#tw implied abuse

[queerquetzal2370]

"how come you don't flinch?"

You'll learn to stop doing anything if you're punished for it enough

[bambi-butch-boy]

I have a note in my phone that I started 3 years and 4 relationships ago where I write the must have- bare minimum characteristics of my future partner. Not only does it help me get an idea of what healthy romance is supposed to look like, but every break up, besides all the grief, by expanding the list I recognize I'm closer to the person who will give me the love I need and deserve. It truly does wonders for someone like me, who had literally zero standards or boundaries when I started dating, due to how my parents wired my brain. 10/10 recommend. Doesn't prevent you from repeating the cycles but it gives you a solid crutch when healing.

[vexedarrow]

Word Count: 763. TW for implied suicide, mentions of abuse, self hatred and other topics

@biblicallyaccuratebirch @randomnerd737

It’s really weird how I kept surviving for this long. You’d expect someone like, well, me, to not last long in such a harsh universe, one where even if you wanted to be safe, you’d probably end up dead. I mean, that’s what happened to most of Earth right? Maybe it’s regrown from the flood but I don’t think it’s been that long. Or maybe it has. Earth time is hard to track out here.

I never really wanted this life, to be out in the stars, trying to colonize an alien planet and its inhabitants that don’t deserve what will happen to it when the companies land. You know I never really thought of myself as a hateful person, was always kinda hoping that the good in humanity would come through.

But now? I just hate. I hate the companies I worked for, that I threw away my free will, body, mind, soul, and my brother out for. I hate the robotic voices of the AIs that we’re supposed to help me, help me become the worst I could be. I hate the color orange, the color I’m stained with, head to toe, forever with. It’s such an ugly color, it’s the color of the goo, it’s the color of warning, that blaring color that stings into your eyes telling you that whatever comes next will be bad. Maybe I should have listened. I hate so many things.

But most importantly, I hate myself.

I hate how I look like a monster, how I can’t even breathe properly. I hate how somedays I can’t even walk properly, can’t get up without vomiting more of that vile goo. How I keep going back to places that will keep hurting me, how I can’t let go. How every day I work for hours and hours for a company that doesn’t even care about me, who will discard me as soon as a better worker comes in.

I hate how I ruin everything I touch, I hate how I ruin worlds and ecosystems just for some futile goal of maybe making some executive proud enough to give me a raise. I want to be free, I want to undo the damage I did. To everyone, and to myself.

…

You know? You never realize what kept you alive until you lost it.

I had always taken Arthur for granted, his dumb jokes, his mediocre attempts at cooking, how he’d stand in front of me when our mother got angry. He used to always sit by me after those long nights of yelling and crying, just sitting there. I took for granted how he sacrificed himself to protect me, how he could have left at 18, but didn’t just so I wouldn’t end up “as crazy as he was”. Isn’t that funny now?

Some days I wonder how better he’d be without me, where he didn’t need to stay, to endure so much more abuse than he already did. He wouldn’t have to had a failure of a sister AND a brother. He wouldn’t have had to try to save me, from the awful decisions I make all the time. He wouldn’t have had to watch as his brother walked away from him. He could have gotten help with the money he used to help me, he could have maybe gotten a better job, a better life.

Now look at us both, probably in space until we’re dead. If he isn’t already.

I heard about the crash. Heard about the no survivors. I keep wanting to hold out hope that somehow he survived, that he was able to somehow piece his life back together on some foreign planet away from any space companies. But I know that’s wishful thinking.

I know I’m in denial.

I just want some part of my life to be safe, the only part that ever was kind to me, even if I didn’t deserve it, because he didn’t deserve what happened to him either. I wish there was anything I could do, to somehow make his death worth anything, to make everything I did worth it. But there isn’t.

And there won’t be.

There isn’t a world where anything I do will change what I did wrong, that I can never actually be happy, that my life was a mistake. All I am is some miserable, monsterous person who keeps pretending like something can save them when that’ll never be the case.

So I’ll save myself, in the only way I know how to.

I’m sorry Arthur. I’ll see you soon.

[apoprockindajock]

(smack) -sender slaps reciever

human or monster

@xxdeathlorddeexx

Conrad looked at Dee, his eyes wide. His hand covered his stinging cheek, lips parted just a bit even as shock stole his words from him. They hadn't seriously just- Conrad's pupils grew large, and something hot and angry and uncomfortably close to hurt filled his gaze before he could stop it. Before he took the time to think it through, Conrad's hand was on Dee's chest. He pushed the other away, the strength behind his hand sending them to the floor (he'd been strong prior to being turned, but now? It took barely any effort.) Conrad was immediately on the floor in front of Dee, Eyes flashing as he glared at the other, face inches from the vampires. "I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, but we do NOT play that way. I don't have to be a genius to know you can use you fucking words, Dee." Conrad said, the words more growled than spoken. He stayed close, before slowly getting back to his feet and glaring down at Dee. "We gonna talk, or do you really wanna try and fight? You know it won't end well for you if you do, and I don't want to feel guilty because you decided talking like a fucking adult is too much effort." Conrad had lived way too many years being talk to with hands and hits. He wasn't going to live that way now that he'd gotten out of that house.

[cassieloveswhump]

Canary Contract: Prologue

Intro Masterlist

Content warnings: description of injury resulting from implied violent non-con, referenced child abuse, implied/referenced torture, referenced criminal activity, insensitive discussion and treatment of trauma

3 minutes into scrolling mindlessly on his phone, a file smacks onto Theodore Bishop’s desk, sending a loose post-it attached to the laptop drifting to the floor.

“Cap, new case just arrived. Apparently it’s a big long one too, so there’s a discussion session in 5 minutes downstairs.”

Theo lifted his head, meeting his coworker’s serious gaze reluctantly.

“Seriously? Didn’t we just conclude our last case this morning? There’s more than one capital felony investigation unit for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, Team Theta compiled this file, we’re working together on this case. Come on, meeting time, let’s go!”

A case requiring more than one unit? Theo raised an eyebrow in surprise. With crime rates as high as they were, investigation units tended to work separately to try and divide the sheer amount of cases they had to deal with. Just how serious was this case?

— — —

“We’ve traced criminal activity by the Potestas back to the Archambault Industries, and we suspect the Archambault heir to be one of its executives, or even higher up in position.”

“The Potestas?”

“Aren't they obsessed with metahuman experimentation and their powers?”

“Holy shit, we’re going after the mafia?”

“Finally, some progress on stopping them!”

Commissioner Gray clapped sharply, silencing the flurry of whispers in the room. She stood up to face the screen, switching the slides to display two faces. 

“We’ll be conducting our investigation in several aspects. Caspar Archambault’s affiliations with the Potestas, or lack thereof, is our main focus. Further operations will depend on our findings. Investigator Bishop!”

Theo straightened in anticipation as her eyes locked onto his figure.

“Your team will be stationed undercover as his neighbours. Observe his daily life, and if warranted, plant surveillance devices into his apartment. Aim to get close to his lover, Lucas Ainsworth.” She gestured to the black haired man on the screen. 

“His lover is a registered mnemokinetic, and may be responsible for the traces of psychic manipulation we’ve found. Or he may be entirely innocent. Either way, he should be one of the keys to this case.”

— — —

Back in his office, Theo spread out the file on Archambault's lover for everyone to read.

“So, Lucas Ainsworth. He studied in one of the most prestigious secondary schools in this country with a full ride academic scholarship, just to go to a run of the mill university and drop out after a year. According to his employment records, he's been unable to keep a job for longer than 4 months, and hasn't had one for years. His father was incarcerated and is now deceased, and his half sister currently lives with her birth mother. No background, and obviously no media training or any other experience with elite society to speak of. Interesting choice of a lover for an influential heir to a large scale company. Why choose someone so……unremarkable?”

“His ability definitely isn't unremarkable. Memory manipulation is rare and dangerous, even if inhibited. If the rumors are true and Archambault is in Potestas, Ainsworth could use his power fully. That's an asset if I've ever heard one.”

“Oh, his looks aren't anywhere near ordinary either. That face is model material. Weren't Ainsworth and Archambault in the same school for a year? I'd remember a face like that long enough to – Ow!”

Theo smacked his coworker in the arm hard. Ainsworth was extremely pretty, albeit a little too thin for comfort, with his delicate features, slim build, and big violet eyes, but…

“Dude, Ainsworth was 12 that year, and Archambault was already 18! Their relationship began when he was 20, read the file!”

A tentative voice sounded from Lily, who was holding up another paper.

“Guys? I think you should look at his medical file.”

The first thing that stood out to Theo, other than its unusual length, was the amount of pictures included in the file. According to regulation, photos of patients were prohibited from being displayed on their medical file unless they were for legal purposes, such as being used for evidence in court.

There was an overview of Ainsworth’s condition, such as his healing, strength and stamina factor compared to a baseline human, anecdotes of mild anemia and unhealed fractures, and a measure of his mnemokinetic ability, yet Theo’s attention was held by the two compilations of pictures.

The first pile of pictures depicted Ainsworth in what was probably his late teens, obviously malnourished and covered in cuts and bruises, scars in varying stages of healing scattered all over. Theo had been an investigator long enough to recognise the tell-tale signs of abuse, even if there was little to no legislation to protect children from their guardians.

According to the file, Ainsworth’s father had been charged with assault, and Theo would bet his overtime bonuses that the victim in question was Lucas. It was much easier legally for abused children to sue for assault once they reached adulthood, especially if they were employed and therefore part of the workforce, than to report their guardians for abuse when they were still a minor, and the former route was probably what Lucas had chosen.

The second pile of pictures doubled in both amount and brutality. Theo skimmed the summary in horror, suppressing the urge to vomit. Severe tearing, internal bleeding, broken pelvic bones, severe contusions and lacerations all over, a shattered ankle….. the list went on.

“Shit …” Arthur, one of the most senior members in the unit, mumbled.

“I think I recognise this case. This was a kidnapping and extortion case 4 years ago. Archambault called after his lover went missing after an argument, and apparently Ainsworth was taken by members of some rogue gang working under a company Archambault Industries had just taken over. They started out with extortion, and when that didn’t go so well, it became blatant torture in the name of revenge. It took more than a week for us to find them, and it’s a miracle Ainsworth survived mostly intact, if only physically.”

“So that’s why Commissioner Gray said Ainsworth is our best way to get information at this stage. She’s betting that he’s too mentally vulnerable to keep any secrets.” Theo mused. It was an extremely cruel method, yet it had the potential to be just as effective.

“Or he might be too broken to give us any useful information.” Arthur retorted.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Taglist: none atm but if anyone wants me to do one tell me :D

[rosentryst]

often there is blood smeared / like a rainbow split / pink and yellow and blue and green / on my mouth from my eyes on my hands and in my thighs / and it is orange, a cascading boil / down the length, down the choir / that sings with more blood down their mouth / pink and green and blue and brown / come here come here come here boy / don't look away don't flinch from the joy / you'll never know what you lost if you don't know what you had / and in the pink and the pink and the pink and red / a child with blood down her back / pink and green and blue and red.

[offbrandfungang]

Of course they started yelling at me mid argument.

What did I ever do..?

[offbrandfungang]

They’re fighting again.