, small and anxious but so full of fire, though? That definitely had to be up there.

He'd marvelled at the warm feeling of the sun once he’d first left that Primes forsaken prison, soft like a blanket and making him smile for the first time in ages. The realisation that he had Tommy back felt like that times a million- the joy within him distracted from the agonising gnawing of his stomach, the worries about what he’d do next. He could finally set things in motion, now he had the key right in front of him.

And he wouldn’t feel so alone.

He stifled his giggles as he stepped out from the side of the portal. No, this had to be special, it had to be perfect for the both of them. Something they'd look back on and laugh, a billion years in the future, a trillion, long enough that time itself wouldn’t have a word left to describe itself. Because he was going to live that long, if he had to burn the whole world down to do so, and he wasn’t going to do it alone.

He wasn’t going to be alone anymore he wouldn’t be never ever again. Never. He couldn’t handle a single second more of that agony. He'd take Quackity's bullshit for an eternity rather than be lonely anymore.

Tommy's face went blank from fear for a second, a look of sheer terror in his eyes that was utterly priceless. Just like he'd imagined their reunion would go.

What he didn’t expect was for Tommy to take a deep breath, steel himself, and shakily raise his arms in the air.

“Are you… surrendering? Already?” Amusement dripped from Dream's voice. “Aww, I didn’t even get to say hi.” He twirled the axe in his hands to make it crystal clear what he meant by that.

“I- I'm not doing this cause I’m scared or anything,” Tommy said, shivering in terror. “It’s- I knew- I knew if I came and- and- you said you wanted exile again, right? If I give you that…” He gulped, leaving an awkward silence. “If I give you that… you’ll leave everyone else alone, right? You- you won’t hurt Tubbo.”

Oh. Oh of course, Tommy, loyal to the end. This would be fun.

“Hmm, maybe.” Dream gave a dramatic hum at that, playing up his reaction to see Tommy squirm just a little longer. “Y’know, if you'll behave, sure. We don’t need the rest of them to experiment with revival, right?”

Tommy flinched upon hearing the word, hand instinctively reaching down to his white streak of hair. Still, he nodded, eyes nervously on Dream's axe.

Dream laughed, unequipping it. “C’mon, I’m not gonna bite, Tommy. Come here.”

Nervously, Tommy took a step towards Dream, and before he could take another, Dream couldn’t resist the urge to close the gap himself, wrapping Tommy in an affectionate hug. For manipulation purposes. Obviously.

The fact it’d been so long since he’d felt any kind touch, anything other than stinging pain, was irrelevant. He didn’t crave it. He didn’t crave friendship, he didn’t crave acceptance and kindness and gentleness.

There was a second of nothing, and then agonising pain shot through Dream's body, the shock being enough for him to crumple. He’d felt worse, but what he quickly surmised must have been a knee to the crotch still hurt like fuck, and he took a few seconds to catch his breath-

Except he couldn’t. Something had wrapped itself around his throat, shaking and cold and bony. Through blurry eyes, Dream recognised blond and white and red.

“I'm sorry,” he heard a voice that must have been Tommy's whisper, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I- I don’t wanna have to- to do this, but- I- I-“

Rage flooded through Dream, drowning out the pain.

Adrenaline flowing, Dream kicked out wildly at the figure holding him down, clawing at Tommy's arms as he found strength he thought he lost in the prison. He stopped, startled for only a second, but a second was all Dream needed, and he wrenched the hands from his neck.

The first blow Dream sent Tommy's way sent him falling to the floor. The second left him curled up in pain. The third left him screaming.

Dream didn’t stop.

Fuelled purely by anger, he pounced, kicking and hitting and scratching like a wild animal, until he couldn’t feel what he only recognised as a thing stop struggling.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Dream's voice was cold, almost expressionless without any hint of his anger. “You really shouldn’t have fucking done that. If you’d come with me, maybe I'd have been nice! Maybe I'd have tried to turn a new leaf. But no. No, you couldn’t help yourself. And y’know what I’m gonna do now? You know what I’m gonna do to teach you a fucking lesson?”

Tommy tried to mouth something, but Dream was far too blinded by emotion to even try and decipher it.

“I'm going to kill you again-“

Dream grabbed Tommy by his hair, pulling out clumps, and he smashed his head into the ground with a loud thud.

“And again-“

Thud.

“And again-“

Thud.

“And I’m going to make it hurt. I’m going to make you fucking regret laying a finger on me. And I’m never, ever going to stop.”

He hit Tommy's head on the ground again.

“I'm going to keep you around forever, Tommy. And I’m going to make you watch as I kill everyone you love. I’m going to tear you apart as slowly and painfully as possible. I’m going to do every fucking thing Quackity did to me onto you, again and again and again. And I’ll do that forever.”

Again.

He continued until long after he felt the body under him grow cold, long after it must have died. The rage left him once he realised that, and immediately a million things hit him at once. First, the pain was still there, diminished but distracting. Second, he was covered in blood, and the texture made him shudder. And finally, he had a literal dead weight to drag with him somewhere far away enough he could be sure there'd be no disturbances.

He'd made a promise, after all.

#my writing #primeboys (derogatory)#abuse tw #obsession tw #possessive behaviour tw #physical violence tw #strangulation tw #murder tw #dehumanisation tw

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one-time-i-dreamt · 2 months

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My friend beat my boyfriend to death with her bare hands. He didn't even fight back; he just laid there and took it.

#dream #friend #violence tw #physical violence tw #death tw #murder tw

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postremorisu · 5 months

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✧ about ✧

ALIAS: Asher Winston

AGE & BIRTHDATE: 27, August 26th 1996

GROUP: Werewolf

FACECLAIM: Finn Cole

Others have described them as cautious & observant, but also impulsive & distant.

✧ the history ✧

Asher was the second son to two drug addicts who couldn’t get the devil to loosen their grips from them. His brother, Kade was twelve when he was born and took over that role of parent, taking care of him.

In the early years of Asher’s life, his relationship with his brother was close. He did everything he could to try to lighten the load on his brother but being as young as he was there was only so much he could do and whenever his father lost his temper, Kade was the one who got the most blows and their mother was the one that held Asher back.

When Asher was around the age of ten, Kade left the house and never returned. So, he did what he could to step up and take over the house. He cleaned, made sure the bills got paid, did his homework and made sure his parents made it through each day.

Of course, he knew he never would have gotten through all of it without his best friend who lived down the street, Maddison Campbell. She was the one solid ground he had in his life and he relayed on her more than he would ever admit.

At the age of sixteen was when things really changed for Asher. As he was walking home one day he was approached by a few guys who apparently knew his brother and his brother owed them money for the drugs he bought from them. One way or another they were going to get paid or send a message.

The only thing Asher can remember from the encounter is the blood on his hands and the bodies on the ground in front of him. The person to clean him up was Maddison but the only thing he ever told her was that he got jumped by a few punks on his way home from school.

Around this time, he met Isabella Whittaker, someone who would be able to guide him through the next change in his life and distract him from his actual feelings for another blonde that lived down the street.

On the next full moon was when Asher found out his family’s deadly secret. He shifted and it began his relationship with Isabella Whitlock who guided him through controlling his inner wolf.

A few months later, Maddison bounced out of town without a single word which created a lot of resentment within him. He broke things off with Isabella and distanced himself from everyone around him.

He graduated from high school, started learning more about cars and decided that was going to be the distracted he desperately needed. It was a way of keep his calm and keeping the wolf within him contained.

#about;asher #// if you see me recycling you don't mind ur business #drugs tw #drug overdose tw #drug addiction tw #violence tw #physical violence tw

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bookofbolden · 9 months

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: A Latte to Love PARTIES: Teagan ( @closingwaters ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: Upon a chance encounter at a beloved coffee shop, Eleanor's curiosity gets the best of her and lands her in hot water with an emotionally charged Teagan. WARNINGS: Brief mention of past physical violence, mention of parental death, vomiting

Eleanor was proud of the progress she’d made when it came to getting out of her apartment more and getting acquainted with Wicked’s Rest. While she didn’t go out of her way to socialize with anyone she might cross paths with and avoided heavily populated areas to the best of her ability, it was still a far cry from her tendency to remain within the same four walls day in and day out, either drowning herself in work or simply trying to find something to do that would keep her from going insane, or at the very least slow the process. A Latte to Love had quickly become one of her favorite stops along her route mostly because of the amazing drinks, but also because she enjoyed the familiarity of the coffee shop vibe - she’d found that she could relax there even though it tended to be crowded.

This particular day Eleanor had grown tired of staring at the same view while trying to find inspiration for her writing, so she packed up her laptop and notes and headed out to her favorite place in search of caffeine and a new, more stimulating scene. She’d set up shop near the back at a table that had been tucked into a corner so that she wouldn’t disturb anyone and hopefully no one would disturb her, placed her headphones over her ears, and got to work immediately. She was so focused on her laptop that it took a moment for her to register that someone had come to stand in front of her.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” She pulled the headphones from her head and frowned, looking up at the woman in confusion. “I didn’t take your spot, did I? I’m sorry, it didn’t look as though anyone was sitting here when I came in.” When their eyes met Eleanor was hit with a feeling of anger so strong that she recoiled and quickly looked away. “But I can move if you want me to, I don’t mind.” She added hastily, believing that the woman’s anger had been in response to the taken seat.

In the days since Arden had spoken some sense into her girlfriend, Teagan had spent most of her time inside. Whether it was knitting or crocheting or some weird activity called yoga, everything took place away from the outside world. It was pathetic, of that, Teagan was sure of, but what could she do? The anger and fear was crippling most moments, and putting on a mask was hard enough in front of Arden. Still, the nix knew she had to try. She wasn’t alone anymore, and she had people’s worries to consider, so she ventured out of the Worm Row apartment and trekked to a nearby coffee shop.

Business was buzzing, like a hive filled with hundreds of worker bees, but all Teagan saw were people going about their day. They were fully caffeinated and ready to take on whatever the day brought. This wasn’t something she completely understood, feeling the surge of potent energy from her drink in just the first few sips. It made her emotions feel worse, like she was a ticking time bomb and she lit the fuse with the tip of her cup. She was struggling to find a seat, anger sparking as it piled on top of the mountain that had been building since the attack.

“Hm?” She whipped her head around to face a woman that was not hard on the eyes by any means. “Oh.” Clearing her throat, Teagan blinked a few times before managing an actual sentence with a bright smile and even brighter heterochromic eyes. A stark contrast to what she felt inside. “Oh dearie, you ain’t doin’ me in. Ain’t mingin’ either.” Her welsh side pounced, likely too confusing for a stranger. “In other words, stay in that seat. I’m comfortable in this one right here.” She sat down at the table next to her possible new friend, propping her chin on her hand. “I’m Teagan.” A grin, followed by a sip. “And you, lovely?”

The corner of Eleanor’s mouth turned up into a grin at the sound of the woman’s accent and momentarily distracted her from the onslaught of anger that poured from her. Although the stranger’s bright smile would have been enough to disguise her true feelings from anyone else, Eleanor knew better.

“Teagan… I believe we may have already spoken to one another the other day when you were inviting people out for a night swim. Sorry I had to decline, it just didn’t seem like the kind of thing I would have had much fun participating in.” There’s also the fact that I don't know you, Eleanor wanted to add but kept it to herself. “I’m Eleanor, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” She took in Teagan’s relaxed posture and decided that the anger wasn't directed towards her… So what could it be? “How are you? Most importantly, how’s your coffee? I come in often and everytime they make my drink just right. This is one of my favorite places to come now, not that I’ve really had much time to go around and discover too many other shops around here, but still, I’m partial to this place.” She had to bite her lip to stop herself from asking too many questions that may lead to Teagan either becoming uncomfortable or suspicious - the last thing Eleanor wanted was for someone else to think she was strange.

“You’re very pretty.” She blurted out and cursed herself for it. That wasn’t the sort of thing people said whenever they’d just introduced themselves to someone new, was it?

Eleanor. The name lit Teagan’s face with familiarity, her smile curling further. She rambled similarly to Arden, though her tongue seemed motivated more by nerves than by sheer desire to share the newly attained knowledge. Teagan didn’t mind, and she listened intently, welcoming the bit of distraction. “Well, well, it looks like our paths were intended to cross.” Raising her glass as a toast, Teagan giggled and took another drink, appreciating the flavor a little more as she let it sit on her tastebuds for a few beats.

“No harm, no foul. Maybe now that we’ve met, you’ll be a little more inclined to attend next time.” Eyes watched Eleanor over the tipped cup, and Teagan licked her lips to rid them of the residual latte foam. “Since, you know,” Her brows bounced playfully, “You think I’m very pretty.” The energy in the room grew lighter with the tease, even easing whatever anger and fear that was deeply stored inside Teagan. It was less twisted and tightly coiled, making it much easier to breathe and relax her whole body with a prolonged sigh.

“But to answer your question before, in your adorable ramble about how great this place is, I’m doing as well as I can be. It’s a beautiful day to meet beautiful women.” A pause, “That means you, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Fate, right?” Eleanor asked casually and took a sip of her own coffee. “Maybe, if you’re willing to invite me out during daylight hours. I’m typically not out much after nightfall considering some things going on recently. I suppose you could say that I’m a bit of an old lady when it comes to that.” Her face turned bright red and she looked down at her laptop, embarrassment flooding through her and momentarily blocking out Teagan’s own anger. “I… well…” At a loss for words she just nodded and attempted a shaky smile. She was surprised by the other woman’s sudden and unexpected change in mood - she still had unexplained anger and fear, but instead of a crushing wave that drowned Eleanor, it had become more of a persistent nagging in the back of her mind.

Rambling. Again. She had to stop doing that. “I think I’m starting to become known for my rambling, it’s really just an unfortunate accident most of the time. I have a friend who swears they don’t mind it but I know that it can be annoying sometimes. Yes, that was very clear, thank you.” Eleanor couldn’t stop the second blush that crept up her neck, or the guilt that accompanied it. How could she sit there on the verge of flirting while her girlfriend was somewhere trapped and alone? It left her with a sick feeling in her stomach, but Teagan’s presence interested her in a way that made her want to know more out of pure curiosity. Why was this seemingly bubbly, outgoing woman seething beneath the surface?

“Have you been in Wicked’s Rest long? I would say that I don’t recall ever seeing you around, but that doesn’t really mean much when it’s coming from someone who just recently started going to get her own groceries instead of having them delivered to her front door.” Needing something to do with her hands, Eleanor started to doodle idly along the margins of her notes as she spoke, “By the way, I meant what I said online: you should be careful when inviting strangers places, you seem like a very nice person and nice people tend to be taken advantage of.”

Teagan’s eyes narrowed and her head tilted at the mention of Fate. Her skin didn’t flutter, which meant Eleanor couldn’t be fae, so what could she be implying? If anything at all, really. Anxiety and fear ticked up, tugging Teagan’s chest uncomfortably as her mind began to run down the possibilities. Hunter, being the most tossed around. She fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably, doing all she could to keep her composure. Keep the mask in its place. “Right.” The nix nodded with her smile renewed and refreshed. “Fate.”

Returning to her drink, Teagan spun her mother’s ring on her finger, brow rising at the thank you. She couldn’t help herself, excitement rolling in her belly enough to release the stretch on her chest. “Your gratitude is taken and appreciated.” She smiled coyly, rolling her lips over her teeth. Nothing like taking a favor right under someone’s nose. Teagan licked her lips, continuing to grin. It was warm and inviting, turning humorous with a chortle escaping her. Whatever coffee she had in her mouth was spit back out, almost clearing up her nose at Eleanor’s horribly timed joke. A nix having to be careful of the humans she invites to drown in the lake? Fates, the woman didn’t know, but still. It was ridiculous to think Teagan couldn’t handle herself.

“I don’t know about you, lass, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Me? In danger at the lake at night?” She scoffed, “I’ve been in Wicked’s Rest long enough to know what goes bump in the night, and believe me,” Teagan leaned forward, a fog coating her eyes as her tone grew serious. “I could just as easily be one of those people. Have faced plenty and have survived this long, and I don’t get taken advantage of.” The image of the hunter who maimed her sent a sharp pain through her chest, causing her to inhale sharply and desperately try to return her smile. It worked, for the most part. She wanted to move on. “But what about you? Born and raised here or just dumb enough like the rest of us to make the move?”

Eleanor couldn’t stop herself from gazing at Teagan with a distant, confused expression at yet another sharp change in emotions. The woman was a rollercoaster that would leave the poor empath exhausted by the end of their interaction. “Did I offend you?” She asked in a low voice, going over her previous words and finding nothing she thought could be taken out of context. But still, if she’d been offensive she would want the chance to properly apologize for it. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. See what I mean by rambling being an unfortunate accident? Half of the time I don’t even register what I’m saying, it just tumbles out.”

She followed the other woman’s lead and leaned closer as she hung to every word. Not only was her accident intoxicating, but there was something behind the words that she wanted to uncover. The way she spoke was almost hinting at something, but Eleanor wasn’t quite sure what that something could be. Deciding that she couldn’t possibly sound more ridiculous than she already had, she responded, “It seems like you want me to read between the lines, for lack of better words, but I don’t want to assume anything else about you - you seemed to get quite the kick out of me suggesting that you might not be safe around strangers at night in the lake. So,” she took a deep breath to calm her nerves, “Are you the thing that goes bump in the night? Or are we speaking hypothetically?” She glanced at the ring Teagan spun on her finger for a quick moment. “That’s a beautiful ring, were you given it by someone special?”

Eleanor smiled and shrugged. “I suppose you could call me dumb. I moved here just shy of a month ago. I heard about this place and how it may have others… that could relate to me, so I made the move on a whim. I may have gotten myself into something I wasn’t quite ready for, though. I’m originally from New York, but I’ve lived in Maine for about two years. Anyhow, I’ve been trying to place your lovely accent - where are you from and how did you end up in this strange town?”

There was definitely something off with this Eleanor woman. With every internal shift that the fae had, she commented on it. She wasn’t fooled, somehow, by the smile Teagan had practiced to perfect since the tragedy. Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, irritation on the brink of spilling. She needed answers, but being in public gave Teagan limitations. The likes of which prevented her from letting her glamour fall to terrify and interrogate Eleanor. “How are you doing that?” The question was pointed, bluntly so. There was no use in beating around the subject. If the reading was some sort of magic, Teagan was sure Eleanor would understand what the nix was getting at.

“‘Fraid we’re focusing on you now, lass.” The thank you from earlier danced around in her head, wondering if that was the right moment to use it. She breathed, waiting like a viper ready to strike, but her venom quickly receded at just how inquisitive Eleanor was. Teagan understood then why Arden enjoyed talking to her and didn’t want her being drowned. They had like minds, poetic and curious, with the unique skill of dissecting words and finding what they truly meant. It was almost endearing enough to convince Teagan to let go of her building frustration. Almost. She looked at her ring, curling her hand into a fist so tight that she shook. Images of Catrin flashed behind her eyes. Her pale face, her stillness, her last moments. The look she gave her daughter through a crack on the door. It was apologetic and mournful, reflecting the very same expression on a ten-year-old Teagan. It was the worst day of her life, her body tensing with the pain and her mind reeling from the macabre film.

Her distress quickly gave way to anger, impossible to ignore or halt. How sad, really. Eleanor was a wonderful conversationalist, even with her ramblings, but it was time for the questions to stop. From her. “If you must know,” Teagan gritted her teeth, looking down at her cup to avoid Eleanor’s sweet face. “I’m from Wales. And I was intrigued like you. Only,” Her eye twitched with tears threatening to fall, and she finally looked back up, gaze wide with the agony of trying to stop the wave of emotions from drowning herself and everyone in the room. It was the one body she couldn’t swim. “I’ve been in the states since I was ten. But…” She leaned forward, ensuring Eleanor was looking at her. “I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you.” Standing suddenly from her seat, Teagan moved to Eleanor’s table, eyes intense and hand on the knife on her hip. “I’m using that gratitude on you right now, okay? So tell me, are you playing a game? Are you a hunter that gets off on torturing their prey mentally before going in for the attack? What is it? Explain yourself honestly.”

How are you doing that? It was a question Eleanor had long since become familiar with and had heard many times over the years. From foster parents to teachers, she had always had the ability to get under people's skin simply by reacting to what they were feeling. She had never meant to hurt or annoy anyone, it was just something she couldn’t help. Feeling years of shame and regret come crashing down onto her shoulders, she looked down at the table and shrugged. “I’ve always been able to, I feel what others feel. Almost everyone, anyway.”

Eleanor knew immediately that she’d made a mistake in mentioning the woman’s ring - if Teagan’s physical reaction hadn’t been enough to display it, the feelings of pain and mourning that shot from her was hard to miss. She took in a sharp breath and clutched at the table while her head spun out of control. She didn’t like being around this woman, the sudden and exaggerated mood swings made her stomach churn and her head swim. What had happened to Teagan to make her so unstable? “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have commented on it.” But she’d already opened her mouth and couldn’t take it back, that much was evident in the anger that filled the space between them. Eleanor caught a brief mention of Wales, of Teagan having moved to the States when she was ten, then the other woman was standing, her hand gripping something just out of sight, and terror filled Eleanor so completely that she knew that she wasn’t being influenced, it was her own genuine fear.

“Hunter? No. There’s hunters? I’m just Eleanor, just someone they call an empath around here. I’m not going to attack you, I don’t want to attack you, I just wanted to know more about you. I’m curious about nearly everyone in this town.” Had she imagined it or had there been some kind of unseen force that made the words jump from her lips? While she wouldn’t have lied to Teagan either way Eleanor had a distant, subconscious feeling that the words that had left her had been more in response to some unspoken command than a normal answer to a question. Her eyes once again landed on the woman’s hand as it wrapped around what looked vaguely like the handle of a knife and panic filled her again. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise I’m not. I wouldn’t know how even if I’d planned to. I’m just here writing my book and drinking coffee like I do nearly every day.” Her voice cracked and she wished that she could have sounded braver and less shaken by the situation at hand but she had to be honest with herself, she’d never once imagined coming face-to-face with a potentially dangerous stranger who thought she was lying about her identity.

She’d made a mistake. Eleanor was an empath, and nothing more. Anger bled into shame and regret when the human began to promise. She began to believe she truly was rot, and now she’d gone and infected sweet and innocent Eleanor. Could this be fixed? Or was she now stuck with the pain that no one else but Teagan was supposed to bear? She thought she already knew the answer, and it made her vision swim and her stomach tighten. “I’m sorry,” Her apology was quick and quiet, her legs stumbling to leave the table.

The world grew shaky, the colors twisting and details of the surroundings growing lost in a dense fog. The puzzle pieces in Teagan’s mind refused to fit, leaving her wandering in the labyrinth of her sharply changing emotions. “I’m sorry.” She whispered again, lips wet with her tears. Her lungs provided no air, but Teagan was determined to release Eleanor from her suffering, making a beeline for the door.

Her hands crashed into the handle, shoving the exit open harshly. The bell attached to it bounced with more force than necessary, hitting the glass of the door hard enough to crack it. Whatever, it didn’t matter. Teagan whipped her head from side to side, looking for a direction to run. Was Arden close? Was she home? She supposed she was about to find out.

Eleanor’s feelings of fear melted the moment she saw the regret in Teagan’s watery eyes. “It’s alright, I should be apologizing too because I shouldn’t have been so insensitive, that was very rude of me.” She wanted to make things right and get back to the brief yet decent conversation they’d been having before it had taken such a wrong turn. What had happened?

“Really, it’s alright.” But Teagan had already abandoned her post and ran toward the exit. Eleanor sat back in her chair and stared at the space the woman had vacated for a long moment as the electrified space calmed. Once she completely felt like herself again she hurriedly packed up her things and followed Teagan out the door and hoped that she hadn’t gotten too far down the road. Luckily, the moment she stepped out into the fresh air she spotted the frantic woman and tried her best to calmly approach her, not wanting to add anymore fuel to the fire.

“Teagan, hi.” Eleanor made sure that her voice was soft as she spoke, “I’m so sorry for coming across the wrong way, I shouldn’t have asked so many questions like that, I was just interested in your story and where you come from and it got out of hand. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?” It only felt right that she offered to help out in any way she could since she saw the entire situation had been caused due to her curiosity. “I understand if you just want to leave though and I don’t blame you in any way. But, if you don’t have a ride I’d be more than willing to give you a lift. But again, you don’t have to accept. I just wanted to let you know that I’m very, very sorry.”

How long had she been standing there? Teagan looked around, her panting growing stronger when she noticed all the eyes. “What?” Her body jolted at the sound of Eleanor’s voice speaking her name, and she backed away into the shop’s building. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the only sound she could hear besides the high-pitched note cutting through.

“N-no. I’m-I…M’fine.” An obvious lie. Teagan wrenched over, gagging on the falsity of her words. For a few moments, all she could do was expel the contents of her stomach. Which was really only the coffee. Consuming much else had proven difficult, her appetite all but gone.

“Just leave me alone.” Exhaustion coated the nix’s eyes as she met with Eleanor’s eyeline. “Don’t come near me. I’ll hurt you.” Choking on her words, she shoved past a man who attempted to ask if she was okay. The answer was blatantly obvious, and Teagan was surprised when he didn’t retaliate, quickly focusing on Eleanor instead. Good, she thought. She deserved it, not Teagan. Without another moment of hesitation, she quickly made her escape, not stopping until she made it back to Arden’s apartment.

#wickedswriting #writing: closingwaters #writing: coffee and chaos #physical violence tw #parental death tw #vomiting tw

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fletcherwilbury · 4 months

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@sochilll December Prompt List Day 20: Games

Warning for Arguing, physical violence, physical abuse, eye trauma, bullying, threats

#december prompt list #day 20 #games #monopoly #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 raph #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt 2012 casey jones #tmnt 2012 april #arguing cw #physical violence tw #physical abuse tw #eye trauma tw #bullying tw #threats tw

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whatsbehindthefacade · 1 year

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@tessiejohnson asked: am i too late? / tessiejohnson to riff in the baby john gets stabbed au mayhaps?

"They're working on him..."

He hasn't stopped pacing since he got to the hospital, since they'd wheeled Baby John off into some back corridor to take him god knows where and do god knows what, leaving him to wait. It's a wonder there's not a hole worn in the floor, though the receptionist has been watching him warily the entire time, clearly untrusting. He can't say he blames her. He can't be trusted, clearly. If he could, they wouldn't be here, with Baby John in the state he is.

Riff has seen a lot of shit in his life, things that still haunt him, but this is something he'll truly never forget. The way everything had been happening so quick, the knives, Tony trying to intervene, trying to get Tony off him, not noticing Baby John moving into the way, all of them bumping into each other. And then how everything had seemed to freeze, a hushed horror as Baby John had slowly turned, face ashen, a blade protuding from his chest. How he'd stumbled and fallen.

There's blood on his hands, and it feels like even if he washes them, it won't ever truly be gone. This is all his fault. It's his fault that Tessie's standing here now, with that look on her face. She's fifteen, they're both just fifteen for christs sake, and she might lose him.

"I don't...I don't know when...they took him back there..."

#answered #tessiejohnson #c: riff #v: you're well protected #knife violence tw #blood tw #injury tw #physical violence tw

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lunabenoit · 1 year

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Joaquinn & Luna @joaquinni

Where: downtown

If Luna were to lay her life out in order of most painful moments, there was a safe bet that most of them would involve Joaquinn. In some form or another, whether he was simply there, a passive player in the way life had its way with breaking her heart, or if he was the direct result of all that pain. Once upon a time, he had been her ultimate freedom, the person with whom she felt most like herself. There was no need to play the role of the perfect daughter, beauty queen. She had no need to be anything other than exactly as she was, and at the tender age of sixteen, she believed he would be all she would ever need. Falling helplessly in love with how every woe she'd ever felt dissolved when she laid her head against his chest.

Running away with him was easy. The only thing in her life she had never second-guessed. She was fearless when she got on the back of his bike and left it all behind. At sixteen, there was no other way to hold onto the first real thing she'd ever felt. Maybe if she had been older, wiser, and a little less reckless, she wouldn't have let her youth slip from her palms. And test, years later, with all she knew now, Luna could not answer if she would have done it any differently. There wasn't much Luna knew about life, but she was certain she could count on the lack of predictability. She was a young girl swept away in the love affair with Joaquinn. Never could she have imagined she'd spent years after being haunted by the ghost of his absence. His leaving had been sudden and terribly painful. It tore something asunder at her core, scattering the pieces of all she had known of herself into the terrible unknown.

She had been twenty-three when he left. The day was not one she could recall in anything more than soul-sickening loss, but in the days, months, and years since, there had been times when Luna caught a glimpse of someone who could have been him. Her heart would plummet, and she'd focus and realize as quickly that it was not him. Surely it never would be again. She wasn't completely clueless. She knew he was someplace in California. Perhaps it was what drew her back years later, knowing that there were worse things along this coast to be haunted by than the man who was still written all over her. Still, sometimes she could convince herself she imagined it all if there wasn't his handwriting inked along her wrist to keep her planted in the painful now. Hiding out in a small town forty-five minutes outside of San Francisco until she could figure out what she was supposed to do next. Paint and ink-stained her fingers as she carried her groceries down the street, suddenly stunned in place by the phantom vision of Joaquinn. Luna blinked hard, certain she would focus and realize it was just another tall dark-haired man. But by the third time she realized with a heavy sinking feeling it was in fact him. After twelve years her heart raced blood rushing to her face and Luna was swept up like a memory.

Unfortunately, she had plenty of years to think about what she would do with this opportunity. All the things she wanted to say rushed to her lips, and as she grew closer to him, they were replaced with blinding rage that came forth as she shoved her groceries into his chest with a sharp shove at the center of his chest. "You rat bastard." She seethed without the soft remembrance she had hoped would have set in by now. Luna thought it would be enough time to let the wound scar over, tender scar tissue, but all healed nonetheless. She found, as her palms crashed against his chest, her groceries spilling at their feet, that he was nothing but a bruise that ached as if it had been pressed too hard. All the soft parts of her had been damaged by what Joaquinn had done to her, and now confronted with him after all these years, Luna was more aware than ever that she was more rage than woman. All her flimsy attempts at healing at becoming something better were dashed before they even took shape, and in a breathless moment, she knew it was him.

Luna had spent years chasing his ghosts, looking for answers in silence, only to have all of them slip through her fingers like water. Tears stung at her eyes, stubbornly unshed as she jutted her chin up at him twelve years later, and all her best-laid plans dashed as her head spun. A quite smothered sob threatened to spill tears over her cheeks. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his top before she ripped her hands away. Pushing up on the tips of her toes, she closed the space smacking her hand against his cheek with a sharp slap that stung her palm. "I thought you were dead. I wished you were dead."

#chat. joaquinn #physical violence tw

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