#my parents were not abusive but i was definitely sheltered

[aris-ink]

Omg all of your works are so so good I’ve binge read them all😭😭😭 can I please request like an agedup!/ dilf!Namjoon with reader, dub/non-con? Daddy Joon just has me on my knees all day every day🧎🏽‍♀️

tysm I love you <3 and 👀

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, doctor!namjoon au

warnings: implied murder, mentions of anxiety and neglect, hints of (emotional) parental abuse, obsession, corruption, dub con, misconduct, inappropriate medical examinations lmao, age gap, daddy kink, praise, soft manipulation, psychological humiliation, multiple orgasms, risky sex, creampie, implied imprisonment/pet play at the end??? (up for interpretation ajdjdfjdh)

Namjoon always had a soft spot for strays. A keen eye, too. And you? You were but a little kitten in the body of a tigress. A kitten without an owner. Not one that knew how to care for you, anyway, and sometimes that was a fate far worse than one of an orphan.

He wasn't quite sure what it was about you that caught his eye. He has never felt anything towards any of his patients, politely ignoring any subtle attempts at flirting with him. But after your first visit, he decided right then and there that he was going to help you get better; in every way he could. Bring out that little kitten from hiding and give her shelter, where she wouldn't need to pretend to fit in with the predators to survive.

Because now, you had your very own predator watching your back.

He looked forward to your every visit, although it pained him to see you unwell. When he noted the slight tremble in your hands as you sat in his office, he started weighing the pros and cons of referring you to a psychiatrist. Did he want to see you wither away to nothing? No. Did he want to hand you over to someone else? Definitely not.

Tapping his pen against his lower lip, he lifted his eyes from the computer to your face.

So beautiful. So frail. Oh, he could crush you if his hands weren't careful. Maybe he should; maybe you needed to fall apart and be rebuilt again. What a shame. What an opportunity.

Shall we leave it up to fate?

Gently, Namjoon reached out to take your hand in his.

"Listen to me, sweetheart," he sighed. "You're not well, and I don't think there is much more I can do. I think you need to see a specialist."

You only blinked at him, looking so lost, your brows furrowed softly.

Namjoon gave your hand a squeeze, then released it to swivel around in his chair, facing his computer again.

"I'm going to write you a letter of referral, and then-"

"I don't-" you interrupted him, immediately avoiding his eyes. "I don't think I want to see a psychiatrist right now."

Ah. There we go.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.

"I know it's a big decision, but you need help to get better."

You hesitated for a moment, laying your hands down in your lap. You fiddled with your skirt, and Namjoon had to physically restrain himself from letting his gaze wander down to the smooth skin of your legs.

"But..." You sighed, biting down on your lower lip. "Then..." Another sigh, like you couldn't quite figure out how to express yourself properly. "Can you help me?"

'Atta girl.

Namjoon took his glasses off and placed them on the desk beside him. He stayed quiet, watching you with dark eyes, waiting for you to wrap up your thoughts.

"I- I don't want to see anyone else right now," you managed. "It's hard enough to open up to one doctor."

His lips quirked. Check, mate. How perfect you were, building yourself a house of straws. How considerate for the wolf who wanted to devour you.

This was his cue to stick to his oath and do what was best for his patient. The only thing was that every patient's case differed; and he knew exactly what was best for you right now. What you lacked, what threw you off balance in the first place. Only he possessed the medicine that held the cure to all the aches of your soul.

He pretended to think it over, his eyes sincere as they stared into yours.

"Okay," he agreed, soft and quiet.

It was enough for a ghost of a smile to grace your face. His heartbeat picked up its pace.

"But," he continued, leaning down to grab a stethoscope from a plastic drawer, "I need you to work with me, okay? I want to see you get better."

You nodded instantly, your back straightening when he stood up from his chair.

"How about we start with a check up?" He suggested, placing a large hand on your shoulder. "Can you lie down for me?"

You relaxed beneath his touch, silently leaning back to sink into the leather bed. It was propped up, so you were really almost halfway to sitting up, but he gave you a warm smile, briefly moving his hand to rest atop your head.

"Good girl."

He noticed the deep inhale, the way you seemed to flush at the praise, and he had to busy himself with putting the stethoscope on in order not to barge into that little straw house and frighten you with his sharp teeth.

No. He'd claw at it, circle it, until you were curious enough to peek outside and consider what the beast had to say to you. And most importantly, what it had to offer.

He placed the cool end of the stethoscope on your chest. Your heartbeat instantly pulsed in his ears, loud, clear and fast. He looked down at you, sliding it an inch lower, his knuckles barely ghosting the swell of your breast.

A beautiful stutter in the rhythm followed.

"Are you uncomfortable?" He murmured.

You shook your head, your voice coming out soft when you answered.

"No."

"Nervous?"

You shook your head again.

Namjoon smiled at you.

"Good. There's no need to be."

He took the stethoscope off then and put it somewhere behind him, not paying it much more attention. Instead, he placed his hand on the crown of your head again, his thumb brushing over your temple.

"Do you get heart palpitations often?"

You stared up at him, those big, innocent eyes making it hard for him to remember that an entire world existed outside of you, outside of this room. Making him want to do bad things. Dip into that innocence and twist it inside out, just like you did to his soul.

"Sometimes," you replied quietly.

Namjoon hummed.

"Do you know how many physical conditions follow anxiety? Stress spreads like poison. Ignoring it is never a solution."

He noted the way his statement sank into you. Nothing he said was a lie; but how easily you accepted any words that fell from his mouth made his stomach tighten. Oh, he'd leave black handprints all over your pure, little soul. And he was okay with that. An eternal mark, proof of belonging to him.

You sighed. That made his heart tighten. Such a pitiful sound. How could he ever resist taking you into his care? Would a priest resist a sinner's confession? Never. It was a holy path, guiding people and helping them heal. You deserved the best of them all.

"That being said," Namjoon continued, "I'll ask you a few questions now, and press down on a few crucial places." He emphasized his point by putting some pressure onto his thumb, proceeding to massage your temple. "Is that okay with you?"

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

"Yes."

His thumb slid down the soft, warm skin of your face, tracing the apple of your cheeks.

"Are you still getting migraines, love?"

You shook your head. Namjoon placed his hand on your tummy, his thumb once again drawing comforting, mindless patterns into the cotton material of your shirt. You exhaled softly.

"How about nausea?" He asked, keeping his voice low and his eyes on yours. "Did that improve at all?"

"A... a little."

It was difficult to focus on anything but the way you responded to his touch. He was mesmerized by how flustered you seemed, but how pliant all at once. Laid down before him like a sacrificial lamb, your fate long accepted. Perhaps even cherished. A lamb longing to be slaughtered and handed straight into the hands of their god, looking for the slightest proof of his existence; even if it came in the form of death. Always, in the end, yearning for their father's warm embrace.

"That's good," he whispered.

Cautiously, he let his hand slip a little lower, his palm brushing over your abdomen before it settled at its very bottom. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you didn't move or look away from him.

"But... medication can only help so much. Same goes for relaxation. The best way to solve a problem is to focus on its root, don't you think?"

You nodded once more, and he felt content and intrigued at the same time, his free hand settling down on your knee.

"Then let's do that."

He could see the way your gaze flickered to his hand, tracing the veins over it before flicking back to his face.

He gave you a small squeeze of reassurance.

"College has been difficult, hasn't it? Not to mention... everything else. Have you tried to socialize a little more like I recommended?"

His question prompted you to sigh once more.

"Not really."

Namjoon let his hand shift a little higher, coming into contact with your inner thigh. The softness of your skin alone was enough to stir warmth inside his body; but the way your muscles tensed suddenly only added fuel to the fire, setting him ablaze.

"Why not?" He questioned. "Humans are social creatures. Conversation, a sense of belonging, and even-" his hand finally wrapped around the flesh of your thigh firmly, giving it a squeeze, "touch, can bring tremendous comfort."

You gasped, and the sound made him throb. Meekly, you turned your head to the side, looking away from him.

"It's hard to change."

Namjoon gave your thigh another squeeze, a gesture that could have been comforting, had his hand not been resting on the very inside of it, tips of his fingers brushing the skin under your skirt. Instead, it was rather inappropriate; but you were nowhere near close to pushing him away. And that was an invitation enough for him to lean in a little, his lips stopping just before they touched your ear.

"Change starts within."

You swallowed thickly, frozen in place. Enthralled or perhaps frightened. Beautiful all the same.

"How?" You whispered, like you weren't sure what he meant.

Namjoon pressed his fingers into your leg, slowly pulling it away from the other. His lips brushed over your ear this time, his answer coming out equally quiet.

"Let me show you."

He could feel the shiver that went through you; it quickly morphed into the smallest, softest whine when he rested his hand upon your clothed core. He expected the heat and he expected the wetness, but not this much. There was a clear, damp spot forming on the cotton, burning beneath his skin.

His knees felt weak, his fingers pressing into it automatically to rub slowly. He let out a strained, shallow breath into your ear.

"Oh, I think you really want to learn, hm?"

Your hand flew up to his coat, grabbing at his collar helplessly. Namjoon lowered his head further and placed his lips on your neck, pressing a hot, heavy kiss right into your pulse point.

"I'll teach you, baby."

Your back arched gently at the name, thighs spreading more to encourage his touch, let him defile you whatever way he wanted. Something slipped out of your lips as you pulled on his collar; something like a moan. A moan in the shape of a word that made his head snap up sharply.

It was almost a whisper. But there was no way he wouldn't have heard it; you were all he could hear, feel and see right now.

"What did you call me?"

Though his pace remained slow, his fingers began to rub your clit harder, the soaked material so flimsy he could practically feel you pulse under his touch.

He stared into your eyes, watching you struggle to catch your breath through his ministrations. It appeared to be even more difficult when he asked the question, embarrassment instantly shadowing your features.

Namjoon tsked.

"Come on, you can do it."

He dragged his fingers away from the spot he was massaging, only to slip them underneath your panties.

"Say it again."

Your hips jerked in surprise. The heat of your soaked folds, bare under his fingers, made his cock twitch in the tight confines of his pants. God, you felt so perfect; divine, really. He pressed the tip of his finger into your clit, trying to coax you, his strokes firm and lazy.

You moaned. It was a heavenly sound. No angel choir could have compared. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

"Daddy," it was shy and came with a shudder.

It was filthy and had him throbbing again, driving him to press his lips against your cheek as he touched you.

"Who hurt you, baby?"

The words came out soft, so unlike their actual mocking nature.

"A man takes advantage of you, and the first thing you can think of is spreading your legs and calling him daddy?"

The amused murmur went straight into your skin - and then deep, deep beneath it. He felt you grip his collar tighter, felt and heard the unsteady, shaky breath that fled you.

If you had been embarrassed before, you were mortified now, on the verge of crying. But he could also feel more slick gushing right out of you, and he sped up his movements on your clit slightly. His lips felt soft against your heated cheek, slow in making their way up to your ear.

"It's okay," he whispered. "That's a good girl. Show me where it hurts. I'll make it better."

A breathy, quiet moan was the only sound you were capable of producing. Namjoon let himself continue feeling and memorizing every inch of your skin he could, the bridge of his nose brushing your neck.

"Lemme fix it. Lemme fix you, sweetheart."

Your fingers dug into his shoulder, hips beginning to move in circles, mimicking his touch, following it straight into oblivion.

"Good girl," he repeated his praise in a quiet breath. "Gonna come for daddy?"

You pressed your face into his neck, whimpering into it. Your body answered for you, thighs trembling when it hit you, his fingers sticky and wet as they ceased their movements.

He didn't move his hand, though, kept it pressed against your cunt, even when a knock on the door made you jump.

"I'll be there soon," Namjoon called, ignoring your attempts at trying to close your legs and turn away from him. He grabbed your jaw and pressed his lips into yours, wasting no time in suffocating any protests and worries with a messy kiss.

With his forehead leaning against yours, he finally took his hands off you only to unzip himself. The sound startled you, your eyes popping open and shoulders stiffening.

He smiled at you, his dimples showing, as if he wasn't prying your legs apart to settle himself in between them.

"I- I-" you stammered nervously, shaking your head in protest.

Namjoon pressed into you, the tip of his hard cock rubbing right against your leaking entrance slowly.

"You what?" He breathed into your lips, dark, hungry eyes stuck on yours.

You mewled, fighting to keep your eyes open and your hips in place. How cute.

"You don't want to get better?"

You stared back at him, eyes hooded but brows furrowed, your chest heaving against his. The internal conflict was a lot, as was his cock twitching against your heat; but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Did you know?" Namjoon murmured. "When the soul gets sick, so does the body. Pretending all your life is gonna get you nowhere, baby."

The warmth of his hand burned into your hip as he pushed forward. The tip of his cock slipped into your tight heat, making your back arch beneath him. Namjoon's head fell into your neck, a low groan escaping his throat.

"I'll take care of you, I'll never leave you lonely or worried," he breathed into your skin, continuing to push forward agonizingly slowly. "You'll never... have to feel... that way again."

Each inch stretched you out so well, reaching deeper and deeper - until his hips were flush against yours and you felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

Namjoon's harsh, hot breaths dotted your skin in goosebumps. He lifted his head to look up at you, entranced. Your eyes shone with unshed tears, mouth wide open, and he wondered if it was from the feeling of his cock inside you, or from his words. He wondered if your heart was also jumping out of your chest, desperate to get closer to his.

He got his answer when you tightened around him. His free hand travelled up your waist, hips pulling away only to slam back into you. Only one thought remained in his head. How divine you were, quivering beneath him and fighting to stay quiet. Right where you belonged; in his arms, at home. Where you didn't have to worry about obtaining money, acceptance or affection. You didn't even have to ask for it. You just had to take it.

He kept his pace steady, careful not to make too much noise, though it was hard with the way you were dripping and clenching around his cock. He tried to muffle the soft moans with another kiss, his tongue quick to slip past your lips. But it didn't do much to hide the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you. He could feel his spine tingling, a veiny hand settling on your breast to knead it.

He knew there was no time. But considering the fact that his balls were already tightening, it wasn't going to be a problem. He broke the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips.

"Gotta be quick today, baby," he breathed, pressing two fingers into your clit to rub it harshly. "Yeah? Is that okay?"

The way your pussy squeezed his cock made his hips stutter. He released your breast to slap his hand over your mouth as you started coming, his head finding rest in your neck once more.

His moans were quiet, raspy, his cock pulsating inside you. With how big he was, it seemed there should have been nowhere for his cum to go, and yet he filled you up with every last drop until his eyes rolled back.

You still quivered around him when he stopped moving, trying to catch some air into his lungs. He lifted himself up slowly, releasing your mouth to stroke your cheek instead. You looked so perfect; dazed and exhausted, lips swollen, the tension completely gone from your body. Namjoon could feel it too; the glow in his chest, the euphoria running through his veins. He leaned it to place a gentler, lingering kiss on your lips.

"You did so well," he murmured lovingly. "Such a good girl."

With delicate fingers, he grasped the drenched cotton of your underwear and held it carefully as he slipped out of you. Even if he could make a mess in his office, the thought of you going home with his cum leaking out of you into your panties was enough to make him twitch. He breathed out a sigh, zipped himself up and helped you sit.

"Good?" He whispered, eyeing you intently.

You shied away from his gaze but nodded. Namjoon smiled, then turned to grab a piece of paper and a pen.

"Your next appointment is on Monday," he scribbled on the sheet as he talked to you. "This is my private number and address. In case you need anything."

You stared at him uncertainly. Namjoon cocked his head, the tone of his voice kind, though it didn't match the darkness in his eyes.

"My door's always open for you."

Slowly, you lifted your hand and accepted the small note, planting both of your feet onto the floor.

"But..." you fiddled with the sleeves of your blouse, eyes still bright with tears. "O... okay. Thank you."

With a nod and a subtle smile, Namjoon opened the door for you. The low hum of conversation and soft lights lighting up the corridor reminded him that he still hasn't finished his work for the day. But with the taste of you still on his lips, he didn't really care.

Through the window in his office, blurred by the streaks of rain hitting the glass, he watched you get into your father's car. He narrowed his eyes as he observed the man's scowl, like it was an awful inconvenience that he had to wait this long. Only this once, Namjoon could sympathize with him. He didn't like waiting either.

And yet it was what he had to do for the sake of your well-being. Good thing that for this very reason, he didn't mind killing your father slowly. Who'd know if he exchanged a couple of pills? No one but God, and he feared no judgement. Where was God when he put you into the hands of a neglectful, harmful parent? As far as Namjoon was concerned, God's sins outweighed his own.

He could see you buckling up, still dazed and tired, withdrawn from your surroundings. The car began to reverse, and slowly you disappeared from his sight altogether.

Poor, little kitten. Searching for sustenance and warmth. He didn't even need to ask you to keep quiet, or worry about whether you'd show up at his door. He knew you would. Somewhere in your bones, you so clearly felt it. It was time for you to heal; time to find you a new home. And he had a pretty collar with your name on it waiting for you under lock and key. A pretty golden ring as well.

Only the best for his little girl.

💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @baalsgurl1913 @glowunderthemoon @sweetempathprunetree @era-genius @bucketofhiros @imnotlauriane @httpsbts @silv3rswirls @iceprincessviviane @osakis-gf @kooktrash @dollseung

[mrwavellswaps]

The Parental Solution

“Could you at least put on some shorts or pants if you’re just gonna lie around the house like that?” I asked my dad after walking in on him sprawled across the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs that did little to hide his large assets. Especially when he had his thick thighs spread like that

“Come on kiddo. It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before. Can’t a guy just lounge around on his day off.” He replied with that same subtle smirk he always had as he rested his head against his hand. I cursed myself internally for not being able to help glancing at his armpit for a moment. “Besides, I’m the man of this house and so if I wanna lie around in my underwear then I’ll do just that.” He added sternly before reaching down to give his fat bulge a rub.

I rolled my eyes a little before quickly exiting the room and letting him get back to watching sports on TV. After all, I didn't want to give him a chance to see the growing erection in my pants. I just can’t help it when he shows off his body like that. He knows exactly what he’s doing too. You see that man lying on the couch and showing off his manly form isn’t actually my dad. Not in spirit anyway. It’s actually my best friend Jason inside my dad’s body!

It all started when we were kids. Both me and Jason had pretty shit parents and it was part of the reason we bonded so much. We became each others support whenever we needed it. For me I lived most of my life with my dad after my mom walked out on us when I was very little. Ever since then my dad had been distant and bitter. He wasn’t abusive towards me or anything but he was certainly neglectful to say the least. Jason on the other had definitely got the worse end of the stick with parents that were borderline manipulative and even abusive towards him growing up. I remember telling him all through high school that the moment he turned 18 that he should just get the hell out of there. That day came over a year ago now. Jason turned 18 not long after me but even with the job he had, he still couldn’t afford to move out. Especially with his parents practically stealing half his wage. Before long the two of us were 19 going on 20 soon and Jason still couldn’t see a way of escaping his parents for years to come. That’s when I decided something had to be done.

For weeks the two of us had been brainstorming ideas to get Jason out of his parents house. We considered putting our wages together and renting a place to share but with how much prices had been going up recently, that didn’t seem like a sustainable option right now. Neither of us had other family members we could stay with either. We even considered going to a homeless shelter together but decided that’d probably do more harm than good in the end. After all my home life wasn’t nearly as bad as Jason’s but I wouldn’t wanna leave him alone. After a while we started to lose hope, believing that Jason would just have to put up with his horrible parents for the foreseeable future. That was until I stumbled across a curious shop that I’d somehow never noticed before…

———

Gilgamesh’s Magic Shop - For all your magical needs

The shop radiated a strange presence that I couldn’t help being drawn to. “Magical needs?” I raised an eyebrow as I read the large golden letters that adorned the sign that sat on the front of the building. My first thought was that it was one of those fake magic trick shops but it seemed pretty interesting and I didn’t exactly have anything else planned that day so I decided I might as well check it out.

Upon stepping inside I came face to face with a plethora of weird items and objects filling the many shelves around the shop. It all looked incredibly ornate with how well organised and decorated it was. Naturally I couldn’t help poking around a little, inspecting all sorts of books, potion bottles and crystals that all claimed to have magical properties.

“Ah, hello sir!” A man called from behind the front desk. I couldn’t help but jump a little as I could’ve sworn he hadn’t been standing there a second ago. He looked to be in his early 30’s or so but still looked amazing for his age. He had short hair that shimmered in the light with its golden blonde colour while his handsome face adorned a dusting of stubble. The clothes he wore looked rather unusual, almost like a mix between a wizard cloak and casual suit. “My name’s Gilgamesh but most people call me Gil. I’m the owner of this place so if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for then just ask.”

“Oh… um thanks.” I blushed a little at the stunning man’s proposal. “But I don’t think any of this fake magic stuff is gonna help me all that much.”

Gil laughed. “Please. The magic I sell is anything but fake. Here I’ll prove it.” I watched as he walked around the front desk and grabbed a potion bottle off a nearby shelf. Without any hesitation he popped the top off and downed the potion in one go. What I saw changed my view on magic forever. There was a moment of silence as Gil smirked over at me. Then without warning he lurched over and groaned. I could only watch on in astonishment as his once ordinary sized frame began expanding at a rapid rate. Seeing as his clothes grew tighter while his body packed on excessive amounts of fat and muscle. His entire body growing thicker and stronger! It was hard to tell at first but as his clothes started to rip I began to see how he was growing hairier as well! Even his light stubble from before poofed out into a large blonde beard! At first I’d thought the groans meant he was in pain but as the transformation came to an end, after his voice had deepened significantly, I realised they were actually groans of pleasure!

“W-w…what the fuck… just happened!?” I stuttered, looking up at the new man before me.

Gil turned and smiled at me. “Muscle bear potion.” He stated simply. “Does exactly what it says. Turns you into a big muscle bear of a man like so.” The huge shopkeeper gestured down at his now massive burly body. “This one is only temporary and should wear off naturally within a week but we do sell permanent versions as well.” He explained as he made his way back behind the counter once again, struggling to move a little with his big belly and thick appendages straining against the torn fabric of his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to grab a new uniform from the back to use the next week though. Oh well, I’m sure my boyfriend Simon will enjoy seeing me like this.” He laughed heartily.

Before I stepped foot into that shop I believed magic was nothing but tricks and fantasy. But after witnessing that man transform right before my very eyes, I had no choice but to believe everything about this shop was real! All the spell books, all the magical clothes, all the powerful crystals. It had to all be real!!

After regaining my composure I managed to explain my situation to Gil. Telling him all about Jason and the situation with his parents. Of course Gil sympathised with the situation and told me I was a good friend for sticking by Jason and wanting to help him. He stroked his beard a little as he thought until he came up with a magical solution to my problem. “You know, I think I’ve got just the thing that’ll sort your friend's situation right out.”

Gil began wandering through the shop, searching the shelves for something in particular as I followed behind him. As he did I couldn’t help glancing at his big bear butt from behind and I guess he could feel my eyes on him judging by the look he gave me shortly after. Before long he ended up pulling another vial off the shelf, this one being filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Strapped to the bottle was also a small instruction manual on how to use it. “This should do the trick. Nectar of the bodysnatcher. Its pure liquid essence made from the blood of real bodysnatchers.” He explained though I didn’t even begin to pretend like I knew what he was talking about. “Drinking this will grant you the powers of a bodysnatcher for a one time use. I think it’ll be perfect for your friend Jason.”

Next thing I knew we were back at the cash register. After much reassurance that this potion was exactly what I needed to help Jason, I ended up forking over my cash and buying the strange looking vial while silently hoping I wouldn’t come to regret it.

———

When I first told Jason about what I’d bought he thought I was insane and rightfully so. Before visiting the shop I would’ve been the same. But after a ton of persuasion I managed to get Jason on board with my plan to get him away from his parents. To put him in a whole new body. I’d given it a lot of thought already by this point and had decided on the perfect candidate. My dad. I figured that way I’d be hitting two birds with one stone. Jason can get away from his parents and Jason can take the place of my asshole dad! It was perfect! He was quick to agree to this as he’d always had a bit of a crush on my dad anyways so anything that involved him was a green light from Jason.

Once it was decided, I brought Jason over to my house while my dad was napping and began going through the instructions with him.

STEP 1: Drink the nectar of the bodysnatcher to allow its power to sink in. Drinking the whole vial is recommended for a smoother experience.

Jason was a little hesitant but with a little encouragement from me he twisted the lid off the vial and tossed it back. Before long the entire potion had disappeared down Jason’s throat. Moments later he described a strange feeling pulsing through his body. Almost like he’d just taken a bunch of caffeine as new energy pumped through his veins.

STEP 2: Find a recently worn article of clothing belonging to the person who’s body you wish to take and put it on.

The two of us snuck upstairs as quietly as possible so as not to wake my dad. We could hear him snoring quietly from his bedroom as I reached into the dirty clothes hamper. Moments after I pulled out a pair of my dads smelly black socks that he’d likely worn to work that day before passing them to Jason who immediately pressed them to his nose.

“Oh come on dude. Really?” I whispered, watching my best friend shamelessly huff on my dad’s worn socks. “Just put them on.”

Jason rolled his eyes, giving the socks one last sniff before starting to pull them on. “Whatever man. I still don’t believe this weird magic shit is real but I know your dad’s hot scent is.” He sniggered quietly as he finished tugging the oversized socks on.

STEP 3: Find the person whose body you wish to take and kiss them directly on the lips. This act will activate the magic now within your body.

Now that Jason had my dads socks on, the pair of us crept towards his room as quietly as possible before slowly pressing the door open. There, laid out on the large king sized bed was my dad. His body was only half covered by the bed sheets as he slept in nothing but his underwear from what we could tell. I could already feel Jason’s eyes burning with desire as he gazed upon my sleeping father. He didn’t even care if the magic worked, he just wanted to plant his lips on my dad.

The two of us tiptoed closer until we stood over my dad, gazing down at him while he dreamt. I gave Jason a nod and he knew exactly what to do. Slowly and silently, Jason undressed until he was completely naked besides my dad’s socks before creeping onto the bed. I held my breath nervously as he manoeuvred his way on top of my dad so that he had one leg on each side of my dad’s body. Jason glanced over at me with a smile before looking down at my father again. Then without another second wasted, Jason lowered himself down until his lips pressed against my father’s…

Almost immediately Jason’s body began to glow slightly while a volt of magic surged through both his body and my dad’s. This immediately woke my dad, his eyes going wide as he saw his son’s best friend kissing him. But they couldn’t pull away. It was as if their lips were glued together somehow! I could only watch in bewilderment as my dad started kicking his legs beneath Jason and flailing his arms around but it proved pointless as soon enough he seemed to lose all the strength in his body. Almost like he was paralysed. It seemed as though Jason was experiencing the same thing as his body now laid dead flat on top of my dad. I would’ve been worried had I not heard Jason moaning delightfully through the kiss. Whatever was happening I knew it had to have felt good.

What happened next looked like something directly out of a Sci-fi movie. Jason’s body glowed once again as it slowly began to sink into my dad’s body. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but as I watched Jason’s legs disappear into my dad’s beefier ones, I was forced to believe it. The rest of Jason’s body soon followed suit as his arms were next, Jason lining them up with my dad’s before allowing them to sink in as well. By this point my dad must’ve been experiencing just was much pleasure as Jason was by how his eyes had rolled back, not to mention how they both had obscene bulges that were rubbing against each other. That is until Jason’s crotch sunk into my dad’s as well, causing my dad’s dick to grow even harder. This process only continued with Jason’s torso fast disappearing until the only thing left was his head sticking out of my dad’s body, lips still pressed together. But of course that didn’t last long as even Jason’s head eventually pushed its way down inside of my dad’s head. Sinking into his body completely until my father was the only one left, now wearing the socks Jason had stolen from him.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried when my dad’s body started convulsing. For a moment I considered calling 911 but just as suddenly as it started, the convulsing stopped, leaving my dad’s body still and calm besides the pulsing erection in his underwear. “Dad? Jason?” I asked the sleeping man, not knowing who’s name to call. He didn’t reply. Only grunting and murmuring with his eyes closed. Then, without warning, he let out a deep moan which resulted in the pouch of his underwear getting soaked in cum. I had to look away in embarrassment…

“Whatcha lookin that way for kiddo. The show’s over here…” I heard my dad’s voice say but the tone behind it didn’t sound like him at all. It sounded cheerful almost, totally unlike his usual resentful self. I turned back around and I saw my dad now sitting up in bed with a huge cheesy grin on his face as he ran his hands along his thick hairy pecs. “You know I didn’t believe you at first but holy fuck… this is great! My voice is so deep! And I’m so hairy… fuck and these tattoos.” He traced a finger across the inked skin of one of his biceps while simultaneously admiring the thick muscle it sat upon.

“Jason? Is that really you in there?” I asked, still not quite believing that potion had actually worked even after all I’d just seen.

“Who else baby!” I watched as he hopped out of bed excitedly and dashed over towards my dad’s bedroom mirror. The way his face lit up upon seeing his reflection said everything. “But you can call me dad from now on…” he stroked his beard, admiring the facial hair he’d never been able to grow before as he inspected his mature looks. I could tell just by the expressions he made as his fingers ran across his face and down his body once again that he adored each and every sensation. Groping every part of my dad’s body that he’d always fantasised about touching. His pecs, his biceps, his ass and of course his cock. One of his rough hands glided over his wet crotch as he squeezed his cum soaked dad dick, still bulging in his underwear. The way he smirked so full of lust and desire was a look I never imagined I’d see on my own father’s face. Only after all that did he finally turn back to look at me and say “Unless of course you’d rather call me daddy instead.”

“Eww no! You’re literally my dad now Jason! That’s… weird…” I trailed off a little at the end. I’d never been attracted to my own dad before. Why would I be? He was an asshole!! Sure he might’ve been exactly my type with muscles, body hair and tattoo but… he was fucking dad for fuck sake! So why the fuck did I feel butterflies in stomach when he put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m just kidding man. But seriously thank you for this. With your dad’s body I never have to go back to my shitty parents. Not to mention I look hot as fuck! I always wished I could fuck your dad but this is a whole other level.” With that he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a big hug, something my dad hadn’t given me since I was a kid. His strong hairy body and sticky crotch grinding against my own. “You’re the best *son* a dad could ask for.” He added, holding me tight in his arms allowing for me to get a good whiff of his scent.

After that I could’ve denied the feelings I had all I wanted but the semi in my pants was a dead giveaway. Jason chuckled as I rushed to hide the bulge but it was too late. My face went red as he gave me a pat on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Son. Can’t blame you for getting a little excited around your old man with how manly I am.” He was already acting so cocky and confident. “Now how’s about you and I head downstairs and go through everything I need to know to pull off being your dear old pops. That is after I’ve taken a nice long shower of course to familiarise myself with this hot dad body heheh.”

By that point I could already tell this was going to be a wild ride…

———

And that brings us back to the present. It’s been two weeks since Jason took my dad’s place and he’s been able to play the part perfectly, albeit coming off as a much friendlier version of my father. Turns out that when Jason took my dad’s body, he absorbed my dad’s soul as well. This in turn allowed Jason to tap into all of my dad’s memories, emotions and personality whenever a situation called for it. For all intents and purposes, he literally was my dad now. Hell he even insisted that I always call him dad even when no one’s around. It was weird at first but I’ve gotten used to it I guess.

He never fails to mention to me how great being inside my dad’s body feels. Whether it be his new muscles as he flexed them in the mirror, or bragging about how big of a load his big dad cock and balls can bust now. Loving his new beard, smacking his new ass, appreciating his new tattoos, gawking over his smelly new armpits and the list goes on. He described to me how great it feels to finally be treated like an equal by all the other adults around him when at work only to come home and boss me around in the most seductive ways possible.

If there’s one thing I do somewhat regret about all this however, it’s that now Jason won’t stop teasing me with his new body every chance he gets. Like today when he’d been laying on the couch in just his underwear, practically waiting for me to walk in on him. Whenever we were home alone he made sure to wear as little as possible to show off his body and I was always trying my utmost to tear my eyes away from him. But when he walked around in the house in nothing but a tight jockstrap that showed off his bare ass, I just couldn’t stop myself from staring and imaging what it’d be like to stick my face between my dads hairy cheeks… fuck! I can’t believe he’s managed to do this to me!

Now here I was scampering out of the living room, trying to get the thoughts of my hot new dad out of my head. Everyday it’d been getting worse. I’d been popping boners to my dad more often and even multiple times a day. It didn’t take long for him to slowly start infuriating my jerk off sessions starting with him crossing my mind for a moment as I jerked off until eventually it got to the point where I was having entire jerk off fantasies around him! Imagining what it’d be like to fuck or be fucked by him. And could you blame me when he was constantly shoving that hot body of his in my face! It was torturous at this point. Like he was slowly trying to wear me down. And it was working.

“Hey son. Why don’t you come back through here and watch some sports with your old man. You can snuggle up to me if you want.” Jason said as he came up behind me and wrapped my dad’s strong arms around me and pressed his arousal against my ass. “Come on, I know you love being close to dad.” He cooed, his voice so deep and soft at the same time that I practically melted on the spot.

Before I knew it Dad had managed to guide me back towards the living room where the two of us sat on the couch together watching sports. Jason had never been that into sports before so I could only guess it was a trait he’d picked up from my father after the takeover. As we watched he made sure to wrap an arm around me to keep me pulled close against his body. I didn’t want to admit it but I actually really enjoyed getting to be this close to him now. To feel his hairy body pressed against me as the scent from his pits filled my nostrils. It was driving me crazy.

At one point during the game, dad decided to stuff his free hand down his briefs to fondle his fat hairy balls. Just watching him do such a thing made me horny as fuck to the point where I wished I could’ve been the one cradling his big balls instead. Of course this was all according to dad’s plan as quickly noticed I’d lost all interest in the TV and was now totally focused on him. With a smirk dad pulled his hand out of his briefs and without a second of hesitation he pressed that very hand against my face.

“There you go boy. Huff on that.” He commended as the powerful aroma of his sweaty dad balls invaded my nose and overpowered all my senses. Before I knew it I was sinking deep into his hand, sniffing the scent deeply and craving even more. I knew it was wrong. It was my dad’s body. My dad’s balls. My dad’s scent. But… I craved it so fucking badly! And I only had myself to blame for giving my best friend that damn body!

In a flash I was down on my knees and between dad’s legs as I shoved my face into his pouch. Feeling the heft of his heavy balls press against my face through the tight fabric of his briefs. Allowing the powerful smell to wash over my face. He held my head down, forcing me to kiss and lick his bulge as his thick length grew harder. I wanted nothing more than to take it in my mouth and swallow every last drop of cum he had stored in my dad’s balls. And as he finally pulled down his briefs, allowing his thick cock to spring out in front of me, it seemed as though I was about to get my wish.

What followed was a scene of a father relentlessly face fucking his son as dad absolutely destroyed my throat with his cock. It was clear he’d been waiting to do this ever since I helped him steal that body. Thrusting his hips back and forth as he forced his thick cock as far down my throat as he could, making sure that I gagged on every glorious inch. I have no idea how long it went on for as I was still entranced by his aroma and by just how good it felt to feel his thick dad dick in my mouth but soon enough his moan started to grow and before I knew it my mouth was filled to the brim with thick salty cum.

I fell backwards having just swallowed my best friend's load. No… my dad’s load. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done but at the same time I didn’t find myself regretting it either. If anything I wanted to do it again right! When I sat back up I was of course greeted by a view of my dad’s softening cock as it dripped with cum. “You’re such a good boy for swallowing all of daddy’s cum.” He placed a gentle hand on my cheek, smiling softly. “As a reward, I might let you sleep in my bed tonight. Maybe then dad can give you a demonstration on how real men fuck. How’s that sound?”

“Oh yes please dad! I need your dick inside me!” I blurted out without thinking. I couldn’t believe how much of a slut he’d turned me into.

Dad chuckled softly before shoving my face back into his crotch. “If you clean me up nice and good, I’ll make sure your wish comes true son.” He didn’t need to say another word, I was already licking away. Dad went back to watching TV while I cleaned off his cock. Lapping up any remaining cum dripping from his cock before running my tongue across his soft, but still surprisingly large, shaft. Even after that I couldn’t stop myself from licking his big sweaty balls which dad didn’t seem to mind. God they tasted incredible…

And as my tongue slid back and forth, I couldn’t help but be thankful that I found that strange Magic shop when I did. To think that magic not only existed but could make something as crazy as this a reality?! Maybe I’ll have to head back there sometime and pick out something for myself. After all, Dad won’t stop going on about how amazing it feels to have a bigger, more mature body. Maybe I should find a way to get one myself to see what all the fuss is about…

Read The Sequel next!!

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[doraambrose]

I see this alot in fanon and I think jason Todd's parents are completely misunderstood.

Disclaimer: I am not a victim of parents with drug abuse nor have a I ever done drugs. I sympathize and emphasize with people who struggle with drug abuse as there are many reasons to get into it and it's very hard on your body to get clean, I will link help organizations below. This does mean that I can be a little ignorant to the struggles so if I say anything offensive or wrong, please call me out and educate me so I don't make the same mistake

Jason's family has been retconned so many times, it's hard to keep it straight. But this is my headcannon based on what I've seen:

1. I feel like a lot of people write Willis Todd to be this awful abusive scumbag who hated his kid and his wife. If you are talking about young justice or arkhamverse, this canonically true, but I think that's far from the truth in the main universe, prime or whatever it's called. In batman 411, jason is clearly distraught by Willis' death and does try to avenge him by lashing out at Two face. We also can't forget about the incident with the penguin that led to the worst Bruce and jason characterization before gotham war. And that's because of one rhato issue where jason finally reads willis' letters (a truly heartbreaking issue: rhato rebirth 23)

I believe that Willis wasn't a bad dad. Not a good dad, but not an awful abusive one. I 100% believe he has never abused his family in this universe. And you know what, he wasn't a great person. He was a drug dealer and then a henchmen. But he CARED. He cared about his family. He tried so hard to provide for Catherine and Jason for their medical bills, food, shelter. He just had a poor upbringing and some real shit luck, trying to survive in poverty in Gotham city.

2. Catherine has been written in fanon to be a perfect caring mother who was nothing but a victim. I believe that she wasn't as good of a mother and a person as people make her out to be. And we haven't seen everything, but I believe this because she seems selfish. She seems to put herself and her drug addiction before her family, doesn't seem to even try to get clean or take care of jason or provide. Look at these panels:

She neglected Jason. He had to go out and put his life on the line day after day when it should've been the other way around. Jason was a kid. And don't get me wrong, she probably loved jason and had good intentions, no, she definitely loved him, or else jason wouldn't canonically think as highly of her and take care of her the way he did, but she wasn't perfect and I don't think she was as good of a mother as she's made out to be.

3. Canonically, jason seems to really care for Catherine, but not Willis. I have a theory about that. For why he thinks so highly of catherine: I've never had a parent who suffered from drug abuse, but I do have a parent who suffered from a lot of mental health issues like depression, diagnosed, and I feel like bpd, though it was never diagnosed. When things were bad, they were BAD. I witnessed a lot. But when things were good, things were REALLY GOOD. I feel like when Catherine would come off the drug haze, things were like that. She probably took care of him during those times and was loving and all that. Catherine is the one parent figure Jason has to hold onto (because of all the shit with Bruce, Sheila, etc.). He forcibly removes the bad shit she's done and hangs onto the good things she's done because she really did care about him and in life, it seems harder to hate your mom than your dad (from what i have heard when i did research on this from friends). I've done that for years, and idk if I'm explaining it right, but I think that's the best way I can. For why he doesn't love willis: I think up until he read the notes, he didn't have the full picture. From his perspective, willis leaves to do crime and then eventually gets caught and left forever. I think he blamed willis for making jason become "the man of the house" and have all this extra responsibility. Willis also strikes me as the type of parent who has trouble expressing feelings, so jason probably rarely, if ever, heard "I love you" from his dad. Willis also strikes me as the person who would believe that he needs to make his son stronger in order to survive, and there are a lot of parents like that, especially parents from a low income household or a history of poverty.

In conclusion, both parents were FAR from perfect parents, but they're not as evil or as innocent as people write them in fanon. They're just...people. fanon likes to write comic people as black or white, innocent or abusive, but in reality, It's a gray area. Willis had his flaws, I hc him as one of those old fashioned kind of dads who wants his son to be tough and strong and isn't good with sharing his feelings, but does truly care about his family and NEVER was abusive. Catherine was a mother who definitely cared about her family, but wasn't an innocent victim and had her own flaws.

Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[hayatheauthor]

Do you have any tips/guides for writing abusive parents? How they act, and how a fight where they lash out at their child would be? I’m writing a story in which one of the main characters grows up with abusive parents that mistreat her because she doesn’t fit into society’s definition of ‘normal’ (they basically see her as a monster in the literal meaning of the word), and at one point they have a fight because the parents find out that she’s kept a secret close friendship from them for several years, and they snap at her for going behind their backs (despite the parents not really caring about her and what she’s up to normally) while simultaneously being skeptical of their friendship, what it entails, and what being friends with them child says about the friend.

The problem is that no matter how I try to write the scene, it feels dramatized, if that makes sense. I get the feeling that it becomes unrealistic or stereotypical, especially since I know that in abusive households, a lot of the aggression and communication happens without words. I’ve tried researching a bit, but I struggle to find anything that’s relevant, and my childhood struggles were (luckily) not related to abusive parents, so I don’t have many experiences to use as reference when writing.

Resources And Advice For Writing Abusive Parents

Your story sounds really intriguing! I don't have personal experience with this but I asked around and did some research, and I uncovered a lot of interesting facts. If just been looking for a bit of advice/resources, in which case you can scroll straight to the bottom of the blog where I have some resources and niche advice for you.

But, if you, or any other reader for that matter, needs general help in writing abusive parental figures, here is everything I've uncovered thus far.  

Understand The Abuser 

Most of the blogs I read stated it's important to first understand your abuser. While not excusing the behaviour, understanding the motivations behind the abuser's actions can make your portrayal more nuanced. Abusers often have their own traumas or issues.

Abusive parents can emerge from a variety of traumatic backgrounds, each influencing their behaviour in distinct ways. 

Some may have experienced abuse themselves, perpetuating a cycle they learned as children. Others might grapple with deep-seated insecurities, projecting their fears onto their children in an attempt to regain control. Understanding the diverse motivations behind abusive behaviour allows you to create a more authentic and layered portrayal of your characters.

You mentioned your character's parents mistreat her because she doesn't fit in the social norm, so start with figuring out why they're behaving this way. More often than not parental abusers abuse their children because they think they're 'saving' their child from something. 

This is a common trend in female relationships, i.e the mother will abuse her daughter in an attempt to 'protect' her from what the mother faced. A mother who faced fatphobia might become an almond mom, etc. 

The Motive 

Understanding their motive will help you build a reason for their abuse, and then you can create realistic reactions based on that. 

Let's continue with the almond mom example. Now, the mother might presume by verbally abusing her daughters and telling them to look/eat a certain way she shelters them from ever having to face this from other people. 

If the mother's purpose is to ensure her daughter doesn't gain weight then she would likely have a more subtle abuse style.  

So rather than having the mother snatch away the daughter's food in public and eat it for herself, the mother would take her daughter to a food court and fish out veggie bags from her purse claiming that is their lunch. 

Maybe she constantly checks the daughter's weight and takes away certain food privileges (carbs/sugar) depending on the changes.

First, figure this out, or if you're having a hard time, you could tell me their motive and I'll help you with some realistic reactions/abuse tactics. 

Complex Relationships

One important thing to understand about abusive parents is that at the end of the day. As children, we naturally crave parental approval, an instinct deeply embedded in our emotional fabric. This yearning persists even when we recognize the toxicity of the relationship. The deprivation of affection intensifies our desire for it, leading to a complex interplay of emotions.

In the context of your narrative, consider how your character might unconsciously seek their parents' approval despite the abusive dynamics. The power dynamics are not solely physical; emotional manipulation plays a significant role. An abusive parent's disapproval, expressed through statements like being disappointed or claiming their actions are for the child's benefit, can profoundly affect the abused child.

Perhaps their new friend is teaching them to detach from this mindset, something the parents deeply dislike and thus they want to distance your character from this friend to reinstate their control. 

The Emotional Turmoil That Comes With It 

Incorporating subtle cues to showcase your character's emotional turmoil can add layers to their experience of abuse. Consider a poignant example: your character choosing to wear a hoodie as a shield against the verbal assaults from their mother.  

Perhaps on a day when they wore a hoodie, their mother made a disparaging comment, implying that concealing certain features made them appear more "normal." This traumatic incident could prompt your character to adopt hoodies as a protective barrier against the verbal onslaught, highlighting the lasting impact of emotional abuse.

Abuse vs Negligence 

Exploring the nuances between abuse and negligence is crucial for creating a realistic portrayal of an abusive household. While physical and verbal abuse may be more visibly evident, neglect can be equally damaging, leaving lasting scars on a child's psyche.

Negligence encompasses a range of behaviours where parents fail to fulfil their responsibilities. This could involve emotional neglect, where a child's emotional needs are consistently ignored or dismissed. It might manifest as a lack of guidance, support, or affection, creating an environment where the child feels invisible or unimportant.

Moreover, neglect can extend to physical care, where parents neglect their child's basic needs, such as nutrition, hygiene, or medical attention. This form of neglect can have severe consequences on a child's health and well-being.

In your story, consider how neglectful behaviour intertwines with the abusive elements. Maybe the parents, consumed by their own issues, consistently overlook your character's struggles, reinforcing a sense of isolation and abandonment. 

This interplay between neglect and abuse can deepen the emotional impact on your character and provide a more comprehensive portrayal of their traumatic experiences. It can also help you build a more meaningful tie with this friend. Maybe your character befriended this friend at a time when they felt abandoned and rejected by everyone, including those who were supposed to care for them the most. 

Manipulation 

In the realm of abuse and negligence, manipulation becomes a powerful tool that abusers often wield to maintain control. It's essential to recognize the subtle ways in which manipulation seeps into the dynamics of an abusive relationship.

Manipulation in neglectful situations might involve gaslighting, where the parents distort the child's reality or dismiss their feelings and experiences. This psychological manipulation can make the child doubt their perceptions and question the validity of their emotions, further intensifying the emotional toll.

Abusers may use manipulation as a means to deflect responsibility, shifting the blame onto the child for their own neglectful behaviours. This can create a warped sense of guilt and shame within the child, fostering a belief that they are somehow responsible for the inadequate care they receive.

In your narrative, explore how manipulation intertwines with neglect. Perhaps the parents employ manipulative tactics to downplay the severity of their neglectful actions, creating a distorted narrative that serves their agenda. This manipulation can deepen the emotional trauma experienced by your character, adding layers to their complex relationship with their parents. 

General Resources 

Here are curated resources to aid you in portraying the complexities of abusive dynamics and crafting a scene that resonates truthfully:

Movies:

Precious (2009): A poignant exploration of abuse and resilience.

Sleepers (1996): Delves into the impact of childhood trauma.

Books:

The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls: A memoir unravelling the intricacies of challenging family dynamics.

The Color Purple by Alice Walker: A powerful narrative addressing abuse and empowerment.

Real-Life Stories:

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): Offers survivor stories and resources.

Domestic Violence Hotline: Real-life narratives and support.

Online Articles:

Psychology Today: A wealth of articles dissecting the nuances of abusive relationships.

National Domestic Violence Hotline Blog: Real stories and insightful perspectives.

Approach these resources with sensitivity, understanding that the subject matter can be triggering. Always prioritize your mental health and well-being while navigating the intense world of abusive relationships in your writing journey. 

Resources Specific To Your Question

My main advice would be to read personal accounts or case studies of individuals who have experienced abuse. This doesn't have to be real people, it can also be fictional characters. One character who comes to mind is Rapunzel. 

Hear me out—just like your character Rapunzel meets Flynn who is someone her mother does not like. The ending of Tangled is a scene that comes to mind. You mentioned a fear of seeming too dramatic, but you could showcase the parents suddenly showing their 'true colours' in order to reinstate control over their child. 

This can either backfire and the child realises it's now or never, they need to take a stand, or the child is terrified of the repercussions and gives in. Maybe you could write things like 'and suddenly, she was a five-year-old again, with tears and snot racing down her face as she begged her parents to simply look at her.' 

I hope this blog on Resources And Advice For Writing Abusive Parents will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[dearest-painter]

My little girl

summary:When your parents don’t care what you do,what you eat,what you say,what you wear,or how you look or throw you out in the cold with only slippers,a t shirt,and shorts you do anything to survive the world is Gotham especially little old Y/N. She is known to steal just so she can survive the streets of Gotham. Once you run away to New York and still have the same life you gain some attraction especially with hero’s,villain,anti hero’s,and vigilantes.

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship,abusive behavior.abusive relationship,being force to grow up,Title from ‘Daddy issues by the neighborhood’,Y/N’s parents fully neglects Y/N to the point their basically homeless,SELF HARM,kidnapping,drugging,sedation,stalking,murder,death,villains being better parents then Y/N’s real parents,threatening,death threats,abuse

The coldness comfort you usually but now your running away from the only home you knew,Gotham city but you knew it was better to leave. Your parents never cared honestly and you knew it as they’ve thrown you out in the middle of the snow with barely any cloths,you had to steal proper clothes for you and the people who gave shelter to you. Sighing as you watched the places go by you saw all the heroes that didn’t do Jack shit for you when in need

It was always the villains that save you,Deadshot would always give you a ceral bar,the sirens would take you around town treating you like a daughter or sister,killer croc would let you sleep on his back while he went through the sewer,bloodsport would make you stay around him while he got you food and clothes. They were the best as they took care of you. Your parents didn’t care about your mental health or physical health but the villains did,they made sure you were always safe.

To you it felt like betraying your family yet you knew it was needed. “New yooork!” It was your area so you got up then walked out taking a look around. Everyone seemed confused at you but said nothing. You understood why because they were dressed for winter while you had a hoodie,shorts,worn out sneakers,fingerless gloves,a bandaged leg,many band aids on you,and a tank top plus your bag. It was like it was autumn to you. “Where do I go…” you thought everything out but you knew one thing,men were going to try and take advantage of you.

You took a deep breath then walked to a woman who looked friendly enough. “E-excuse me ma’am…do you have money you could spare so I can call someone on the pay phone. Sorry for the bother” the women looked at you,short red hair is the first thing you notice of her. “Of course,calling your parents?” You forced a smile. “Mhm! Lost my phone so I gotta tell them where I am” she nodded as she gave you money then you went to the pay phone.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Rin-

You hitched your breath. “Hello?” “Thor! You answered thank goodness! Your in New York yes?” “No I am not Y/N! I’m sorry!! Why do you ask?” “Damn it…I was gonna visit you but never mind! I gotta go!” You hung up then walked out plotting how to get by. Walking out the subway you just went with the flow.

New York was a bit safer then Gotham but something caught your eye. ‘Car for sale! Free!’ It’s as if something took pity for you. Running to the area where the car was you smiled wider then usual. “Ma’am! Can I have this car?” She puffed out air then look at you smiling motherly at you. “Of course sugar,I’m Charlotte harlot but may I ask. Where ya from honey?” “Gotham city ma’am” “oh dearie. Here the keys but do you know how to drive or have a job?” “Yes I can drive but no job” she looked at you sadly then took out a paper. “Here,my works hiring. Just say Charlotte gave you it” nodding you head she left and smiled. You got in then drove to a run down but safe parking lot.

You got in the passenger seat laying the chair plus your body down. Looking at the paper it was titled ‘villainously tastey’ it was definitely a restaurant but you sucked ay cooking and didn’t have any history with cooking extravagant food but only food for easy and quick food so being a waitress might be your job. Yawing it was time to sleep so locking the doors,getting protection the putting a sign up saying ‘I am fine! I am just resting as I’ve just moved here so I do not have a home yet!’ Then you brought out your blanket and pillow falling asleep in seconds.

[markadoo]

I've mentioned before that when I first arrived at wilderness, I was put in the substance abuse group, despite the fact that I was not there for substance abuse. I definitely felt out of place, not just because I had never abused a substance, or because I was a sheltered kid in a way few of them were, but because I'm just a weird person, who generally does not fit in. They all recognized this. I was not one of them. But they liked me anyway. I'd interject my little jokes into their conversations, and they'd laugh, and that was enough social interaction for me. Or at least, it was one of the few positive things at an otherwise miserable time. While I wasn't much younger than the average, I was much smaller, so that probably also made me more sympathetic.

My third day there, the psychologists came. The psychologists also acted as our couriers, so that meant it was my first chance to send a letter to my parents. I wrote about how miserable it was, and begged to be pulled from the program. This is what the staff called an "SOS letter", and they took a particular glee in informing me how everyone who comes to the program writes one, it never works, your mommy and daddy won't save you, they're the ones who sent you to live here, you're stuck with us. And don't think you know better and that you're the exception, because everyone else thought that, and they're all still here.

I did, in fact, think I was the exception. I thought I knew my parents, and that once they got the letter and saw that I was unhappy, they would come get me. Over the course of the next week I thought about it more and more, and became more and more convinced.

On the tenth day, the psychologists came back, and I got my response. No, they were not pulling me. I read the letter and curled up and cried. About how my parents had abandoned me, about how I'd have to spend the next two to three months living like this, but also just about… anything that would upset me. That was just kind of how it went those days, if I got upset enough, I would end up cycling through every negative thought and every bad memory I could muster up.

Eventually I was able to uncurl myself and go through the rest of the day. I didn't socialize, but I did what was expected of me. I probably would have stayed curled up if not for the fact that staff will stop time if one kid refuses to do something. So, for example, if I didn't line up to sani my hands, the meal would not begin. If I didn't put all my day-stuff into/onto my pack at night and arrange it neatly to staff's satisfaction, no one would be allowed into the tents. And of course we couldn't skip a step. So for the sake of the rest of the group, I pulled myself together.

The next day, when I woke up, I immediately started crying again. Staff told us it was time to get out of our bags, but I refused. Which meant they couldn't take down the tents, which meant they couldn't start cooking breakfast. Eventually a staff yanked the sleeping bag out of the tent and dangled it in the air until I fell out of it face-first. (the rules around how staff were allowed to physically interact with us were weird. they couldn't touch our actual persons, but they could do basically anything else to us). They then instructed the group to take down the tent.

They did breakfast without me (I was still crying) and told us, with no prior warning (we never got prior warning on anything) that we were decamping that day. Which extra sucked because it was fucking pouring. So everyone but me got to work taking everything down. Some kids were hesitant to take down the tarp I was under, but staff made them take it down anyway. They had all the kids strap on their heavy packs and wait until I got up, packed up my stuff, and joined them so we could hike to our next campsite.

I didn't get up. I was in my own little world of self-pity. So they waited. The other kids were not allowed to take off their packs (I cannot stress enough how heavy those things were). They weren't even allowed to sit down. After about an hour, staff gracefully permitted them to set up a tarp to keep them dry until I was ready. But they still couldn't sit. And I was still out in the cold rain. I got thoroughly soaked through my many layers.

Late in the afternoon, staff decided to take the rest of the kids away anyway, and off they hiked. Not to their scheduled campsite (probably not enough daylight to walk that far), but an intermediary stopping place. They'd still have to hike tomorrow.

Two staff stayed with me, constantly telling me to go with them to rejoin the group, and I just kept pulling myself inward. It wasn't until around dusk, when they stopped hassling me, that I stood up (what a coincidence). I took off my boots and dumped out all the water that had accumulated in them. One of them asked me if I would finally go. They even said they'd lighten my pack. I went. I gradually stopped crying as we walked.

When I arrived at the stopping place (which i suspect was not an official campsite, perhaps a former one that had been decommissioned), the group was in the middle of dinner. A staff instructed the LOD (not explaining what that means) to serve me. He refused. The staff served me instead. I didn't speak for a while, just sat under the margin of the tarp. When I did finally say something (someone mentioned animal crossing, which i was heavily into at the time), I couldn't finish my sentence before being told "no one asked". I started crying again.

Dinner ended. It was my day to clean the pot. Staff only waited a few minutes before giving up on me and taking the rest of the group to do bear hang. They set up tents, put their day-stuff in the packs, and got in their bags. Staff figured eventually the night would get too cold for me and I'd wash the pot so I could go into the tent. It took a few hours, but I did.

One of my vividest memories from this whole ordeal was eating handfuls of cold rice and beans out of the pot before washing it. We weren't supposed to eat leftovers since weren't allowed to exceed our allotted servings. We had to just put it in the food-waste bag. but that night the staff sitting across the pot from me just watched and nodded.

I don't want to talk about what happened in the tent that night. In the morning, one kid trampled me as he exited. I know it was intentional because he laughed.

Early that morning, before breakfast, two employees (not the normal day-staff) came and told me to come with them. I remember the other kids speculating that I was going to a mental hospital, which the staff neither confirmed nor denied, so I believed it. I walked with them a few miles, but instead of bringing me to a van, they introduced me to a new group. This group was younger but the kids there were there for depression/anxiety, which was what I was there for. And more importantly, I had a clean slate.

I don't harbor any grudges against the kids who shunned me, or trampled me, or even the other thing. I blame the staff who made them stand for hours with their packs on.

And I still don't know why I was ever placed in the substance abuse group to begin with.

I'm not sure how much of this is actual memory and how much is later guesswork. There are some things in here that I'm almost certain aren't true. Not because I remember it happening differently but because they conflict with other things I know about the program. This is just the least false story I can tell.

The biggest departure from the truth that I know about lies in the matter of tents. I only noticed this discrepancy a few days after writing my first draft of this post. We didn't take down the tents in the morning and set them back up at night, we set them up as part of the encampment process and only took them down when we left. And yet that's how I remember those two days in particular. Specifically, I have a very vivid memory of the despair and betrayal I felt seeing the other kids obediently dismantle the tent I had just been violently dragged out of (maybe this happened after breakfast when they were taking down camp? but then it wouldn't have had the same meaning to me, if it had happened so long after my removal. it would also contradict my next speculation).

When did I put my boots on? Was there some time before breakfast when I started to pull myself together, get dressed, etc., only to collapse again? I don't remember that happening, but it would explain some things.

[thestupidhelmet]

A(nother) Difference Between That '70s Show and That '90s Show.

I've written about depth of characterization before, but I realized today by looking at the T7S circle .gifs by @tht70sblog that the life issues the T9S kids face (save Oz) are nowhere on the same level as those from T7S (S1-S5, at least). This might add to the Disney show feeling people have expressed about T9S.

T7S has very realistic parental neglect and abuse issues and the emotional effects of that childhood wounding. Parents who don't set proper boundaries with their kid, which creates a different cluster of emotional wounding that affects the kid's worldview and behavior. And gives specific details (or the whys) to make all this characterization abundantly clear.

The threat of homelessness at seventeen (several times) and fears of a bleak future. Significant betrayal in teen relationships. A son whose more sensitive nature doesn't fit with his father's idea of masculinity, which has a breadth of consequences (some good, some damaging). A pregnancy scare for a high school sophomore. Teen girls whose gender expression and interests don't fit stereotypes.

The list goes on.

This depth, seriousness, and kind of issues facing the characters of T7S resonates very much with my time as a teenager in high school (long after the '70s 😅). For instance: a friend with an emotionally and physically abusive mother who kicked her out of home in the middle of the night (not for the first time), and that friend showing up at my home for shelter.

That's only one specific example with the most basic of details (because privacy 😁), but T7S reflects so much of my serious teen experiences in its stories (not necessarily autobiographically but in spirit). Also the fun and great times (and burns, which we didn't call burns) during those years, too -- just like the T7S characters. It was a mixture. Both harrowing in a lot of ways and fulfilling.

T9S isn't there. Maybe it won't ever be because it's not the same show as T7S and isn't intended to go that deeply or realistically into teen life.

But T7S does while still capturing the humor that exists during all the crap teens have to go through or get themselves into.

That being said, the T9S teens are a little younger than the T7S teens (talking about the characters, not actors). Leia fretting over having a first kiss with Jay is sweet, and it's definitely a dilemma fifteen-year-olds have.

But when I was fifteen, friends were often fretting about a lot more than a kiss. Jackie and Kelso's sexual relationship when she's a sophomore and he's a junior is closer to my specific experience (with a few first kisses sprinkled in).

I find myself and parts of my life in T7S. I connect to the characters, their connections to one another, and what they go through.

I love Red and Kitty in T9S and enjoy the teens' antics and personalities. Even if the show remains more surface with its depiction of teen life in the '90s, I hope it goes deeper with the characters and builds the connections / friendships among them so we understand*why* they care about one another and hang out (with Leia and Gwen's friendship as the exception since that gets good development in S1).

Give me a "Class Picture" (T7S, S4) type of flashback like how Fez became part of the group that shows why Oz chose the other T9S kids as friends and vice versa. Right now, I have no idea.

Gwen's brother, Nate, is Jay's best friend. Nate is dating Nikki, and Leia is Gwen and Nate's neighbor during the summer. That explains the *why* of their interactions. It doesn't explain or illustrate the deeper connections among them, however. With sixteen episodes for S2, I hope the writers use that space for episodes like T7S's "Hyde Moves In," "Sleepover," "Cat Fight Club," "Grandma's Dead," "Eric's False Alarm," "The Pill," and so on that showcase and develop the relationships among the characters.

---

Side note: If I knew had to add a *read more (under the cut)* on mobile, I would. 🫣

[moonchild-in-blue]

"To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once." O. Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

So I was reading this the other day and forgot to post it. This line stood out to me as applicable to how I see Vessel and Sleep's relationship:

[cw: mentions of toxic relationships / abuse / domestic violence / ptsd]

There is a quality of both parent and enemy, of protection and danger in how They interact with Vessel. "I'm hurting you because I love you; Stay away from me; Don't you dare stray from my guidance; This will end badly for you".

In the context of the book, the narrator is referring to his mother, how her years of abuse were largely caused by war ptsd. How she was supposed to be mother, and was stranger instead. How monsters are maybe not so bad, not so evil.

There is this amalgamation of complicated feelings and conflicting traits in who she [the mother] is, that can definitely be applied to Sleep. They are never truly evil; but They are not good either. "With all that you believe, you still refuse to shelter me // And no matter the cost of the rain, you still shelter me all the same". And much like our narrator, it's interesting to see Vessel go through that whole cycle of "I hate you / I love you / I never want to see you again / Please don't leave me".

If you have some experience with abusive relationships, you know how messed up that cycle of thinking is, and how impossible it is to come to a single conclusion when it comes to that person's character - especially if the abuse itself is caused by a traumatic past, or unresolved mental issues.

It makes me think of how Vessel often alludes to Sleep have been belonging to a higher place, a "Heaven" of sorts, and how They have seem to be since cast away. Is Sleep going through all the stages of grief and trauma something like that brings? Were they also in a war of their own? Is there a reason behind all of the malice and manipulation, aside from the fickle whims of an ancient god?

[escapetothelake]

vanderboom relationship headcanons

focus characters: albert, rose, frank, and leonard

warnings: a little swearing, angst, death, abusive tendencies, albert

quick timeline dump: leonard was probably between 2 and 4 years old in 1895 (when his parents married), marking his birth between 1891 and 1893. this made him between 11 and 13 when his parents died in 1904. when rose was born in 1909, he was between 16 and 18, and when he went off to war in 1914, she was 5, ad he was between 21 and 23. frank was born in 1885, meaning that he was 11 when his mother died in 1896. he was freed in 1924 when he was 39, rose was 15, and leonard was between 31 and 33. all of this is canon.

anyway, after the deaths of his family members, albert absolutely PURGED the vanderboom home of any evidence of its old inhabitants. he locked away emma's paintings, got rid of toys, and boarded up entire rooms. much of the deceased vanderbooms' belongings were either destroyed, or left collecting dust in one of the many locked rooms of the home. albert kept the house very heavily restricted, and it was very hard for anyone residing in the house (leonard and rose) to end up somewhere he didn't want them to be.

i don't see a lot of people talking about this, but albert raised leonard for ten years, and there's no evidence that they had any sort of close connection. however, albert kept him alive, and he didn't seem to harm him directly, so there's that. my headcanon is that he used leonard as something of an errand boy/servant, using him to help build the machine that would bring rose into the world, all the while keeping him in the dark about everything.

leonard could have been a very good influence on rose. he was always a really cheerful child, fond of music and stories, and he would have imparted that onto her. he lost some of his cheerfulness after the deaths of his parents, but he was still kindhearted and passionate. however, albert did not like leonard and rose spending time together, and he quickly became jealous of any affection his young daughter showed toward his nephew. eventually, albert's jealousy became too intense, and he made excuses to keep leonard away from rose (chores, etc). as such, the two children spent very little time together.

however, leonard left his mark here and there. he made some paper flowers for rose when she was little, which ended up decorating her room later. when he wasn't busy helping albert somehow and he had a moment to himself, he would sneak out to the woods behind the house (where he'd hidden the family record player and some records before albert cleared the house out) and dance his heart out to the songs he used to listen to with his parents. rose would later find the record player and keep it.

rose was only five years old when leonard left for the war. it wasn't hard for her to forget him and supress most of the memories she had of him because of how young she was, and albert was quick to hide most of the evidence that he had existed.

i think i should take a moment to further specify just how sheltered rose was. canonically, we see no friends or family (other than her father) in her life until much, much later. i believe that albert was an extremely loving father towards rose (see this post + he calls her birth "the greatest achievement of [his] life" in TPW), but he was definitely an unhealthy parent, and i believe he tried to "protect" her in his own way—by keeping her away from the ignorant and cruel outside world. hell, when leonard was younger, he was allowed to go to the city and play with the local boys and stay with them, but he was absolutely forbidden from even sharing any of that with rose. her father didn’t want him “tainting” her mind with stories of the outside world.

side note, the isolated nature of the vanderboom home makes me wonder if rose ever even saw any sort of settlement or city before she was an adult. i imagine that one would have to row across the lake to pick up food/groceries/other necessities, making me think that albert would make a monthly trip and return with a bunch of goods. this will be important later.

regardless of all of this, albert and rose were very close. she acted as his assistant for much of their time together, and he cherished the presence of the first person who truly seemed to unconditionally love and understand him. he would often give her animal bone/tooth carvings, some of his sketches to decorate her room with, and taxidermy butterflies in boxes (yes, i will do more hcs of these two. lmk if you want me to tag you in my hc posts).

anyway, according to the game, leonard returned home in 1918?? so i guess i have to work around that. leonard came home heavily drugged on painkillers, and albert fixed him up. he spent much time in isolation in a small room downstairs, recovering from his lost leg and the visions he had. these visions triggered a mental breakdown within him, and left him reevaluating much of his life. leonard (now between 25 and 27 years old) asked about rose, and albert made it very clear that he was not to go anywhere near her. realizing that the situation was hopeless and wanting to be as far away from that awful place as possible, leonard packed up and moved to the city. rose had no idea that he was even alive at this point, and she wouldn't find out until much later.

when she turned ten, weird things started happening to rose. she would feel a presence when there wasn't one, and she started to beome even more curious. one day, when albert left to get goods from wherever, she explored.. and found the ouija board and william's spirit, who tasked her with his project.

sometimes rose would try to use the ouija board to communicate with the spirits in her family, but william was always there and would overpower the rest, telling her to find the timepieces or sacrifices. sometimes he’d give her something like “BRAIN”, but she wouldn't know what to do with that. one time, she took the brain of a cadaver her father had and brought it to the ouija board, but william would not accept it.

one day in 1924 when rose was 15, albert left again to get things for the home, which needed some repairs. during this time, she found frank, who was 39, very malnourished, and mute due to the impact of his fall. rose had no clue who he was at first, but curiosity won her over (this was the first person other than her father that she could truly remember), and she took him inside to fix up. frank healed quickly as a result of drinking the immortal dog’s urine (lol), and when rose found some paper for him to write to her on, he explained who he was and what happened.

frank was incredibly knowledge-hungry and intelligent, and he started reading and poking around while rose contemplated all that she had just learned. she was more intrigued than particularly sympathetic to frank's plight, and due to her fascination with this new person in her life, she agreed to help him hide from her father.

this worked for a while. throughout his time in hiding, frank and rose learned sign language. they grew pretty close, bonded by their uniqueness and their fucked up family. however, when rose was around 16 years old, frank saw an opportunity, snuck out of his hiding place, and killed albert.

some complications began here. rose understood why frank did it, and she knew her father deserved it, but she did not exactly condone it. she didn’t stop frank, though. this would obviously put a subconscious rift between the cousins—rose was still young when the man she freed and helped to get back on his feet killed the most important person in her life, so any resentment there is understandable. she didn't hate him, but things were tense. frank appreciated her help and felt a little bad, but he'd do it all again.

rose watched in silence as frank dug a grave for albert in the family cemetary and buried him there. then, the cousins wrote to leonard, who they discovered was still around, and asked him to come. reluctantly, he did, and he was pleased to hear that albert was dead. he found that this was an opportunity to rebuild the vanderboom family and find answers.

frank remembered leonard better than leonard did frank (as he was older), but everything before frank’s fall was a bit cloudy. therefore, virtually their only connection other than blood was through rose and a mutual hatred of albert. still, this was a strong enough foundation for them. leonard did not know sign language, so frank began carrying around a chalkboard to write on while he learned, and rose would occasionally interpret as well.

oof, i don't envy leonard and rose. when they were young, they were the only children around, so they each saw the other as the sibling they never had. but as adults, they discovered they actually were (half) siblings. it's surreal. rose reminded leonard of his mother, but he still felt some uneasiness about her origins. he knew it wasn't her fault, but he couldn't really help it. he instead tried to redirect that anger towards albert, the man who orphaned and then raised him while having the audacity to lie to him the whole time.

leonard went out to the forest to see if his old record player was there. it was, and he and frank brought it inside. rose told him that she found it, and he explained that he had left it out there to keep it safe from albert. they turned it on, and for the first time in decades, the vanderboom home was filled with music.

leonard loved dancing as a boy. however, it frustrated him that he couldn't move as easily as he used to be able to because lost his leg. he was a more bitter man with his injury and the knowledge of albert’s crimes, and rose trying to help him dance initially angered him. however, when he calmed himself down, he decided to give it a try. she had to support him a lot, and they tripped several times, but eventually they managed a steady sway. he was grateful, and he began to improve both on his own and with rose over time. getting back one of his passions helped him heal and made him a much happier man.

frank saw rose and leonard’s connection through dancing, and he got it in his head to offer her a dance as an olive branch. it was kind of her and leonard’s thing, but she agreed. eventually, it became something they could all share together. soon, many nights were spent dancing, listening to leonard's stories of the outside world, and laughing to the dramatic sign language jokes frank did to make his cousins laugh. the vanderbooms were no ordinary family, not anymore (and perhaps not ever), but at least they were a family again in the first place.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

You have every right to be angry about the things I say on domestic violence. You should be pissed off. You should be upset. You should be fuming.

But not at me.

Be annoyed at those who have lied to you for so long. Be frustrated and disappointed by the advocates who have let you down, and media campaigns that have led you astray.

Be disillusioned by those who irresponsibly throw numbers around – and think a few TikToks, or a screenshot of a tweet is meaningful advocacy.

Because it isn’t – or at least – not without actual verifiable facts.

Be angry at the shelters, the refuges and charities whose dogmatic views hide the truth for their own self interests, to leave men and boys in the cold.

No. Domestic violence is not a gendered issue.

And no I don’t need to make personal threats to those who disagree with me.

I don’t need to whinge and whine, and obfuscate the truth. I don’t need to toy with semantics, or blur definitions, or petty fog.

I don’t need to call those I’m arguing against ‘incels’, or tell them to take a shower, or brush their teeth, or make crude jokes about living in parents basements.

I don’t need to do any of that – because I have the truth.

Look it’s right here: https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/2015data-brief508.pdf

Just follow that link, go to page 20, table nine, seventh column in and five rows down to find it for yourself. That’s the number of US women who were physically abused in 2015 – 3,455,000.

Compare that to table 11 on page 22 – 4,255,000, the number of US men who were physically abused in 2015.

They are the facts.

The official numbers from the Centre for Disease Control themselves, taken from the biggest domestic violence survey of its kind, the NISVS.

(I know 2015 is quite old, but its the most recent survey they’ve released)

In my opinion the conversation ends there, so keep your dogma, keep your catch phrases and nasty words.

Hard discussions are coming, so the only thing that remains is to ask is will you be part of the change, or will you be part of the past?

-

Sources:

[1] https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/2015data-brief508.pdf

[2] https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/cdc_nisvs_victimization_final-a.pdf

[3] https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/intimatepartnerviolence/riskprotectivefactors.html

[4] https://www.vawamei.org/report/2018-biennial-report-to-congress/

==

Facts are facts. Getting mad at them won't change them. But it will show you don't care about truth, only about faith.

[moonlit-positivity]

So theres this thing that can happen when you're growing up with abusive, controlling, invasive, neglectful, and otherwise just cruel parents and other adults around you. So when you're still a kid, a minor at least (under 18 in the US), there can be times when you start telling other people like your friends or teachers at school etc, the kinds of things you're going through at home. And sometimes there's this kind of conflict between outsiders giving you advice and information, vs the chaotic, abusive, and controlling reality that you live in, where if you were to actually do any of that advice it would actually just make the entire situation ten thousand times worse when your abusive parent finds out. Like for instance I once had a teacher tell me it might be better if I were to just run away, and so I did. It did not end well. I went to my gfs house and her mother told me she couldn't in good faith keep me there while I was underage, so she drove me back home and when I got home the cops were at my house waiting for me because my mother had called them. And because of that my mother would often times call the cops on me in college to do "wellness checks" if I didn't call her every hour on the hour. All the while, as a minor I'm getting beat and r*ped while my mother is drunk out of her mind 24/7. And I see this talked about sometimes, but the notion of mandated reporting didn't exist in my city in the early 2000's, and even if it did CPS & foster systems can be equally as abusive and fucked to go through. So if you're in that kind of position, the one thing I have learned from my 20+ years of abusive parenting ruining my life is that your intuition is gonna save you time and time again. Trust it. Sometimes advice from others can be good advice, like yeah you probably should run away. But can you realistically do that in a way that's gonna guarantee your safe and permanent escape? Probably not as a minor. It's not really a situation where outside advice may always be the best decision to make, even if it is in good faith. You know your home environment way better than anyone else. Your senses and your nervous system is already attuned perfectly to your chaos. And it SUCKS that there are no other options except "wait until you're 18 and then leave", because that is STILL problematic as fuck when your abusive parents already control every aspect to your life. Leaving abusive parents is one of the hardest mf things in this world and I don't think that is talked about enough! There is definitely not enough conversations on the minute details of, okay so HOW do I get out? Safely and permanently? Where do I go? Where do I live? How do I eat? And what do I do once the PTSD kicks in? Because no one ever talks about that either. And people who have never been in an abusive situation a day in their life think they may be doing well by giving advice, but unless them mfs are willing to either house you from the abuse themselves or help you find shelter and resources then many many times their advice comes from a place of ignorance and it shows.

[pinkandpurple360]

In response to you asking for headcanons as to why Blitz decided to adopt: Based on what we've seen in the show so far, and what I think fits his character most, this is my headcanon!

I personally think Blitz's main motivation for adopting Loona was maybe that initially, he just wanted to go find a hellhound to act as IMP's muscle or bodyguard. But after seeing how miserable she was in the shelter, he maybe saw a part of himself in her. He knew what it was like to not only have an abusive parent, but also to completely lose one (or maybe even both, since I don't think we currently know what happened to his dad). He'd also lost the love and trust of his sister and childhood best friend, so he knew what it was like to feel so alone in the world, and to feel like no one cares about you. He didn't want Loona to have to go through that all as well, so he decided to adopt her, but would end up treating her less as an asset for IMP, and more as a true daughter. I really like the idea of Blitz initially having cruel or selfish motivations for things, but then having his true feelings of kindness and his desire to help others shine through. It makes him feel like such an interesting and complex character to me. (And it's why I hate how Loona is such a dick to him so much 😭)

That would be such interesting development. Maybe it’s why Mills always calls Loona the hellhound. Or “our only hellhound”

Ooh I do like the idea that Blitz acted on stereotypes at first. Implicit bias is a tough nut to crack. Yknow I’ve always found it interesting, that he’s never shown disrespect to hellhounds the way others have, even Millie. Thinking back to spring broken—The fact he used to be a bodyguard could definitely be the reason, because hellhounds are usually bodyguards. So he doesn’t assume Loona wants to be in on the violence. In fact he keeps her as being the receptionist to keep her away from it. Which she resents. I think she shines in the human world. He treats Tex as an equal too, he still doesn’t like him being too chummy with Loona. And because he replaced blitzs job. And like Millie, B grew up exclusively around imps, so meeting hellhounds was a new experience.

It’s definitely a possibility that this was his opinion before he actually got the shelter. Something in him changed? I wonder what 🤔

Though if I remember correctly he was looking at puppies at first and said they were cute, I think the employee there said “here’s a strong lad for whatever work you need him for” and he replies that he’s looking for someone more family friendly.

Going. Back to your question ^^;

Pretty sure Cash is alive? No reason to think he’s not.

I knowww that’s his appeal right there. It’s why I haven’t given up on him he can be so sweet and kind to people like Loona, Via, Barb, Moxxie, Millie, Fizz, when he just lets go of the unwarranted harshness.

“(She’ll) never amount to anything much” :((

That’s what really got him I think.

[furiousgoldfish]

Happy Birthday! I found your blog and I’m confused and I was hoping you could help me?

I don’t really remember anything from when I was younger (I’m 13 going on 14) and only have a few random memories, and those were from getting in trouble at school. Nothing really from at home. I don’t really have any solid memories of anything before this year.

And I don’t really know if what my parents are doing is abusive? I know they yelled a lot when I was younger, and I start crying whenever my dad yells at me. But they’re acting so nice now? They still call me ugly or fat or whatever but they’re joking most of the time and they buy me nice things sometimes and my mom makes food I like. They don’t really hit me that much. Not that hard and not that often and not enough to leave bruises but it’s always for like. Fidgeting, or being “disrespectful” or spacing out or scratching my face and ugh. I dunno.

(They’re also really queerphobic and I’m queer but that’s a rant for another day)

My mom touches me a lot and it’s kind of weird. When I tell her to give me some space she’s like: “I changed your diapers and what? Now I can’t touch you?” Or “I give you a roof over your head give you food…” (I’m translating to English for these, my mom doesn’t speak in English unless she’s at work). I have this memory of her crawling into my bed and squeezing my chest but I don’t know if it was just a weird dream or if it actually happened.

They also act super immature. My dad said he thinks of himself more like an older brother than a dad. My mom is just babyish at times. They’ve again made me do things that are definitely not good for small children to do, like made me use a gas stove to make tea when I was seven or eight. (I had to continue this until I was eleven and Covid hit at which point I just stayed in my room and became basically nocturnal)

So yeah, I don’t really know if it’s abuse or if I’m just being super sensitive. It’s like they’re doing a thousand different things just to set me over the edge, but idk if it’s intentional or if it’s my depression just making everything seem negative. It could be so much worse anyways, and I feel kinda ungrateful. thanks.

Hey, it was really good of you to reach out and share what's going on! I'm glad you came to speak to me about this.

I understand that you've been with these people forever, and what they've been doing to you always felt extremely normal, like there's no other or better way to behave or to treat you. It's also another level of not feeling like you're able to even judge your parents when they act so immature and baby-ish, it's like how could you even expect these people to know better, when they're acting like toddlers.

I want to point out some things you said to me, that really go against each other, and I hope you'll be able to see it when it's pointed out:

'My parents are nice.'

 'My parents call me fat, ugly, and write it off as a joke. My parents hit me, but they used to hit me worse so I don't feel like I'm allowed to complain about being hit, and I think not being hit very often is a reason to tolerate being hit sometimes. I don't think being physically abused counts if there are no visible injuries. My father yells at me to the point where I start crying. I get punished for completely inane things like 'fidgeting', 'not stroking someone's ego', or just thinking my thoughts and scratching my face. They're also phobic of my entire sexuality and identity. My mother doesn't respect my physical boundaries, doesn't care that I'm uncomfortable when I'm touched, and insists that she has the right to physically violate my boundaries. I am being blackmailed with shelter and food into allowing my boundaries to be broken. She touched me intimately but it's too scary to think about that or to believe that it was real.'

What you described here is horiffic amount of abuse. I can understand that it feels like 'not a big deal' because it was done to you, and you're used to it and don't feel like you matter enough to be protected or respected, and it's done by people who don't seem like they could possibly do any better. But it is abuse. I am so sorry. You are so much younger than they are, but you already know that calling anyone, especially someone vulnerable fat and ugly is a horrible and painful thing to do. You understand that hitting someone, even once, is an act of violence, especially if you're stronger, if that person might grow afraid of you. You know not to yell at someone until they start crying. You know not to punish others for just sitting there and scratching their face – nobody gets punished for spacing out or scratching their face, why should you? Why would someone hurt you for something so harmless and normal?

You also know that touching someone's private parts against their will is wrong, and to keep touching someone who keeps telling you they're not comfortable with it, is wrong. And your parents know this too. I know they seem immature and like they couldn't possibly understand that what they're doing is wrong – but they would know instantly if it was done to them, wouldn't they? They would instantly be slighted and upset. And they surely don't do it to people who have any kind of authority over them, they don't do it to their bosses or neighbours or their own parents. They know they can't go around violating, hitting, insulting, assaulting and sexually harassing people, they know it would land them in jail. But they can do it to you. So they blackmail you and make you feel like you have to endure it all, you have to tolerate it because they've given you food and shelter – it would have been illegal for them not to give their own child food and shelter.

You are not sensitive at all. You have handled so much. You have endured and had patience for so much horrible and harmful behaviour, you minimized it so much even here, even when trying to tell me about all of the things that hurt you and make you feel like you don't matter, you still wrote them like it wasn't a big deal. It's a big deal. Nobody should ever call you ugly, or hit you, or yell at you, or insist you owe them to be touched, or to face phobia against your own person. Every single one of these is devastating to go thru, especially from your own parents. You are important, and they cannot be allowed to just do to you whatever they want, and then blame it on you, or call you too sensitive. They are acts of abuse, and you didn't deserve any of that. You deserved to be adored, supported, protected and loved just as you are. I am so sorry these people put you thru all of this.

I wish I could give you some good advice or have an idea of how you could protect yourself, but it's likely that you're already doing all you can just to hold on and to survive this situation. It's really bad, and my heart goes out to you. Some of the things you've described, hitting, intimate abuse, touching, are in fact, illegal in most countries, and I would advise you to see if you can talk to someone you trust about it, to see if anything can be done to protect you – but I also know that in a lot of places, these topics are not well received, and I can't be completely certain that you'll find someone who would understand and help you. You can, however, decide for yourself, if you have someone you trust who would do their best to protect you, you can complain about this stuff, because this isn't small stuff. What they're doing to you is traumatic, and if they don't care to see it, then they don't deserve to have a child that they can violate like this.

It's also a sign of abuse that you went nocturnal and feel more safe at night, when these people aren't awake. It is likely that in the presence of these people, you feel more afraid, tense, anxious and scared than anywhere else in the world, and that is a horrible way to grow up and live. You deserve better.

[moonshinemagpie]

I'm taking a course in book indexing.

Like, I'm learning how to make indexes like this one:

Before, I always assumed indexes were just compiled by a computer.

But nope. It turns out every index is made by a person who has to read the book word-for-word, understand all of it, and create a mind map that lays out the main ideas and themes of the book to make them accessible to the reader.

As far as I can tell, every book about how to index is out-of-print. Indexing is a necessary task in the publishing world, but there just aren't that many people who do it.

This is by far the most obscure branch of knowledge I've ever studied, and that makes me feel like I've gotten into some arcane wizard nonsense.

One of the big questions for beginners is whether to index a cookbook recipe called, say, "Grilled Chicken and Brown Rice" like this:

poultry Grilled Chicken and Brown Rice

or like this:

chicken recipes Grilled Chicken and Brown Rice

or like this:

chicken grilled Grilled Chicken and Brown Rice

or just simply as:

Grilled Chicken and Brown Rice

etc, etc. These are "main headings" versus "subheadings," and it's up to the indexer to decide what would be most intuitive to the reader.

They need to make entries simultaneously easy to find both for readers who've never read the book before, like busy, tired parents who just got home from work and might be looking up easy chicken recipes real quick, and for readers who remember that very dope chicken recipe and recall precisely what its name was.

Main headings versus subheadings can also be political. In my class we just indexed a text about Indigenous children who were abused by Canadian missionary schools. There was a debate as to whether or not every named child should be listed in the index as a gesture of respect to them and their families. The professor finally jumped in and gave a rare definitive answer: Yes.

In Facing the Text by Do Mi Stauber, Stauber cautions against using too many subheadings:

"[The book's ideas] felt to me like little orphans needing to shelter under a main heading, but they really were grown children whose relationship to labor revitalization did not need stating."

I'm not going anywhere with this, tbc. Just giving you a glimpse into the fact that every index you've ever seen was 100% more likely to have been made by a curious, engaged reader who considered the book's ideas to be her children than by a computer.

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

I don't want to see my family. I feel guilty and horrible, but I just can't stand the thought of seeing them. They were never abusive, not physically at least, but they kept me trapped and under a lot of pressure and expectations that I couldn't always meet. And when I didn't, well, bad things happened.

They say I owe them everything.

But now I'm living away from home, I've been away for almost three years and not even once did I think of going back. In this brief time I've experienced wonderful things and met lovely people. I may not have everything I once did, but I'm truly and genuinely happy. I'm free.

But now I'm scared. I don't want to see them, I really don't. They want to come visit and what am I supposed to do? Tell them no?

I don't know what to do. Please, help me.

yes, sweetheart. telling them no is abso-fucking-lutely exactly what you're supposed to do.

listen, darling: family is a social contract that functions from the top down. and honoring your parents is great, but when your parents abuse you, they break the social contract and render it void. when the people who chose to bring you into the world, who were responsible for your existence, who were legally required to care for you, make the choice to harm you, your obligation of loyalty to them is severed.

and they may not have hit you, but they definitely abused you, sweetheart. it's very, very common for abuse survivors to minimize what was done to them as "not that bad" or "it could have been worse", to say that their abuser "also did [nice thing]", but that doesn't change the fact that the abuse that did happen, never should have fucking happened. there is no justification for abuse, period.

you might wonder how i can so confidently say that they abused you, and honestly, it's because a) i've talk to a lot of people with abusive parents, i know what they sound like, and b) if they hadn't done something horrible to you, you would not feel this kind of dread at the idea of seeing them.

trauma itself is evidence of abuse. read that again for me.

if you'd like more proof, this is a great article: 15 Signs Of Emotionally Abusive Parents And How To Deal With Them

(however, i can't agree with their suggestion that you talk to your parents about changing their behavior before distancing yourself. abusive parents will just use that good faith choice to hurt and manipulate you further.)

i promise that you don't owe your family anything, much less "everything". you did not choose to be fucking born, did you? they chose to have you. they chose to create a helpless child that they were legally required to feed, clothe, and shelter. you can be grateful for that, sure, but you can never owe them for it.

you're an adult, living your own life. you have your own home, you take care of yourself, you work your job and pay your bills. despite the dread and panic that these people send shooting through your stomach, you're not a helpless child anymore, i promise. you have the power to tell them no, and to enforce that 'no'. you have the strength to stand up to them and refuse to be treated the way they treat you.

talk to the lovely people you've met. i promise you that this is the kind of thing that good friends legitimately want to help you deal with, that they will want to support you and offer you advice and encouragement. you don't have to and shouldn't do this alone, and it's okay to ask for help. no one will laugh at you or tell you that you're overreacting, they will want to support you.

i know it's fucking scary. but you've built something good and you deserve to defend it from the people who caused you so much pain. you deserve to say no, no matter how they react. you're not responsible for their reactions.

they've lost the right to being welcome in your life. and while you don't owe them shit, you DO owe it to yourself to protect your freedom with hard boundaries and self-respect.

you can do this, sweetheart, i promise. protect your happiness and your freedom. you're stronger than you think you are. you can do this.

[a-student-out-of-time]

Days 98 - 99.

I agree with mod about the mod regarding a fanganronpa mastermind having an abusive childhood / abusive parents. It’s very cliche, but that’s just an observation coming from a fellow writer as well as someone who is currently working on their own Fanganronpa.

I also liked Mod’s idea that they were pushed into a state of mind where they accepted that bad things were okay, such as sacrificing ethics for the sake of wealth. It’s definitely messed up, but it could work.

//Sorry about that. Hope you’re doing well mod ^^

//Yeah, the issue with portraying abuse is that a lot of writers use it either as a shortcut for bad behavior or, in the worst cases, just for shock value or some measure of sympathy for the character.

//A character's turn to evil should come from their own personal decisions, and those personal decisions can come from a warped perspective brought on by a bad environment, but it should still ultimately be the product of their free will.

//Likewise, just because someone operates on logic doesn't mean that logic isn't based on faulty or unsubstantiated conclusions, and those conclusions can be drawn from everything from their personal values to a bad upbringing. Garbage in, garbage out, that sort of thing.

//Likewise, someone can turn out to be a little shit because they had a nice upbringing. This could be because they weren't told no or disciplined enough, not taught the difference between right and wrong or sheltered and showered with whatever they wanted to the point that they became an entitled brat.

//Different people will have different experiences, and in my experience, some of the nicest people I've ever met came from troubled or abusive backgrounds, and while they had their flaws, they didn't become like the people who hurt them. Not all of them were abused, of course, just that it's not the easy route to evil like writing would have you think.

//This is what they mean when they talk about "nature vs. nurture," because we aren't simply the accumulation of all our life experiences, voluntary or involuntary, but also how those experiences are processed and how we choose to respond and react to them.

//I don't think a character should just feel a puppet of those experiences, but someone who has their own views and opinions on their situation- acceptance, resentment, defiance, regret, apathy, fear, etc.

//Just my thoughts on the matter : P