#can you imagine being a mother of a deformed child and doing your damn best to raise him lovingly

[nuclearnerves]

that one post thats like "tumblr name a woman challege (impossible)"

[positivelybeastly]

VICIOUS {I request as though it won’t piss me off someone was nasty to him}

"I still don't understand why we couldn't have gone out for something more - American."

It's really not quite the visit that Hank had been hoping for. He hasn't seen his parents in years, and sure, he had maybe anticipated some hectoring concern that he didn't keep in touch as best he could've (kids, y'know), but this is . . . something he really hadn't been ready for.

For mom to be so cold.

And he knows it isn't really the food that's upsetting her. He knows that dad made excuses for her being so silent when he came to pick them up from the airport. He knows all that. But he's finding it hard to really reconcile all of this with the woman who raised him, and he keeps hoping that maybe it'll just - come out, and they can talk about it. It'll be fine.

"Come on, Edna! Admit it! This is really tasty! Whaddaya call this swell glop I'm eating, Vera?"

God, and people think he's bad. If anyone ever wondered where Hank got his clown persona from, they really need look no further than Norton McCoy, because it is bad with a capital B. Well. Hank doesn't think it's all that bad, not really, he damn well loves his dad, but it is bad, just like he knows a lot of his material is bad.

But bad jokes are better than pain, after all.

"'Keema,' Mr., uh, Norton."

Bless you for trying, Vera, this isn't what you signed up for. I'll make it up to you later.

The silence only lasts a few seconds, but Hank's mind, much as he tries to hide it these days, is calculating and processing and re-calculating and re-processing so fast that he goes through about sixteen separate emotional states and a hundred hypothetical ways that this conversation is going to pan out before he opens his mouth and just says it.

"Mom, I can't help noticing how odd you're acting. What is it? Please tell me. What's wrong?"

He reaches out a hand. His palm are soft, and his fingers are delicate but strong. The fine blue fur shimmers in the light.

"Don't touch me, you disgusting freak!"

The hand pulls back. The vicious claws recoil. The animal's hide all over his gnarled, monstrous fingers quivers with hurt. One could almost mistake the owner of the limb for human.

"Mom?"

She doesn't mean it. She can't.

"Edna!"

She doesn't mean it. She can't.

"Mrs. McCoy!"

She doesn't mean it. She can't.

"E-Edna! You don't know what you're saying!"

"I know exactly what I'm saying! This - this creature isn't my son! Look at him! He's a disgrace! A . . . horror!"

She doesn't mean it. She can't.

"Mom, please."

Edna McCoy gets up and walks away from the table. Hank watches her go, feeling like the axis of his world has been knocked out of kilter. He's skittish, unsettled, hyper-aware of every little movement, of every inch of blue skin and blue fur exposed to the world.

"MOM!"

His dad, bless him, tries.

"Let her go, son! She needs to cool off! S-She doesn't mean to hurt you! It's just - "

And just what in the hell does any of that mean, dad?

"Just - what?!"

Hank's always had amazing balance, been able to do handstands on the head of a pin since he was six, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't really feel like he can stand up properly. He grips at the chair in front of him, so very conscious of the fact that if he grips too hard, it'll snap like a twig. Maybe mom's right to be afraid.

"Y'know, when the doctor told us my exposure to radiation might result in our having a - deformed, child . . . your mother and I were sick with worry. You can imagine how relieved we were when you were born!"

That helps. No, it actually does. Hank's always struggled a little bit to be normal, struggled to conceptualise himself as anything other than, well, other, but to hear that he came into the world a relief is . . . it's soothing. It helps. it gives context. It makes it not hurt quite as much. Maybe . . . maybe if . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he talked to her, just, got to the root of the issue. She couldn't be wholly unhappy with her son, superstar Avenger, right?

"Oh, sure - we realised you were different - but I think your mother always tried to ignore that. She wanted you to have a happy, normal life."

Well, shit. So much for that.

"Now, years later, her little boy's a world-famous adventurer with - blue fur, fangs, and pointed ears! Hardly the CPA she'd hoped for. I . . . hope you can understand, son."

He wasn't a monster. He wasn't. He was still her son. She had to see that, didn't she? His mother was no fool. She had to see that he was still him, just . . . more, in some ways. Not less. Please, god, don't let this be less. Hank desperately needs how he is now to not be less.

"Understand, dad? Of course I understand. But I can't let mom work this out alone. I've gotta go talk to her!"

He bounces out of the restaurant, a man on a mission.

She doesn't mean it. She can't.

[thewildeleven]

The Titan.

"I do not know why you bother to name them, if only to place heavier burdens upon your heart," the Titan said. He was sitting on his throne in the Great Hall of Olympus, said to be the highest peak in all of Greece. His wife sat beside him, her own seat carrying equal grandeur.

Rhea learned to keep her eyes down in the Titan's presence. She avoided his gaze, then feigned endearment by firmly leaning on his shoulder as she spoke. Her tresses adorned his bare chest, the golden curls complimenting his sculpted muscles.

"My dearest," Rhea said, her voice almost a whisper, "You are my Capitol. I know that you mean to preserve us. Forgive me when I show weakness, they remain flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones."

"I do allow you this folly," the Titan said. "And yet, is it not better comfort to leave them forgotten and unnamed? Why must you remember them so?"

In her mind, Rhea held each and every one of them close. Demeter with locks like endless wheat-fields. Hestia, of the burning eyes. The even-muscled Hera, whom she imagined must grow with a strength rivaling the strongest mortal men. Hades, the timid. Poseidon, the proud. She had visions of them, of what they could be; each one a worthy successor to the Titan's throne.

And yet Cronus would not allow any of his offspring to usurp him, so he ate all of them alive as soon as they were torn from Rhea's womb.

"No, you are right," she lied. "In my mind they must fade like mortal life. Like threads spun shortest by Fate. I must not care for them."

"Good," said the Titan as he stood and faced his wife. "Look: the prophecy, salt which my father has poured over my wounds with, had me perpetually undone. My dear Rhea, in time you will bear our sixth child, and whatever you must name the creature, name it quick, for after I devour him I shall place my desires under deep slumber.

"You understand that I desire to rule only with might and be just." he added. "I did not ask for these atrocities. I will not allow my immortal conscience to plague me any longer."

Rhea looked straight into his eyes, and with a piercing gaze asked: "Why not just kill me?"

"What did you say?"

Rhea avoided his eyes once more and brought her head down. "Nothing. Forgive my tongue if it went out of turn."

Like most things Cronus offered her in the past decade, the slap on her face came as an unwelcome surprise. She could tell that his husband restrained from giving the hit its full strength, yet it brought with it the ringing of a thousand thunders; it heralded a clouding in her mind, the rumble of a great storm brewing.

The Titan took his wife's face and forced her to face him, and for the first time since the devouring of Poseidon, she saw the Monster that the prophecy created. He regarded her like she was some animal. The judging, wide eyes. The perfect set of teeth revealed by the smug smile.

"Rhea, my dear Rhea," the Monster said. "I am doing this for us, I am sure you know. And I promise… I will stop once the sixth child has been taken. Do you understand?"

Rhea's lips, even backed by the body of an invincible titaness, were too frightened to speak.

"Do you understand?!" the monster growled.

"Yes, my love…" 

"Soon, this will be all over with, and both of us will live in eternal rule." He kissed her, his tongue tasting her tears. Rhea closed her eyes as the Titan undressed her.

***

Some months later, Rhea felt a familiar stirring within her belly. It brought a concoction of delight and dread upon her being.

She planned to hide the pregnancy for as long as possible, but she knew that the Titan would notice it eventually. She could have had a lot of help, yet decided against asking aid from Uranus, Gaia, or any other being whom she thought might have an interest in taking Olympus' throne for themselves. Her plan was to consult with the creatures of the Earth, and her eyes caught wonders in the heart of the forest nymph Adamanthea.

As the stirrings became more frequent, Rhea decided to appear in the nymph's grove at once. Not as the supreme being that she was, but as a mother seeking refuge for her unborn child.

"Surely all the Earth has heard of Cronus' atrocities," Rhea said.

"Bah!" the leaf-haired nymph replied, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of the woman in front of her. "If it were up to me I would put Cronus' neck on a noose that will never break. I will hang him from the Great Tree to watch his life draining away, never quite dying but in enough pain to regret his immortality. I would ask for the vultures to feast on his carcass while he can still feel! Well," she paused to smile. "You see, vultures do not really eat the flesh of those who are still alive, you know. Heh. They are scavengers, see, and they only go for helpless carcasses. They only eat dead ones, yep. In any case! I think if vultures should make an exception, it should be for Cronus! Because what he does is just disgusting and spells injustice for anyone! Except--"

"Calm down, sweet nymph," Rhea interrupted. "The Titan might hear you."

Adamanthea covered her lips. She widened her eyes and turned her head left and right. "You're right," she whispered. "Wait… who are you again?"

"My name is Rhea. I come to you now not as your sovereign, but as a mother desperate to save her yet unborn child. Will you help me?"

Adamanthea stepped back, her mouth open. "Are you serious? I mean, I DON'T not believe you! You're really Rhea, huh. Who else could appear out of thin air anyway, right? If there's anyone with some serious nature-defying abilities like that, it would be you guys up top. But hey, look at me! I'm a forest nymph! I haven't even learned how to craft a weedwhistle cord yet. I've been a bit negligent in my daily practice. Lazy. Heh. You know… butterflies to chase and petals to collect, and gazelles and fawns and hummingbirds to talk to. In any case! How could I even help?"

"Take more credit for yourself, for we always say that the resourcefulness of the forest nymphs knows no bounds," the titaness replied. "Now listen, Adamanthea. In a few hours I will bring out Zeus, my sixth child, out into this world. I only need some way to hide him until he is strong enough to stand up for himself."

The forest nymph went silent, her eyes blank and lost in thought. After a few moments, she said, "Right. You know what? You have come to the right creature.

"All my life I have listened to the whisperings of the rocks and the winds," the nymph added, "and I imagine the rest of my kin still do, as well. But I fear that they have been rather selective in what they hear. They listen to good tidings and disregard the bad ones… which I think is wrong. I do not like Cronus. Or rather, I don't like what he is doing. Is it too much to listen to what the rain clouds tell the raindrops, which the raindrops in turn tell the leaves? Perhaps. But it has been horrible up there, hasn't it?"

Rhea nodded.

"Your husband is a great ruler, you know. What with bringing all the wealth and liberation and agriculture and stuff. As humble as we are, I cannot figure out why he allows himself to succumb to a monster. I wonder why he allows himself to be a slave to some prophecy."

Rhea smiled. "You share my sentiments all too well, dear nymph."

"Do not worry. Stay until you bear your child, and I will help you hide him," the nymph said.

***

The opulence of the titans' dining hall was deceptive, for no glorious feast of honor was to be held there that night. Cronus, with his supremacy over land, sky, and sea, sensed Rhea had given birth and called for her immediately.

She emerged with the little one wrapped up in a white blanket, a lump about half the length of her arm.

"Why the blanket?" Cronus asked.

"Husband, this one turned out to be so hideous and so deformed! I would not dishonor your sight as to dare you look upon the monster," Rhea replied. "It might be best to end this usurper's life as quickly as you can." She sat beside him.

"I see. And have you named him?"

"I call him Zeus."

"A waste of a good name."

Cronus opened his mouth to swallow the child whole. A small portion of the blanket hung out from the corner of his lips as he began to chew.

Rhea stared at the ceiling as madness started to consume her child. She wanted to pray, but to whom do the gods pray to?

Cracking sounds echoed as the titan's teeth tried to crush bone. He licked his lips, pieces of raw meat clung to his tongue. "Zeus," he said while blood dripped from his mouth, "tastes really different. I do not like his form. He— uhm,"

Cartilage snapped like frail twigs. And in no time at all, the titan finished.

He used his finger to free a piece of flesh trapped between his teeth. "He may not have been a threat," he added.

The Titan licked his lips after what appeared to be a very satisfying meal. "Come, Rhea. Sit beside me."

She did, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"The prophecy says that I will be usurped by my own children," Cronus said. "You've seen my madness. I know that you see me as some kind of monster. I even find it laughable that while I have already exiled Uranus, I still act as if I am a slave to his words."

"I have no words," Rhea replied. "I only trust that as you say, this will be the last time."

"Ah, that. Not so."

Rhea's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"'I shall make my desire slumber,' I said. But love… you are my desire."

As she realized that she was no longer talking to her husband, but the Monster, the titaness pulled away. She looked and there it was: the insane smile and his dead, dark eyes. The Monster was there, clouding his judgment. Feeding on his falsely-perceived and misguided benevolence.

"My love, this is not you," Rhea pleaded. "How can you act as if you are cursed? When no curse should ever enter the House of Cronus!"

"BLAME MY FATHER FOR NOT ACCEPTING DEFEAT!" The halls of Olympus shook as the Monster bellowed. "Not content in ceding their power! Damning me with a prophecy—"

"The prophecy was no fault of theirs! It was the price you had to pay for your ambition!"

"Price?" the Monster laughed. "The 'price' of my ambition? What, the liberation of the lesser creatures from the dark clutches of tyrants? The wealth I have provided from the minerals of the soil; the… the science of organized harvestry that the once-starving mortals now benefit from?!  Tell me, Rhea, is this the ‘price’ I had to pay for wanting mankind to prosper?"

"No…. no, no…" the titaness wiped the tears from her eyes. "You could have accepted your fate gracefully… like an Immortal worthy of his throne."

"You are right, I could have. Yet the fact remains that I have done what I have done, and I must finish it now."

"Finish? Is it not already finished?"

"Dear," he took Rhea by the arm and pulled her closer to him. "You are my lone desire, and you are my weakness. You asked me once, why I should not kill you instead. Well, you made a compelling argument…"

"Let go of me, Cronus," the Titaness said.

The Monster responded by opening his mouth to take a bite off of Rhea's arm. In an instant she was dismembered, and the scream that followed was released for the entire World to hear.

"Without you," Cronus said as he chewed on Rhea's torn limb, "I would never have the urge to bear children again."

He grabbed her neck with one hand, while the other tore through her chest to take her still-beating heart. "Worry not," he said to her, "You will remain alive inside of me, just as your children are. It will be a family reunion of sorts."

Cronus held his wife's heart as he watched life leave her face. Rhea let out a final gasp and closed her eyes, and she was no more.

The Monster then consumed his wife's lifeless body starting with the toes and the feet, moving upward. He knew that she was alive, somehow, just as he knew his six children were alive, for their kin are immortal. But it did not matter; he only needed them contained inside him and he would have accomplished his end.

What he did not know was that Zeus, his sixth child, was alive not inside him, but far away from Olympus. The "child" that Rhea presented that night was not a child at all, but a newborn goat of Adamanthea's offering.

***

In Adamanthea's grove, there was an oak tree from which hung a cradle that was suspended by cords of cotton. The suspension was necessary, because the one who slept within needed to be hidden from the ruler of sky, land, and sea.

Adamanthea approached the cradle and saw the child Zeus asleep. "Hello, little boy," she whispered. "Presently your father longs for you, but not in the way fathers usually long for their children! He wants to eat you!" She poked his nose. "But don't worry. Your mother and I will protect you—"

The nymph's words were cut short by a blood-curdling scream that echoed, unmistakably, from the heights of Olympus. 

The child in the cradle stirred and opened his eyes to stare at the nymph. He did not cry, nor wail, as infants are wont to do. The boy simply stared at the nymph with its cold, piercing eyes.

"Sleep for now, and don't worry. One day, you shall banish your father and rule us all," she said.

A sudden flash lit up the grove, followed by another, and another. The bright knives sliced at the night sky and broke it into a hundred pieces. Soon, the evening was filled by a lightning storm.

Zeus smiled.

It was as if the bolts were giving their Master a warm welcome.

[scripttraumasurvivors]

Hi! This character's life is messy, but I figure it's important to elaborate so as to double-check if her reactions make sense. My tritagonist was sold to a cartel at age 6 by her abusive rural family, where she was used as a slave (menial labor/sex), tortured to the point that she's disfigured and in chronic pain, before finally being dumped in a slum, having given birth to her first kid at age 11. She abuses her daughter, partly from resentment and constantly being reminded of her captors 1/?

(2/?) And partly because she’s modeling parenting from the cruel people she’s known and is currently living with. Specifically, she is callous to her daughter’s emotional needs, verbally & physically abuses her if she isn’t submissive, forces her to dress inappropriately. She wants her daughter to conform, believing she’ll avoid the same abuse the mom suffered. She’s stuck in a job at a slaughterhouse where she kills terrified animals whilst the manager abuses and robs her. (more)

(3/?) She bears a 2nd kid from the manager, but when the kid’s deformed and he denies being the dad, she decides to keep the kid anyway to raise her more kindly - although she still struggles with feeling affection for her first daughter. Eventually, the manager sells her out to the police, leaving her in jail for a week, but another middle-aged man - the father of her first daughter’s girlfriend - bails her out and looks after her while she’s delirious. (One more ask after this!)

4/4 Got a few questions for this set-up - wanna show how, once removed from her abusive situation at the slaughterhouse, this abusive mother struggles to mend broken bonds and form new relationships. How could she try to reach out and apologize to the daughter she used to mistreat? How to trust the older man who looked after her while she was weak? How to deal with constant flashbacks of death, pain and abuse - of herself and others - without lashing out violently? Thanks for reading all this!

(5/5) Sorry, forgot to specify - by this point, the mother would be 21. Perhaps that can give a better idea of how she can process all that trauma and guilt? While under stress she’s impulsive and sadistic, once removed from her job she’d be far quieter and sensitive; although her emotional state would still be heavily warped. I figure she might try to hug her older daughter or speak intimately with the older man, only to either clam up immediately because of her remaining insecurities.

—-

(For clarification, I have touched base with the asker re: the ages that everything happened.

To summarize: Daughter#2 was born 7 years after the first.  So kid number one at 11 and kid number two at 18.

The majority of this ask takes place a few years later when she’s left the slaughterhouse)

So your oldest kid is going to be 10ish when her mother decides to well… be a mother.

Which is good for you in terms of ‘likelyhood daughter wants to make amends’ bad for her in terms of ‘very likely already had severe trust issues.’

I am going to say- I think it’s in our other correspondence that you mention one of the… things that makes mom wake up us a single incident where someone else mentions how nice her daughter is to his kid…..

That’s not very likely. Outsiders complimenting abused kids doesn’t usually make abusers realize they’re being irrational or cruel- it just makes them think that their kid has the wool pulled over someone’s eyes. The kid may even get punished for that or pulled away from that person because clearly, they’re too lenient/a bad influence. Or even the abuser taking it as the fact that the abuse is working.

Which isn’t to say that it should cause that reaction in your story- just to keep in mind that it will take a lot more than a single person’s good word to convince them.

Back to the present question

How can mom try and mend things?

Honestly, just think of Awkward Mom things, and add in ‘child wildly distrustful that this isn’t a trick to get them hurt.’

Mom might try and mimic behavior she sees the man doing or even the other girl doing. Oh? They pat her back when she’s upset- mom’s going to try and do that now.

Mom trying to compliment the daughter, but the daughter flinching back after years of being told she’s horrible.

Mom maybe giving the girl something? Poverty limits what it might be, but even picking a flower or trying to make a homemade toy.

Mom might try and apologize for some of the behavior, though keep in mind that while some abusers are willing to do this- if pushed on what they’re apologizing for or pushed to apologize for more than what they’re offering- they often become defensive and aggressive again.

Mom might overly apologize. Which is also.. not a good because the kid will most likely feel required to try and soothe mom. And now you’re building a cycle of ‘I have to help people not feel bad about hurting me’ in the kid. It is, however, a realistic cycle.

A lot of this also depends on what sort of… abused kid you want your eldest to be.

Fun fact, I used to volunteer heavily at an elementary school. I was well known and for the most part, I worked with one type of child. Children teachers suspected something was wrong with. some of them just needed extra attention, some had a bad case of ‘I fell behind and now I’m acting out’, we had kids whose families were in bad financial situations… 

General profile of abused kids I’ve known/kids I suspected were being abused but could never get enough evidence to report:

- Soft, sad little boy who literally brightens up the moment anyone says a kind word to him ever. Often accused of being violent and aggressive when the worst he was was… well.. hyper and maybe a little unaware of his body. (….. racism also played a big role there.)

- My overly friendly thief. 

- Angry little girl who was well… Angry. At school. Didn’t want to work with anyone, didn’t want to have friends. Very angry. Very defensive. Very dead eyed and personalityless at the end of the day when she knew she’d have to go home.

- Big Guy trying to make himself small. Hunched shoulders, tucked in knees, didn’t want to play with the other kids.

- Mr. Sleep All Day.

- ‘What do you mean I can’t come home with you? I’ll wash your floor. I’ll do the dishes. I’ll do whatever you want I just want to come home with you so bad. You’re so nice, TS.’

- Class clown that cried when the other kids were told not to pay attention to his antics.

- Kids who cut off stories in the middle and suddenly jump somewhere else because they realized that the story they were telling involves a Bad Event. Pulling them back to the story they were telling is damn near impossible.

- Mr. ‘I’m going to climb the book shelves and try to escape out of the window’

I’ll break down possible responses to Mom trying to make things better by general…. profile.

Your ‘I do my best to try and please my abuser’ types are still most likely going to be distrustful. This may be in the direction of ‘I know you could flip on me at any second’ or ‘I can’t figure out what’s different now so I may fuck up at any second and then you’re going to hurt me again’.  There’s going to be some confliction in these types too. They want their abuser’s approval and kindness, they’ve been fighting for it- but it usually doesn’t feel as good in real life as it does in our heads. In our heads- now that they approve of us, we’re safe. and when that feeling of safety doesn’t follow…. This may cause the child to avoid the abuser more often. It may cause them to double down on trying to win approval.

Your acting out types is where… you have a lot of potential issues. The mother doesn’t currently have coping skills to deal with normal child behavior. If the child lashes out? Abusers will often revert back to abuse and take it as a clear ‘see, they behave better when I hurt them.’  Or, if they do feel guilt- ‘they made me do it’

Depressed sad kids .. might not even realize that an attempt is being made. A lot of them have just… checked out.

As for the mother trusting the man… Do you want her to trust him? Because you could have her go the route of ‘I would not be surprised if you touched me inappropriately, but at least you’re kinder than the rest, let me try and make you happy’

Do you want her not to trust him and him have to win her over? Small acts over a long period of time. Her trying to sleep with him (because that’s why she thinks he has her) and him turning her down, small pieces of kindness.  There won’t be a quick fix.

Either way, in general, if he gets extremely upset (say… he witnesses her being Not Great to the oldest), expect a fear response. Or argument and then recant of the ‘you can’t tell me what to fucking do with my kid- oh god I’m so sorry I’m a horrible person you’d be right to kick me out’ variety.

As for flashbacks, you have two general… routes here.

One: She learns coping skills or at least to pull back. Possibly because there are other people there that can take care of the kids, possibly he’s told her to go to another room if she feels like that, or he does get upset with her over something she lashed out over- and she’s trying to avoid that.

These don’t have to be good coping skills. Nails biting into her own arms, smoking/drugs/drinking. They also don’t have to be ‘therapy’ coping skills- deep breaths/imagine a _____ place. They can also just be ‘now that I’m in a safer place… throwing myself into cleaning/cooking at least makes some of the flashback recede.’

Two: In a different environment, her response to flashbacks change. She doesn’t lash out. She gets quiet or she gets scared or she just freezes.

Maybe the man encourages her to talk about what happens. Maybe he validates where she’s been and tries to soften the blow re: how she treated her daughter. She was doing the best she could at the time with the information she had- but now? Now she has to do better because she knows better.  Now if she wants to stay, she needs to try.

Hopefully that helps,

TS