#TW implied child neglect

[skillzissue]

//TW BLOOD//

“I’m sorry…”

“Does that make it better? Does that make it worse?”

[thepurplenighttlr]

more on the homestuck/mha au (Amarada is my mha oc)

[carmillatism]

since ao3 is down: carmilla fic @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Sometimes A Mom Is Just A Goth Vampire Lesbian From Outer Space And That's Okay

For Dr. Carmilla Appreciation Week: Mom Monday

trigger warnings for implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, implied/referenced parental abuse, and light self-hatred

note: i will be posting this (and other fanfics for this week) on ao3 once it is up and working again. just don't want to wait any longer for this fic. first time posting a fic on tumblr as well, just so it's known.

fic under the cut

"So, how was your mother?"

"Oh, starting with the hard-hitting questions, huh?" She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She scooches around on the chair before giving up. She stares.

"I mean there's no other way to start it, is there? You didn't give me much to work with, so…" Carmilla narrows her eyes.

"Watch it. Just because you're giving me therapy, doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." She tries to add a hint of humor to her voice because she knows she doesn't mean it. Really. …Well, she kind of does. It's weird. That's why she's in therapy.

She sighs before leaning back in her chair, folding into herself. "Well, I guess she was fine. She wasn't as bad as my father; that's for sure."

"I'm not going to ask you about your father as we aren't here for that, don't worry, but you said 'not as bad'. What does that mean?"

She sighs, frowning slightly. She really was going to divulge this information to a stranger then. "She wasn't actively bad, really. She just allowed so many things to pass. She never really tried to stop anyone from doing anything. She was so passive, so easily used by people who just wanted to hurt her- her kids- me. She wasn't good in that way."

"And that passive response can be just as bad as the people who actively hurt you." She cringes at that.

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh, okay. How come?"

She pauses, thinking about the question. Well, she did help her sometimes. …Sometimes. "She… um, well, she helped me on occasion. She taught me how to take care of myself, make food. She sometimes helped me with my studies."

"So, the bare minimum?" The question is innocent and she knows they're trying to help, but that statement snaps something in her. The very fragile dam of emotions she built about that topic crumbles. It was never that strong anyways.

She always knew what her mother did wasn't the best. That was why she was here for the Gods' sake. But she hadn't ever thought about it in that way. Her mom had barely done the bare minimum and yet she still praised her so much… She did the bare minimum and much worse so often that Carmilla just felt like she had to praise her just for doing something… kind, that she should do. She praised her for doing what all mothers should do for their children.

She couldn't stop it. She felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes. A few started to leak out. She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box laying on the table next to her.

"I never really thought about it in that way, but… yes. If that. She did the bare minimum sometimes, and other times- most times- she didn't. She just let me get hurt and let my father hurt me with not a care in the world. And she never really apologized, more so made it about herself than anything else. She didn't focus on me that much, and if she did, it was because I messed up somehow."

Her therapist looks down at their paper before scribbling on a pad resting in their lap. Tears are streaming down her face, but she's surprisingly calm. It was almost relieving to get this out.

"And this… you mentioned that you wanted to talk about being a mom…?" Her head perks up at that and she stares at them for a moment. Did she write that down…? Oh. Right. Curse her past, emotionally volatile self.

"Oh, I guess. It's just I was wondering about how I am as a mother. I try to help a lot; I do. But sometimes it just doesn't come out right. I feel like I make situations worse when I try to help." She cringes and looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

"And what do you do to help them?"

She thinks for a second. There was a lot, she thought. Maybe… too much? She should probably mention the things she did that usually made her Mechanisms worse, though.

"Well, a lot of times I would think their mechanisms were acting up and making them feel bad, so I'd take them to the lab and get them the help they needed."

Her therapist frowns, writing something down on their paper. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. This is a safe space for her to talk about herself. She won't be judged. …But even so, she couldn't stop herself from judging her own words that came from out of her mouth.

Her therapist looks down at their clipboard, tapping their pen against it, thinking. "And what did you do to help?"

She frowns, thinks. Was it really helping? Did she actually help them? Or was what she did something that only made them worse? "I would usually perform surgery on them…" Her therapist seems to have to hold back a reaction. "I'd get to the root of the problem, their mechanism, and make sure it was all up to date and working well."

Her therapist hums thoughtfully, and she stiffens before relaxing. Her therapist leans a bit forward, chin in hand. "And were their… mechanisms really the problem?"

She stops at that. Were they? She had always thought that it had to have been something with the mechanisms that were making them feel bad. They usually worked just fine, but they were still experimental tech that hadn't been used before. She just always assumed that it had to be that. The mechanisms are the clear reason, so what else could it be?

"I mean, yeah." She stops. Well, actually, a lot of times when she'd knock them out, get into their mechanism, they would be just fine, running smoothly. So if it wasn't the mechanism then what was it?

The therapist takes her silence as a cue to add, "Did there seem to be a common throughline for why they needed help? What signs were there?

"Well… they seemed okay at first. Usually right after they were mechanized there was understandable fear and confusion, but they'd soon come to find a routine. They grew comfortable on the ship. I'd take them in to check on them, their mechanisms. I think it was only after that they seemed to get worse. Did I scare them about their mechanisms too much? Did I make them worried? They always seemed so scared and worried, sometimes defensive."

Her therapist just continued to look at her, a sad look on their face. Did she say something wrong? No. No. The therapist wouldn't judge her for that. She was just judging herself too harshly.

"I mean they would usually be fine before I took them back. I'd watch them from the other room, and they would seem fine. They would talk, play games and music, and destroy stuff sometimes." She thinks fondly about those memories before continuing. "And then when I would walk into the room with the news that I needed to double check their mechanism, that's when they would get scared. They'd always back away, beg me not to take them back. I can't believe I scared them so much about their own mechanisms." She looks up to the therapist to see if they have anything to add. They just stare at her before motioning for her to continue. She does. "But… well, even when I didn't bring up surgeries, treatment, or their mechanisms, they would get scared like that often. Almost all the time. It was always when…"

Her hand flies to her mouth before she can utter the next part. A noise between a strangled yell and a cry parts her lips and she instinctively pushes her hand harder against her mouth to stop it from getting out.

Her therapist smiles sadly, nodding just slightly.

She… was the problem. They were always scared when she walked in. They were always fine right before. They always got scared when she entered. They were scared of… her.

That… she can't believe she could do something like that, make her own kids so scared of her. That was… insane. She thinks morbidly to herself that it's almost as insane as making people immortal. It was insane just as much as it was true. Her therapist had only confirmed it.

"How could I… How did I never realize?"

Her therapist looks at her hard for a moment, and she thinks she can truly see them for the first time. She's actually focused on who they are. They're a real, living person that she's just spilt her guts to. "People can get stuck in their own head sometimes. They think what they're doing is the right thing because that's all they've ever known." Tissues barely made a dent in the tears streaming down her face. They were silent, however. Acceptance could hurt just as much as any pain. "You can think you're doing the right thing, but the right thing for one person can be the wrong thing for another. Kind of like the opposite version of 'one's man treasure can be another man's trash'."

So that's why they always seemed so scared. It was her. They were scared of her. She thought she was helping them with those surgeries, with mechanizing them in the first place, but she wasn't… She had never even thought she could be the problem.

"How could I be so bad��?" Her body was a coiled wire. A coiled wire, ready to be let go and lash out at anything and everything. But, well, not anything nor everything. She just wanted to lash out at herself.

How could she fix this? This wasn't something you fixed with a handsaw, anesthetic, and some morphine.

"It's hard. It's hard to know what you're doing, especially when you never had a good example to begin with." Oh. Oh that- That makes sense. "What you did was bad-" She cringes at that but nods. It was. "-but bad things happen and people do those bad things. But that doesn't always make them bad people. Even if they were once bad, they don't have to stay that way. It's not up to you to decide if they forgive you, but you can, either way, decide to be a better person." Oh. That was nice. She… She could be better. She had all of eternity to make things better. She could do that. She could, at least, make things better than they once were. That was a promise.

"I… Thank you. Thank you very much."

Her therapist nods. "Of course. It will take time, but you can become better. You can do it for them. Just… give them time and space right now. Rushing into it will just make things worse. And… don't be scared to reach out to help on how to become better. People are working every day to better themselves. I'm sure there's many people who would respect your endeavors and could provide advice. People do fucked up things, but that doesn't have to mean they're fucked up people."

That was… Maybe she understood why people went to therapy.

Her tears had stopped rolling, thankfully having stopped before she got to the end of the tissue box. She was… glad she went here. It was a lot to hear that she hadn't been as good a mother as she had thought she tried to be, but it was nice to have confirmation that she could get better. She could do better. So much better. She could be a better mom.

She smiles and nods at her therapist and they smile back.

And… since the session was coming to a close, she could ask the therapist a question. Maybe for a little more comfort. Mostly just because she was interested. Damn that cat curiosity killed.

"Do you think the mechanisms see me as their mom?"

The therapist thinks for a second. Yeah. From what I know, I would say so." They stop, then, contemplating something. "I don't think of you as my mom, though." Oh, WHAT? Come the fuck on.

She frowns before arching a brow at that, staring him down. "...Marius, now, why would you say that?"

Marius shifts in his seat uncomfortable, clipboard still in hand, but he has stopped tapping his hand. Carmilla laughs to herself and thinks they're more weary of the gun they have on their hip, now.

"Well, I mean, you just really didn't make me like the rest, you know? You didn't make Tim, Raph or me." Marius looks at her and Carmilla looks anywhere but him, just to rile him up some more.

She looks to her left then right before pursing her lips at him, looking slightly disappointed. Marius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They seem to want to throw their hands up in the air, before thinking better of it.

"Doc, come on. You're more like a family friend than anyone else. You're like someone who pops in sometimes to see what's going on." Carmilla feigns anger at that, and Marius sighs even deeper this time, resting their head against their hand.

"Oh, so I'm just a family friend, am I? I make almost all of you, and I'm just a family friend. I see how it is, Marius." She hangs her head downcast and sniffles a bit for emphasis.

Marius closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. They open their eyes again, and level a stare at Carmilla. "Carmilla, it's just that Raph was more the one that made me and I still don't know you that well. Like, the others are definitely your kids, but I'm- we're- just not." Carmilla notices that whilst exasperated, he doesn't seem to be stressed, moreso playing along with her. But either way, it is nice to hear where the two of them stood in reference to her. She still didn't know the two that well.

"That's docteur to you, Marius." Marius gives an exasperated sound before finally throwing his hands in the air, clipboard flying to the floor. "And, I mean, would you consider Raphaella your mom?"

"What? No!" Marius' face has turned into a grimace. He looks somewhat sick.

Carmilla hides a smile, trying to keep the conversation as serious as possible. She arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Well, then, being made by someone obviously doesn't make them your mom."

"Well-" She cuts them off.

"So me creating you obviously doesn't matter here. I think it should be more about the fact that I take care of all of you and make sure your mechanisms are working just fine. Plus, I cook for you and help you when you're feeling down. And! I do that all in a motherly way." Carmilla looks proud of herself. Marius looks… confused. "So why are you so hesitant to call me mom when it's clear that's what I am to you?" She was actually a bit curious at the answer.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me! Also, wouldn't this break some type of rule in therapy if I was treating my mom since you 'are' my mom?" He's really against calling her his mom. Interesting. Either way, Carmilla isn't worried. She'll make them see she's their mom soon.

"You're not an actual therapist, Marius. If you were, you wouldn't be giving out therapy on a ship in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a license and some of your therapy sessions wouldn't include se-"

"Hey! Low blow! You don't always need a license from some big industry to be able to do something." He's red in the face but laughing good-naturedly, and Carmilla allows herself a giggle.

"You quite literally need a license to be a therapist, Marius." Marius rolls their eyes at that.

"Oh, well, I guess that means you aren't a doctor anymore because your license surely has been taken away after breaking the hippocratic oath so many times."

Carmilla's mouth drops open and she has to stop herself from blurting out a laugh. Yeah, she could get used to this Marius kid.

"Oh, Marius, you're grounded for like 3 years now."

Now it's time for Marius' jaw to drop. He stares at her, bug eyed. "You literally can't do that! You're not my mom!"

"You may not see me as your mom, Marius, but that doesn't make me any less a mom in general, so I can most definitely ground you."

"How can you even ground me on a ship, light-years away from any planet?" Marius actually looks somewhat worried.

She thinks on that for a second and then says, "You're going to be stuck in your room for 3 years, then."

"TIM!"

Dr. Carmilla glares at Marius, tapping her foot against the floor. Of course Marius has to try and use someone else to support his bullshit claim. Can't back it up on his own. She hears Tim running towards them and rolls her eyes when she sees Tim pop his head in through the door frame.

"Uh, what's up?" She asks, before looking between Dr. Carmilla sitting in an armchair and Marius holding a clipboard, glasses on his forehead, and wearing clothes that seem more business casual than his normal outfit. This was some type of therapy session then. Tim looks behind him before looking back in the room, furrowing his brows and squinting slightly. "...If you're having a therapy session, I can just… leave…" She starts backing up, seeming to not want any part in whatever Carmilla and Marius were doing.

Marius holds up a hand out to stop Tim. "No, no, nope. The therapy session is over and I need to ask you a question." Carmila sighs, looking between Tim and Marius. Marius always had to cause a scene (which was another reason why they were her kid).

Tim comes back to the door frame, but steps a bit back and out of the way, apparently scared of what he's about to be asked. Marius would either want her to come practice some type of fucked up form of therapy, or pretend he was a Baron. Which Marius really seemed to think he was even though it was obvious to Tim that Marius didn't even know where Britain was in the first place. And Carmilla, she would probably just stare at her eyes. For a long time. A long long time.

"Uh, ask away, then-"

Marius barely allows Tim to get their sentence out before asking, "Would you say Dr. Carmilla is my mom?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. Why are they wondering about the schematics of moms…? Why couldn't they just be normal and murder people? Why talk when you can… oh, she doesn't know, explode a couple planets.

"Tim." Her head snaps to Marius and her goggles zoom in on their face. He looks… serious? Well, as serious as Marius could be.

"I mean I don't really know how to answer that-"

"Tim, just answer their question so this conversation can end." Carmilla just stares at him, tired.

"Uh, well, probably not, then." Carmilla exclaims and Tim cuts her off before she can say anything. "I mean! You didn't really make him nor have you been around him for that long, so…" Tim stops, thinking for a moment, tapping their chin for added effect. "I guess you're more like a stepmother."

"A STEPMOTHER?" Carmilla yells and Tim shrugs. Marius is laughing, doubled over.

"You know, she has a point, Doc." Marius says through tears of laughter.

"A POINT? I'LL SHOW YOU A POINT, MARIUS VON RAUM-"

"HEY. CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET AN OLD-ASS TV THEY LOOTED TO WORK PROPERLY." Jonny's muffled yells can be heard from the common rooms.

They all shut up, looking between each other, barely keeping back laughs. And then they're all in hysterics: cackling, sobbing, hiccupping, rolling over themselves as they try to gain any semblance of control over their bodies. But they just can't stop, the absurdity of the conversation– the situation– making them lose it.

And Carmilla, there, in that moment, as she's shaking from laughing so hard, realizes something. Maybe Mom was less about the title, itself, and more about the experience the word describes.

[voicesinthedarkness]

Child

TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED CHILD NEGLECT

Chapter One

He finds her in a safe house.

Shots are fired. Three arrows leave black marks on the wall next to a window. Finally, he pins her to the floor and holds a knife to her throat. Something flashes in her eyes, something that makes him stop.

It is not anger, or hate, or vengeance.

It is regret.

Remorse.

Fear.

Sorrow.

He stares down at her, panting. She stares up at him, no longer struggling. Resigned to her fate. “Black Widow,” he says, voice still rough as he tries to catch his breath. “Hawkeye,” she replies steadily, her Russian accent thick.

“Do you want to live?”

“I… I don’t know.”

His voice softens. “If I roll off of you right now, are you going to attack me?” Her breath shudders in surprise. “No.”

And she doesn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks, dabbing at the small scrape on her throat. She hesitates, thinking, then answers, “Natalia. But… but my friends call me Natasha.” He smiles. “Hi, Natasha. I’m Clint.”

~ ~ ~

Natasha Romanoff

“We need confirmation Dreykov’s in the building,” Clint says, eyes focused on said building from his perch a few roofs away. “His car is pulling up now,” Natasha reports. She watches as a young girl, no more than four or five years old, with hair even redder than Natasha’s exits the car and is ushered inside. Her eyes follow the girl to the second floor, heading to a room with a familiar figure inside. This is wrong, she thinks suddenly. The girl shouldn’t be killed for Dreykov’s sins. But if Dreykov dies…

Maybe my own sins can be forgiven.

“Natasha, we clear?”

“Yes,” she answers automatically and promptly regrets it. “Wai—”

But the building is already exploding. The girl’s tiny body is wreathed in flames and propelled through a window. She lands below Natasha’s hiding spot on an apartment building fire escape, bruised, bleeding, and unconscious, but strangely unburned. Natasha easily slips from her hiding spot into the alley, feet thudding on the gravel-strewn asphalt next to the girl. Clint runs up to them, a first-aid pack in his hands. “Hey,” he pants, kneeling and taking out a couple alcohol wipes and some bandages. “How’d you find her?” he asks, cleaning a scrape on the girl’s arm. “She was flung out of the building by the explosion,” Natasha explains, bandaging a cut on her leg. “So… probably part of the Red Room?” Natasha nods. “I… I couldn’t leave her. To be… made into another Widow.” The girl’s hair is coated in ash and dust, but a few of the fiery red-gold curls still glitter in the light. Clint nods too, touching Natasha’s arm gently. “I don’t want that either.”

They work together in silence for the next several minutes, until a gunshot hits the brick of the building behind them, not far above Clint’s head. Immediately he’s up, the girl in his arms, zipping down the alley. Natasha fires her own gun while packing up the first aid kit as fast as possible and follows him.

The gunman chases them for several blocks and into a train station. They dart around a couple corners, until Natasha spots a grate in the ceiling, leading to an air vent. She gestures to it and Clint nods, shifting the girl in his arms so that he can reach up and swing it open. He lifts the girl inside, pulls himself up, and holds out his hands to help Natasha up. “Come on!” he hisses impatiently when Natasha pauses, her independent instincts warring with the critical goal of hiding. Finally, she gives the first aid kit to Clint and grabs his hands once he’s shoved it behind him. He pulls her up easily and gets the vent closed once more just before the gunman comes around the corner, raging about what he’s going to do to someone named Iskra Khozyaikova.

He searches for a long time, so long that Clint eventually takes out a Sharpie and draws a strange grid on the wall of the vent. Natasha can only give him a look of complete confusion. He draws an x in one space, holding the permanent marker out to her. Hesitantly, she takes it and draws her own x. Clint’s eyes widen with surprise. “Do you know how to play tic tac toe?” he whispers. Natasha shakes her head mutely. Clint's expression saddens, but at the look on Natasha's face, he wipes it away quickly. “One person draws x’s and the other draws o’s,” he explains, still whispering. “The first person who gets a line of three wins.” Natasha nods in understanding and draws a new grid, then an o in the far-right middle space, and hands the marker to Clint.

They play two or three dozen games before they both decide it’s safe to leave. Natasha wins the most by far.

~ ~ ~

Clint leads Natasha, the girl in her arms, to a safe house. She wakes up at the sound of the door creaking open, her golden eyes instantly filling with fear. She twists and writhes, but her body is so small and her strength so little that Natasha keeps hold of her easily. “Ты в безопасности,” (you’re safe) she soothes, carefully setting her down when she pauses for a moment. Clint heads to the tiny kitchen, taking three cans of baked beans from the pantry, dumping them in bowls, and putting them in the microwave. “Хотите немного еды?” (Would you like some food?) Natasha asks, leading the girl into the kitchen. She nods after a moment, tentatively climbing onto a chair. “She looks really malnourished. Don’t let her eat too much,” Clint warns. Natasha makes a noise of agreement, watching carefully as the three of them eat and nudging the girl’s bowl away when the amount of beans in the bowl has visibly decreased. “Остальное вы сможете получить позже,” (you can have the rest later) Natasha reassures in response to the girl’s sound of protest. “Как тебя зовут?” (What's your name?) Natasha says. The girl just stares at her silently, clearly still suspicious. Natasha exhales. “Хорошо, ну, меня зовут Наташа, а моего друга зовут Клинт.” (Okay, well, my name is Natasha, and my friend’s name is Clint.) The girl flinches when she hears друга (friend). “Что не так?” (What's wrong?) Natasha asks, reaching out to take the girl's hand, but she jerks away, eyes wide. “Нет,” (no) she whispers. “Пожалуйста.” (Please.) Natasha nods, pulling away. “Ты безопасности здесь,” (you're safe here) she repeats. “Обещать.” (promise)

Chapter Two

[ring-of-galactic]

I think she's like that because she grew up in the streets. Something like "burnt food" isn't something she was Allowed to get upset over. So it's probably just stuck in her mind that ungratefulness is punishable (probably starving. I mean. Not many options on the streets of Tiksi)

yeah.. I guess I understand that. ..especially regarding the.. ungratefulness is punishable thing. Basically any sort of emotion, or.. really just being "difficult" was.. in the most literal sense.

I- I just.. don't like b-being reminded about that stuff. N-Not.. not by someone I felt safe around. I-It doesn't feel good to.. have to question that. Even for a m-moment. ..Even if I convince myself to do that way too often. But- you get the point.. I don't.. wanna have a reason to.

[no2-interpol-unofficial]

Is uhm. Is Blake okay :(? Are you feeding him ..

I'm feeding him! I'd ask that question to whoever had him before, honestly... he used to be even thinner. It's a slow process, but I'm working on it, honest! I wouldn't let a growing boy go hungry!

And he should be fine. Apparently, he's used to this! ..That only puts up even more red flags in my head, but! Not gonna acknowledge that right now. He's atleast out of there, and safe with me.

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

Nobody is “too young” to be cynical or jaded or hate their life. There is no appropriate age for that. If someone is experiencing that at any age, their mental health is at risk. Doesn’t matter how young they are, or how easy their life seems. Just because existential dread didn’t hit you until later in life, doesn’t mean everyone else gets to be so lucky.

“You think life sucks now? Just wait until you’re grown” okay grandpa what if they don’t make it to adulthood? What if it gets worse until they only see one way out and they take it? Stop being dismissive. Stop forcing your problems onto young people and start taking them seriously about things. Period.

(Inspired by this post)

[nerves-nebula]

start | Prev | Next

pages 41-43

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

[cupidl0vesy0u]

Sooo update on puppy TomTom- blame @charlybvnny for this… the angst it infected me-

The arm was eaten by @nomsfaultau btw <3

[small-but-mightyy]

now i’m suffering, and you couldn’t care less

[aftgficrec]

heyy i’m looking for this fic that i haven’t been able to find in forever. i read it in 2020 i think so it’s probably deleted, but it was basically about andrew’s time in foster care and how he ended up in jail, how he met aaron, how he met higgins, all the stuff. it had 2/4 chapters completed or something like that and it was titled something like “the before and the after”. like before he met neil and after. yeah. tyyyy!!

I’ve had a good look around, but I haven’t been able to find a fic that exactly meets your criteria, this one is the closest I could find.  Hope it’ll do for now, but maybe our followers have a better idea. You could also search our tags theme: juvie and theme: foster care. This fic is locked, so you need to be logged into an AO3 account to access it. - S

Doe by FoxyAtlas [Rated M, 12068 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2022, locked]

Andrew Doe wasn't worth a goddamn thing. He did everything he could to make his foster parents want him, but he was a lost cause. He would never have a family, and he would never be wanted. Nothing he could do would change that. Or so he thought. --- The story of Andrew Minyard's life, starting at 6 and going through to the end of the AFTG series. Includes: shitty foster situations, Cass and Drake, meeting Aaron for the first time, juvie, Tilda, working at Sweetie's, hooking up with Roland, getting the offer to join the Ravens, joining the Foxes, becoming Kevin's protector, and having Neil Josten absolutely turn his life upside down.

tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: child neglect, tw: suicidal thoughts

[gaybae1021]

Hey, heads up this is a heavy comic. I think I’ve tagged everything I need to but if you think I missed a tag let me know. The darker themes are implied, but if you’re uncomfortable with anything in the tags feel free to scroll on.

Uh oh, heat wave in Phoenix Drop. You know what that means? Summer outfits! And you know what that means? New scar reveals! And you know what that means? Unpacking childhood trauma!

Panels fused version:

[miscellaneoussmp]

When the cart started to move, Bobby ran to get himself up onto it. Once he was up, he reached out towards Tilín, who was holding Flippa's hand. Both little girls ran after the cart and were soon pulled up by the little boy who sat the edge. Bobby leaned back on his hands while Flippa and Tilín leaned on each other. No adrenaline to be found, just a calm moment with their siblings whose hearts still beat in their chest.

Trumpet ran alongside the cart, one of his hands holding his colorful hat from falling off. The music being played by the sister who never met him made this moment so much better. A little girl with little blue flowers in her hair, who calls herself Hope, also runs alongside the cart. The warm sunshine on her skin and soft wind in her hair felt absolutely amazing. She leaps and skips along, too. For both running, the movement was all they could ask for.

[number1aaronhater]

I just wanna talk about my rewrite because I'm working on the first chapter and I feel like we need to meet our MC

Also I mentioned this in another post but I am a gore, angst, and horror writer I write deep topics. This isn't going to be a no minors space as I try to keep my content in the guidelines. Plus I am I minor myself and I feel like as a minor it is not my job to keep others off my page but this is a 13/14 up page. Though I doubt anyone younger is on tumblr but still.

Tw for bullying, harrassment, anxiety, mental problems, brief mentions of sh, abusive parenting, and many other things, readers please be advised this is not going to be fluffy. But I promise niceness soon.

Aphmau, our protag, our titular bitchular. She was homeschooled since 5th grade due to her being bullied for being 'weird' (Audhd, because I'm basing her off my and my friends experience with Autism and ADHD because I need her to have something going for her.)

She is extremely extraverted and hyperactive, but often got ridiculed for being loud, touchy, clingy and a 'crybaby'. In the fifth grade her mother decided to homeschool Aphmau as her mental health was declining.

Aphmau often picked at her hair or at her skin due to her anxiety. Her father, who she stayed with on weekends or whenever she was up to it, was not as understanding as Sylvania, and Aphmau soon stopped visiting him. That caused a plethora of problems for Aphmau, such as bullying, online harrassment, doxxing, and stalking from her father and his friends. While he ending up in prison he also lost rights to Ein aka Aphmau's half-brother.

When Ein came into their home, he was abused malnourished and covered in scars both self inflicted and done by others. He was distrustful, and spent time going to therapy, homeschooling classes or in werewolf classes. Aphmau and Ein were quick to get along as Aphmau was less than a year older than him.

Both Aphmau and Ein in this period of their lives were struggling and while Ein was far more harmful hurting himself and others. Aphmau isolated herself and found herself playing online games often. She while struggling with sh, often dissociated using video games, anime, and other forms of media.

She meet Aaron online on a online dnd type game and they become fast friends bonding over their shitty dads and shared love for roleplaying games. Aaron was the first to share a picture, it was him wearing a red veil and was like a 2017 type snapchat picture with the horrible filters.

They become fast friends and when Aaron tells Aphmau he's transfering to a co-ed school (a school for all species and magicks users) Aph is happy for him and on her first day when he bumps into her first day they're both really excited.

I wrote a lot after taking a break from writing a snippet from the first chapter will be out soon (I hope) I hope you liked this bit of lore, I'm always open to critique. Also sorry for any grammar mistakes.

[hughlegat]

[no2-interpol-unofficial]

You could invite him into doing a face cleaning routine at night with you! Maybe he'll do it if it's just some time to spend alongside you? And then bam, lotion!

..Maybe! He's very routine-orientated, and there's not very many things for him to spend his time with on the current daily routine, so presenting it like that would probably do the job! I think he'd like it, too! He's a sweet little thing.. he's not good at expressing it, but he likes it when I pamper him! He certainly didn't get much attention with the "people" who "raised" him..

But anyways, hopefully this works! Even if it doesn't, it's still time spent with the little guy, so there's still some good in this even if he still can't sleep.