#severe child abuse

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A Harrowing Childhood

The King, his knights, and his Warlock, are gathered together like they usually are, and a normal, reminiscent conversation turns horrifying.

TW: Severe child abuse, child death/murder. Drowning, burning, animal cruelty, emotional/physical neglect and abuse. This is VERY graphic, especially in the animal cruelty and nightmare department, but also just in everything else. Bad Hunith :(

Merlin had joined in plenty when they, they being himself, The King, and Sirs Lancelot, Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Mordred, had settled around the campfire, but as the night had gone on and topics had changed, he’d retreated in on himself a little. He doesn’t seem sad, he’s still invested, chuckling along to silly anecdotes and gently laughing at embarrassing stories, but he doesn’t contribute, barely having said a word in the hour that they’d been speaking about their childhoods.

Instead, he absent-mindedly plays with his magic. It’s still a novelty to the Warlock, to not have to hide his golden eyes, to be able to wave his hand just above his lap and feel the ripples of magic rushing through his sedentary fingers, as if he’s dipping his hand in the water whilst riding a fast moving boat. The others, if they look, will probably assume he’s just messing with the colours occasionally swirling in the campfire, or the leaves rustling at their feet in the intermittent breeze; he is doing those things, though it’s more of an involuntary shiver as he gently encourages his magic to encompass his charges whilst they converse. He focuses on their heartbeats, the blood rushing through their veins, their pulses, the tapping of their feet, the ever so slight creaking of bones and stretching of skin, muscles, tendons, as they move.

Normally, Merlin does this in high stress situations: during a fight, during important meetings, during planning sessions before a dangerous excursion. He’s so very unused to hearing their heartbeats, one at the tip of almost every finger, so calm and slow and relaxed. He doesn’t wonder, at least not beyond the initial thought and almost immediate onslaught of rather unwelcome memories, why he’s decided now of all times to check in with them. It would seem that talk of childhoods and parents and trouble and punishments needles away at his skin until he knows for certain that each and every one of his friends is happy and serene.

He thought he’d been paying attention, but apparently not, because it takes Arthur—sat next to him with barely an inch of space between them—bumping their shoulders together for him to realise that Gwaine had asked him a question:

“...Merlin?”

The Warlock slams his hand back down to his lap as his mind is shot back into his skull, like the rope pulling his thoughts away had given way under the stress and, instead of slowly fraying, had snapped all in one go; his lips twitch upwards slightly when he hears Arthur huffing an amused laugh from besides him:

“Uh... what, sorry?”

Gwaine snorts and everyone else rolls their eyes and lets out gentle laughs as Merlin’s cheeks pinken. Gwaine repeats his question, his voice extra teasing:

“What about you? How was your childhood?”

Merlin blinks a couple of times as his blush deepens, but at yet another nudge from Arthur, he clears his throat and shakes his head, looking away:

“Oh, nothing worth reporting. I was a rural commoner, so it’s all a bit of... a bit of a downer, really.”

He knows he didn’t have it that bad, knows everything that happened was probably slightly rarer than normal, but Merlin himself is far rarer than is considered normal so... hmm. The way he behaved with his magic as a child... he should probably be grateful for the lessons and warnings he received, others would not have been so lucky. Still, he’s not entirely sure he wants to bring the mood down.

Elyan pipes in next:

“Come on, surely your mum told you what you were like as a toddler at least? Those are the most fun years!”

Merlin’s shoulders tense at the mention of his mother, but they’re... they’re doing good, recently. They write to each other regularly, she’s stopped hugging him so tight he can’t breath, she trusts him to take care of himself, for the most part. He forces himself to relax, and when he notices Arthur’s sudden, almost worried attentiveness at his hesitation, he counts his inhales and exhales in his head, to make sure they’re steady and regular:

“Uh... not really. I was kind of a naughty kid I guess, got punished a lot. Didn’t get out much when I was young because I was sick all the time.”

Merlin has ideas in his head, bumping about in the miniscule cracks and holes and gaps in his skull, about how kids, even hungry peasant kids, shouldn’t be so sick that often, that constantly. The more often those ideas escape their confines and settle in the forefront of his mind, the more he thinks about the fact that he was so sickly he couldn’t leave the house until he, coincidentally, could control his magic better. He thinks about how mum started cooking whatever meat they could get their hands on for longer, when he was that little bit older.

A part of him knows that he deserved all that he got, the food and worse, but he also knows that there’s no way of explaining that thoroughly without painting himself as a victim of his mother. His friends... they like his mum. He likes his mum! It wouldn’t be fair to accidentally trick them into thinking it was all way worse than it really was.

The Warlock keeps the cheeky grin on his face, coy enough that he hopes they get the hint and leave it be. Fat chance, especially with the paranoid natures of Arthur, and Gwaine, and Leon, and Lancelot, and... all of them, really. Gwaine, in the end, is the one to chime in. His tone is playful, but there’s a lining of worry hidden just below the surface; Merlin wonders what he’s so worried about when he pushes his question:

“Fine then, what.... what was the worst thing you did, and the worst punishment you got?”

Leon doesn’t scowl disapprovingly at the other knight, and Arthur doesn’t smirk in the hopes that he’s about to hear something potentially embarrassing that he can hold against Merlin later. The Warlock just rolls his eyes as memories once again flood his mind:

“Uh... I guess that would be when I was... nine? Maybe? I was a small kid so I might’ve been a bit older, I can’t really remember. I was using my magic too much, Will had already seen, and even though he promised not to tell it made my mum... panicky. She’d been trying for years to... discourage me, to get me to learn how to control it. I was finally getting there, the punishments she was giving me were pretty... persuasive, but instead of pushing it down, I used it more. She got real angry one evening, but I think she was more scared than angry, really. There had been sightings of Camelot knights coming further and further over the border, they were barely a mile away from the village the night before, and she saw me making colours in the hearth.-”

The group of knights around him are staring at him raptly, tensely, as if they're awaiting some sort of disaster to strike within the story. They are, Merlin supposes, but they asked for his worst punishment, so they’re going to get it; if it weirds them out then that’s on them for pushing. Merlin smirks a little internally, but only in a subconscious effort to forget how cold and on edge he feels:

“-She tied my hands together with rope, so I couldn’t wave them about anymore, and when it was darker she took me down to the river. It took us hours to get there, because she wanted to get further downstream. I thought it was just... I thought it was her way of apologising, for being so angry. We’d been stargazing before, so I thought... She started crying when I asked her if that was what we were doing, I guess I should’ve known it wasn’t that.-”

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, before shrugging his mouth and continuing, entirely unaware of the ice cold horror making its way through through his companions’ veins; they all hope to God they don’t know where this is going:

“-Anyway. Once we’d gotten far enough, she uh... she dropped the bag she’d been carrying. It was late Autumn, and I, like I said, I was a small kid, so I was freezing, and I asked her how long we were going to be, and she just... I don’t know. She cried more, and she couldn’t look at me. She told me to close my eyes, that we were going to play a a game and everything would be fine and finished soon enough. She... uh-”

Everyone’s focus is on what was in the bag, on why Hunith had wanted to go so far downstream, on the reason for her crying, her avoidance of eye contact, her promise of a coming end. Merlin’s voice is low and slow, and he knows he’s being a little silly, there’s no need to be all dramatic after all, this sort of thing happens all the time in Essetir. He’s the outlier here:

“-I could feel her tying my ankles, and, uh, I could hear her crying still, but then she picked me up with one arm. I thought it was part of the game, and she swung me around and I laughed and wriggled, she just... I don’t know, it felt like she was struggling to walk, like I was too heavy for her, but I know I was a small kid. She laughed too, but I could also feel her crying at the same time. She sang to me for a bit, and then she told me to... she told me to keep breathing no matter what, to not hold it in, to just keep breathing.-”

Merlin’s gaze is stuck solidly to the fire, and he doesn’t notice the sudden silence in the forest around him. No owls hoot, no foxes dig, no beetles rustle, no wind rushes through the trees; likely a reaction to the emotions swirling in his chest and leaking out through his fingertips, a painful mix of fear and love that anyone else would be horrified by. He also doesn’t notice the way Arthur mutters his name, rough and painful, as he gathers the Warlock’s cloak in his hands. It’s been a sort of comfort blanket, over the years, where Arthur hasn’t been able to hold Merlin’s hand or ask for a hug, he’s always been able to angle himself just right so he can run his hands through the soft fabric he’d gifted his servant after a year’s service:

“-Then she dropped me in. It was... there was an overhang, so I fell for a second or two before I hit the water, but it was deep, really deep. Or at least it felt deep to me, I... I was small. I... it hurt,-”

Arthur abandons his grip on the cloak in favour of just taking one of Merlin’s hands as the other absent-mindedly rubs at his chest. The King says his name again, and the contact and sound put together jolts the Warlock out of what was obviously a very deep memory:

“Merlin...-”

He looks up at his King with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile; Arthur’s face crumples even further at the thought that Merlin doesn’t... doesn’t see a problem with this. His own father had been... strict, distant, heavy handed even, on occasions, but Arthur was never hurt outside of training, and the previous King had always come running when his son had a nightmare, at least before he had hit his tenth year. Arthur clears his throat, and without a glance to his equally as distraught knights, he nods for Merlin to continue:

“-Go... go on. How did you... what happened next, Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyebrow raises further at the lack of insult or teasing, but shrugs his shoulder and carries on:

“I... don’t really know. I just remember waking up filthy. I’d... dug myself out, I didn’t know where I was, just that I was still wet and cold, but also covered in mud. I wondered home. Took me a few days, because I got hopelessly lost, but I made it eventually. The whole village celebrated, mum had had them all out looking for me apparently, except in the woods to the East, instead of the River to the South West, which is where she’d taken me. She... it was odd. It was like part of her was overjoyed to see me, she cried so much, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight for weeks, wouldn’t let me near the water for months, but at the same time... she could barely look at me, like she was scared, terrified. A few years later I fell out the roof of the barn and went... uh, well, I went splat. Scared the shit out of Will, I’ll tell you. But yeah, we figure out then that I was some sort of immortal, but that didn’t matter really, I... I never let on that I’d remembered what she’d done, told everyone I just woke up in the woods, that my chest hurt a bit and I was starving but was otherwise ok. No one ever asked again, and I guess mum was... eager, to accept it. We...-”

His previously focused gaze fades into the middle distance, not noticing the tears falling slowly down each and every one of his friends’ cheeks:

“-We’re on better terms now that I can control my magic, she... she doesn’t get as scared or angry as she used to. I’d... like her to not know I remember, we... she’s proud of me now, proud of my magic and the way I use it.”

Merlin’s voice quietens on those last few words until there’s no sound coming from him at all, and Arthur, in the scratchy voice he uses only when he wakes from nightmares or witnesses a massacre of innocents, quietly murmurs to the man pressed close to his side:

“Merlin... your mum, she... she killed you. She drowned you, and... and then she buried you.”

Merlin nods absent-mindedly and hums, so caught up in his own thoughts that he’s completely oblivious to how horrified his friends are. Leon’s father had been strict and unloving, Gwaine’s step-father had a whip-sharp tongue, always available to crack out some cruel judgement or other, but even then, they’d never... no one else’s parents had tried to kill them, and certainly none of them had succeeded:

“Hmm. Yeah, I know. I try not to think about it really,-”

He looks up with a slight chuckle; it’s weak, but genuine, and confusion over whether perhaps they’d... misunderstood, based on Merlin’s reactions, crosses everyone’s minds:

“-but I don’t blame her, not really. It’s not like she hated me, she was just scared.”

Leon can’t help himself here, speaking up angrily, furiously, but still with tears on his cheeks:

“Scared?! Merlin, you were a child, and you were her child, what the hell was there to be scared of?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, unaware of Gwaine taking Leon’s wrist and squeezing—a normally sure fire way to get the First Knight to calm down— as he continues with a smile:

“She wasn’t scared of me, come on, I was tiny and young and my magic wasn’t really that powerful back then. No, she was scared for me. Like I said, Uther’s knights were creeping closer and closer, probably trying to suss out whether they could steal some of Cenred’s land out from under his nose, or still looking for my father maybe. But being caught by Camelot knights meant death by pyre, even as a child, and the alternative? People were starting to get... curious, about the kid that had randomly appeared about a year previously, if any of them reported me to the guard... I told you want happens to sorcerers in Essetir. My mum... she just wanted to spare me, I guess. However painful drowning was, however much it hurt to swallow dirt from my own grave, anything is better than the pyre, anything is better that what Cenred would have done to me. She did the best she could.”

The silence rings out, louder than anything anyone could’ve said; everyone mentally reminds themselves of the painful conversation that had been had when Arthur demanded to know why Merlin would move to Camelot of all places, when everyone had first found out about his magic: “I’d have been enslaved, Arthur. Enslaved and tortured and brainwashed and forced into becoming a weapon. I’d rather burn, I’d rather drown.”. His words make more sense now than they had back then, in a gut churning way. It’s Elyan who replies first, perhaps thirty seconds after Merlin’s heartbreakingly truthful admission:

“No, Merlin. The best thing she could’ve done for you is left. It may have been difficult but... there are other Kingdoms out there that accept magic. Nemeth even takes refugees from Essetir, and formally Camelot as well, it’s why they’ve butted heads in the past. She... there were other options Merlin. She didn’t have to... to do that.”

No one is surprised that it’s Elyan—who’d always had a greater understanding of the world outside of Camelot, who’d always understood the ease, and sometimes necessity, of travel, who makes the blindingly obvious connection. Merlin just shrugs his shoulder again and sighs:

“She’d spent her entire life in Ealdor, you can’t blame her for not knowing that. She was frightened and desperate, I... I really don’t blame her.”

Leon, ever the most protective, has another retort on his lips, Gwaine’s grip on his wrist and Percival’s hand on his back having stopped working almost seconds after they’d appeared, but Mordred, the youngest, the only other there with magic of his own, beats him to it, asking in a quiet, teary voice:

“What did you mean when you said... when you said that you’d only appeared a year previously. I thought you’d lived in Ealdor your whole life?”

The others appear impressed, no one else had noticed Merlin’s odd choice of words, but the Warlock just smiles and nods his head, answering before anyone else can interrupt:

“Hmm. I had, but my mum... I was a sick kid, so I didn’t really... go out. At all, until I was... eight? Maybe? I don’t know, she didn’t want me to get sick by going outside, but I know she really just didn’t want anyone to find out about my magic, back when it was random and uncontrollable.”

The explanation is... terrifying, frankly, no one around the circle can imagine what it would’ve been like to be confined to one room for their first eight summers, with a woman whose only solution when fearing for the safety of her child... was to murder said child, and cover it up. Hunith had always seemed so... bright, loving, optimistic, wonderful. Perhaps she still scolds Merlin like he was a child, sometimes, perhaps... perhaps she hugs too tight, and sends letters that occasionally have Merlin’s shoulders tensing, and watches him like a hawk whenever they’re together, and waves whatever is in her hand towards him whenever he uses magic. Perhaps she... she isn’t as wonderful as they’d all thought. Perhaps none of them had noticed how... on edge, Merlin always seems around her. He claims not to blame her, claims not to be frightened of her, but... some things are unavoidable.

Arthur clears his throat and shuffles in his seat, aware that Merlin would become horribly confused and maybe even aggressively defensive if he started raving on about how horrific everything he just said is:

“Merlin... will you... will you tell us what else your mother did? To protect you, or to stop you from using your magic?”

Merlin is confused regardless, and looks to Arthur without hiding it:

“Does it... matter? I got off pretty light, in the grand scheme of things, and... and I’m here now, so does it really matter what happened when I was younger?”

Arthur gives him a tight smile, stroking a thumb over the back of Merlin’s still held hand as he responds:

“You... you’re right, you’re here now, and you’ll always be safe and free to use your magic with us, within Camelot.-”

Merlin squeezes his hand, as if it’s The King that needs comforting:

“-But will you just... humour us? What else did Hu... did your mother do to you?”

Merlin still seems confused, especially about the way Arthur stumbles over his mum’s name, but he smiles and nods hesitatingly through it:

“Yeah, I... sure, I guess. As long as you lot don’t take a page out of her book.”

He bumps shoulders with Arthur as he says, it, smiling even as the nerves creep into his words. Arthur shakes his head, quickly and determinedly, as he clenches his jaw, but it’s Lancelot, normally so composed, that responds almost argumentatively:

“Never. Merlin, we would never.”

The Warlock still seems confused, but he nods once more:

“... Ok... I mean it really wasn’t that... ok. She, uh... she yelled a lot at first, when I was really young, but that never really worked. My magic was wonderful, you know? I could help the fire burn hotter in winter, I could help the livestock and harvests, I could grow flowers already in the vase on the table. And sometimes I just really couldn’t help it, you know? I just... didn’t understand. So she would... uh, she would burn me, when she saw me using magic.-”

He rolls up his sleeves, muttering under his breath as his eyes flash a muted gold; a faded white ripple flows over his skin, revealing a patchwork of small, raised scars. They’re rectangular in shape, ranging from silvery to dark pink, and they cover the entire expanse of his forearm, going even further up under his sleeve, and down, with a few small ones on the back of his hand and fingers. He flexes his hand, and the others realise he likely hasn’t undone that spell in front of anyone in years. 

Arthur, who’d had to release Merlin’s fingers when he’d reached for his own arm, extends a shaking but gentle hand to pull the scarred arm towards him. Merlin goes with him easily, tensing at first, but relaxing and slumping into Arthur’s side as The King runs soft fingertips over the marred skin; he sighs, long and slow, likely in an effort to stop himself from crying in his despair (or screaming in rage). He slowly pulls the sleeve down again, under the careful watch of the knights and Merlin himself, before tucking the Warlock’s hand back between his own as the other man continues:

“-It got to the point where the poker was permanently in the fire. She cried for the first couple of weeks, whenever I made her do it,-”

The flinch at Merlin’s words could be seen going around the group as if a gale force wind had struck them, but he continues despite their grimaces:

“-but it’s like... like she got used to it, after a while, like it didn’t seem to bother her. She’d just get annoyed, worried. Though I suppose I got used to it too, really. Uh... she also... hmm. Oh! She also made me watch her decapitate all the chickens. We were poor, so we only had a few a year, the rest were kept for eggs or breeding, but... well, she always made me watch, and said that’s what would happen if I was caught. She once... uh...-”

He shuffles in his seat, and other than his earlier quietness, it’s the first sign of discomfort or distress he’s displayed since the beginning of the conversation. Arthur, with Merlin’s sweaty hand trapped between his own two palms, wonders what on earth, after everything, could Merlin be nervous about sharing, and Merlin, oblivious still to everyone’s horror, wonders if he should tell this bit, wonders if this might give the wrong impression of his mum to his friends:

“-she burnt one alive, put the metal guard up in front of the hearth and lit it whilst the chicken was in there. She... that only happened once, and I... I got real sick after, because I tried to hold my magic in.-”

Arthur really hadn’t thought anything else would surprise him, but he has to fight the instinct to scream and yell and hurl his sword at the closest tree as Merlin continues:

“-It was meant to be the same sort of lesson, that that would happen to me if I couldn’t learn to control my magic. There were also the bedtime stories,-”

He moves on from the topic as if he were regaling people with Gaius’ shopping list, and the others wipe their face clean of tears and clench their jaws to stop themselves form interrupting. They get the distinct feeling that... the more they let on about how angry and upset and horrified they are, the less Merlin will speak; he’s always hated upsetting them, after all:

“-they were pretty tame compared to the other stuff, to be honest, but they terrified me almost more than the poker, I think. They were always about monsters coming to steal me away in the night, to take advantage of me and my magic. Sometimes they were about being beheaded or burnt, but she dealt with that easily enough with the chickens. The stories were always about Cenred, about being cuffed and cut, over and over, about having my eyes plucked out so I couldn’t see and my fingers burnt so I couldn’t feel and my nose broken so I couldn’t smell and my tongue cut out so I couldn’t taste. She’d say that they’d leave my ears alone, so I could hear them telling me what to do, and if I didn’t, they’d hurt me more, until there was nothing left of me but a monster, just like them. They... I still have nightmares about them, every once in a while, amongst the other nightmares. I know I could beat anyone in Essetir’s army with my eyes closed, maybe even all at once on one of my best days, but Essetir’s colours... they still make me feel a little sick.”

His story is punctuated by the occasional little chuckle, a smirk on his face as though he were telling stories of childhood troublemaking—sweets before dinner, staying out after dark, saying a bad word—and none of his friends can understand just how he can describe what his mother did to him with such a loving and fond expression. Especially considering they know how explosively he’d react if anyone else around the campfire, or anyone else period, had been treated with such unending cruelty.

Once again, the silence is cutting, and when Merlin finally looks up from the fire to see pale and teary faces, his smile falls away to a concerned frown:

“Sorry, I know my childhood is a bit of a mood killer; it’s why I don’t bring it up much. I don’t get why you’re all that upset though? Other kids definitely had it worse.”

Arthur lets out a deep breath at his words, but gulps his outburst down as he tugs on Merlin’s hand, ever so gently, until the Warlock turns to look at him. When he sees The King’s tears his back straightens and his eyes become worried but sharp, ready to pounce on whatever or whoever had caused Arthur so much distress. Arthur just gives him a small, pained smile; it’s part true, at the fact that Merlin is so affected by Arthur being upset, but it’s mostly just so Merlin calms down and listens. Arthur has a feeling that it will take a lot of effort to convince Merlin that what happened to him, what his mother did, is not ok, magic or no:

“Merlin... that... none of that was ok. That was... that was horrific. You... you understand that? Don’t you? Your mother... she tried to kill you, when there were other options, and she hurt you, instead of taught you. Merlin... she...”

His mouth hesitates on the words and then gives up on them entirely, only managing a small shake of the head as Merlin’s jaw clenches. He tries to pull his hand away, but Arthur won’t let him go, and that just serves to make him more... frustrated:

“My mother loves me, and she did her best, Arthur. Who are you to decide otherwise? You don’t know what it was like growing up with magic, Essetir on one side and Camelot on the other. None of you do.”

No one can help but flinch back at the harshness in his eyes when he turns to look over them all, but it doesn’t deter Arthur as he pulls Merlin’s attention back to him:

“I know, Merlin. We could never understand, not really, but... but I know what abuse is, when I hear it.-”

Merlin looks taken aback at the A word, he knows what it is, and as a Physician he’s seen his fair share of it, but its introduction within this conversation, within this context, his context, causes him more confusion than anger. Arthur interrupts him before he can even begin to think of a retort:

“-and I also know that, if any one of us had said our parents treated us even half as... severely-”

He obviously has to hold himself back from saying badly, or cruelly, or abusively; Arthur knows he has to toe the line here, between making Merlin understand, and angering him:

“-you’d be furious. Merlin... you have magic, and your mother was scared, but she didn’t... she didn’t have to hurt you. That was... a choice, that she made.”

At first, anger fills Merlin’s eyes again, but Arthur can tell that it’s at the thought of any of his friends being treated the way he was treated. But then... then his eyes crinkle—and not as though he were smiling—and his mouth hangs open as he tries to speak. It takes him a few moments, but everyone stays silent, waiting for him as his face twitches between emotions:

“I... she didn’t... she didn’t want to, you... she didn’t want to hurt me, Arthur. She didn’t. She didn’t.”

Arthur frowns but nods, delicate, he thinks, this is delicate:

“I know, Merlin, I know, but it’s like... you know when I try to train you? I’m not... trying to hurt you, and you know that, you know that I never hurt you deliberately, it is always a genuine accident, if you get a bruise or something. The training happens because... well, because I care about you, and I want you to be safe, and I want you to be able to protect yourself. But in the course of your training, you shouldn’t be hurt. Training would be pointless if I just... spent the morning beating you to a pulp and then called it a day. You wouldn’t have learnt anything, see? You’d have just come out the other end... confused, and in pain. But you’d feel indebted to me because I’d tell you I’m helping you, but really, I’m not. You see?”

Merlin takes a moment, but it’s then that the tears begin to fall, slowly at first, as his breath begins to hitch. His words coming out in a raspy whisper, and Arthur has to take yet another of many deep, calming breaths as the Warlock eventually replies:

“She... had other options,-”

Arthur nods, just once:

“-besides hurting me...-”

Arthur nods again, gulping and blinking tears away as he does so:

“-But she... she didn’t mean it. It... it wasn’t deliberate.”

Arthur takes another breath, and bites his lip almost bloody for a moment as he reaches, ever so slowly, for Merlin’s sleeve. He pulls it up, and nods for Merlin to look down at the still free-from-magic scars:

“Look at your arm. And that’s not even the worst thing she did to you. Look at your arm, Merlin.”

It takes Merlin another moment, but he does look down, as the rest of the knights stare on. The first tear heavy enough to fall from his chin lands on one of the biggest scars, a deep red, raised, roughly shaped square on his inner wrist, and he mutters, barely loud enough for Arthur to hear:

“I don’t understand.-”

Arthur pulls the sleeve down again before using his free hand to lift Merlin’s chin:

“-I... she’s my mum.”

The King nods solemnly, but gives a weak smile nonetheless as Merlin sags even further into his hold:

“I know, and you... you don’t have to understand, not right now. We’ll... we can understand for you, we can take care of you, gently.”

Merlin’s response, a mouthed “ok” with no sound, with barely a breath of air, is the last thing said before he slowly rests his forehead on Arthur shoulder and cries. It’s quiet, soundless in a way that says he’s desperate to not attract attention, but Arthur holds him through it anyway; the other knights understand their cue and silently prepare the campsite for sleeping, erecting tents, gathering extra firewood for the night watches, and checking on the horses. They get it finished quickly, despite the massive effort to stay quiet, but by the time bed rolls are being pulled out of bags and stuffed into tents, Merlin has finally nodded off. He sleeps fitfully against Arthur’s chest, a furrow in his brow as he wordlessly murmurs to himself. With only one more glance to the still distraught patrol, Arthur scoops Merlin up bridal style, giving a nod of thanks to Percival when he holds their normal tent’s flap open for them.

~

It’s several months later when Hunith’s door swings open unexpectedly in the evening. She turns around with a jump, not sure whether to expect an unwanted intruder or simply a neighbour, but what she finds, is neither. King Arthur doesn’t even look at her before he turns his back, shutting the door behind him quietly.

She lets out a gentle but confused laugh as she drops the chopping knife she’d been holding onto the counter:

“My, Arthur, you scared the daylights out of me. Is Merlin with you??-”

It’s been a year since Merlin has visited, two since he’s visited with Arthur, but the only answer The King gives is in the tightening of his shoulders when she says her son’s name. Her son, he thinks, as fucking if.

“-My Lord?”

Arthur lets out a deep breath and turns around, Hunith only becoming more concerned at his severe face:

“No, actually, it’s just me this time, I’d hoped we might... clear some things up.”

She seems confused, but less panicked when Arthur hadn’t mentioned Merlin being hurt in anyway. Arthur has to fight away the urge to rage at her for daring to be grateful that he isn’t here with bad news:

“Where is he, then?”

The smile he gives her is tight and menacing as he takes a step forward, and though she resists, Hunith feels the need to take her own step back:

“With Elyan and Gwen. They requested his company whilst they visit their parents’ graves, and I thought it was a wonderful idea, encouraged them to go sightseeing as well, to the North, so they’ll be away from the city for a few days.”

The words he says have an innocent enough meaning, but Hunith catches something more in his tone of voice, and simply furrows her brows in confusion as Arthur takes another step forward:

“Is... is everything alright, Arthur? What’s wrong?”

It’s the motherly tone, the way she genuinely cares so deeply about Arthur’s well-being, Merlin’s well-being, that makes his skin crawl. He thinks he could deal with it more easily if she weren’t so genuine about it all, if she were faking it. He wanders casually over to the lit hearth, moving an already hot poker further into the roaring flames as he quietly, accusingly speaks:

“Merlin told me what you did,-”

She goes to respond, the confused “what?” on the tip of her tongue, but Arthur turns around and continues before she can say anything:

“-when he was eight. When you tied him down and drowned him. When you dug his grave and buried him in it and had the whole village looking for him in the wrong place.-”

Hunith freezes, her eyes wide and manic and her hands shaking:

“-He told me about the chickens, and the nightmares, and the bedtime stories. He told me about you making him think he was going to become a monster, he showed me the scars on his arms from the poker, and a few weeks later, when he was more comfortable and ready to talk about it more, he showed me the bigger ones on his back, from the belt, from the rope, from the stones. He even showed me the scars along one side of his tongue, from the gravel in his grave that cut up the inside of his mouth. And I’m sure that he’s got plenty more to tell me, to show me, that he’s trying desperately not to remember.”

Hunith can’t resist this time, and takes a stumbled step back as her breathing becomes ragged and her fluttering eyes begin to leak tears:

“No... I... it was for his own good, he needed to learn, anything was better than... better than...”

Arthur turning his back on her interrupts her words, but he can hear her getting half way through the first word of plenty of different excuses as he nudges the poker once again:

“You should know that he still loves you, somehow, and that he didn’t want you to know that he... that he knows, that he remembers. But here I am, telling you that he does remember, in quite vivid detail, because I think you should know. And I also think you should know that you will never, ever, lay a hand on him again. You will never be alone with him again, you will never scold him again, you will never so much as even show displeasure on your face in his presence. That’s if I can’t persuade him to never want to see you again.-”

He turns around once more, quickly this time, the poker in his hand. The red hot end is waving dangerously close to Hunith’s face as she gasps and falls back again, bracing herself against the counter:

“-You should be grateful that I am a far better person than you, and you should be even more grateful that I’m not the revenge type, otherwise you would be in a world of pain right now. Even then, the only reason I’m not making an exception, the only reason I’m not breaking all my rules and landing even a fraction of the pain you caused Merlin upon you, is that it would break Merlin’s heart to know that you’d suffered.-”

He drops the poker onto the table with a clang, the hot end hanging off the edge precariously and sizzling loudly as a leak from the roof drips onto it. Hunith jumps at the noise, but Arthur stays stock still, his glare boring holes into the woman’s own eyes:

“-Despite everything you have done to him, he is still the kindest person I know, and he still loves you. But you will never touch him again, and I will be by his side every second he is even vaguely near you to make sure that he’s safe. Am I understood?”

Hunith takes another shaky breath, but doesn’t say anything, and Arthur darts forward, slamming his hand on to the table as he roars:

“Am I understood?!”

The poker bounces and balances even more precariously on the edge of the table, but just about manages to stop from toppling onto the hay covered floor as Hunith whimpers and nods. Arthur, satisfied, stands up and straightens his clothes before making his way to the door. His tone is jarringly friendly and jovial as he lets himself out:

“Well, now that we’ve got that cleared up, I really must be going. This is only a flying visit. And Hunith?-”

He turns back to her with a dark smile:

“-This stays between us, yes?”

She nods once more, and The King drops his smile, staring at her with dead eyes and a blank expression for barely a second more before walking out into the night and shutting the door behind him.

Sir Leon hands him the reins to his horse as Sir Gwaine whistles lowly, appreciatively:

“Sounded like quite the... conversation.”

There’s a question in there somewhere, but Arthur is too exhausted and angry to bother uncovering it. His only reply is a deep hum as he mounts his horse before leading the way from the village, back towards Camelot, back towards where Merlin should be three days from now, curled up in front of Arthur’s hearth with a blanket round his shoulders and a hot drink in his hands as he happily regales The King with his last week’s worth of adventures.

~

THE END!!!!

Phew, that was a heavy one, difficult to write, but I’m glad I did it!! I really hope you guys are as horrified as I want you to be, and I hope you enjoyed it. Up next should be some Happy Hunith Fluff in the form of Control Part 6, so keep an eye out for that!!!

Let me know what you think gang, I could really do with some feedback on this :D

[moxleys-darlin]

2: Am I So Hard To Love?

Summary: Marcus goes too far and Grace knows she has to leave before she can't. 

TW: severe child abuse

Disclaimer: This story is gonna have abuse in the beginning. I used a lot of my own experiences for this story so a lot of what Grace's stepfather, mother, and siblings do is my personal story that I exaggerated a little (but not much). THERE IS NO SA; it's all physical, emotional, and mental. I was very lucky to be saved.

I'm only borrowing José Lothario.

(Pictures are not mine)

The next few weeks are relatively calm in the house, and she only has a few new bruises on her arms from where Marcus had grabbed her. She checks to make sure they aren’t visible with the shirt she’d chosen for the day before heading to her bookshelf. She listens for a moment for movement around the house, clocking each member of her household, before pulling the book she hollowed out and opening it. The tips at the restaurant for the last week had been amazing and, with summer break officially starting today, they will only get better. 

She doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her as she grabs the money out of the book and rifles through the bills quickly. “What is that?” She stops breathing for a moment when she turns to see Daniel smirking in the doorway. “Are you hiding money?”

“Daniel please-.” His smile goes evil for a moment and his next words strike terror into her heart.

“DAD!” He crosses his arms and stares at her. 

“Daniel, I am begging you, please. I am your sister, don’t do this.”

His smile turns smug. “DAD! I need you in Grace’s room!” 

She hears the heavy boots of her stepfather’s, and she backs up toward the closest wall as she tries to make herself smaller. “What’s going on, son?” Marcus asks as he fills the doorway.

She’s shaking her head back and forth quickly, but she knows it’s no use. “Grace is hiding money from you again Dad, it’s in her front pocket. I saw her grab it from that book there.” He smugly points to her hollowed book and a tear runs down her cheek when Marcus whips his head around and glares at her. 

He holds his hand out. “Is this true, Gracelynn Rose?” She slowly pulls the money from her pocket and places it in his hand, watching him count the money. “What did I say would happen if I caught you hiding your money from me again?”

“P-please Marcus, I’m sorry, I-I needed it.” She tries to swallow her stutters but she’s too terrified. 

She shakes as he unbuckles his belt, and she knows the punishment that’s coming. “Daniel, why don’t you take Adam and go to the park.” Her brother sends a smirk and wave her way before leaving and she knows her mother is at work so there is no calvary to save her. 

She throws her hands up. “Please Marcus, I won’t do it again.”

His chuckle is as evil as the man himself. “That’s funny, Grace, I remember you saying that the last two times when I went easy on your punishments.” As if you could call a concussion and dislocated shoulder going easy. “Remember sweetie, this hurts me more than it hurts you.” She can never understand why the first hit always hurts the worst. 

Grace is thankful that Marcus’s work called and begged him to come in so that she could finally have a break. She takes a second to catch her breath and make her body work again before she gets up and grabs a duffle bag. 

“When I come back, I’ll finish what I started.”  

The cut above her mark is bleeding from where he started to cut and scare her. She shoves clothes in the bag as fast as she’s able with the pain in her wrist, ribs, and throat. She hopes that her new injuries are easy fixes, but she pushes it all aside for now. She fits the last bit of clothes that she can in her duffle bag before emptying her backpack and grabbing a few important things. She listens for any movement before sneaking into her mom’s room and going to the safe. 

“Come on, come on, unlock already.” 

She sighs in relief as the lock disengages and she grabs the folder with her name on it. Rifling through it quickly before shoving it into her backpack, she quickly runs through the house and makes sure she has anything she may need. She shoves her feet in her shoes and leaves the house, hoping that her brothers aren’t on their way home because she knows she’s in no shape to fight them. The sight of the gym’s front door makes her cry, and she has to stop and hold her ribs for a moment before entering. 

“Welcome in!” The girl at the desk looks up and gasps loudly when she sees her. “Gracie! Oh my God, what happened? José! Ven aquí y date prisa!” Grace is thankful that the gym is mostly empty as Maddie rushes over to her and grabs her bags from her. 

“Madison, why are you yell-? Grace, mija, ven conmigo.” José doesn’t hesitate to grab her gently and lead her to his office. “Madison set her things down and see about getting the gym closed down for an hour.” He sits her down on his couch and goes to grab the first aid kit. “Tell me what happened, mija, and be honest.”

She hesitates and flinches as he cleans the cut on her wrist. Dropping her head so she won’t have to look at him, she spills everything; every injury, every bit of abuse, and every bit of sadness in her life, until she’s crying too hard to continue. 

“I’ve been hiding money here because I knew that he would find it eventually if it was in the house.” She wipes the sleeve of her shirt across her nose. “I can’t do it anymore, José, I need to go, but I don’t know where I’d be safe.”

She feels his hand cup her chin gently and lift her head. “I will help you in any way that I can. For now, you are safe but I’m afraid I must check your ribs. Can you lift your shirt for me? I’ll be quick.”

She nods quickly and winces at the pressure despite how gentle he is. She watches as he wraps her wrist and ribs before sitting back and letting her drop her shirt. “I have to leave tonight, José, soon if I can. My brothers will be home soon and when they see I’m gone they’ll call Marcus. His first stop will be here, and I can’t let you be hurt because of me, and he will hurt you, sir.” He hands her some Tylenol, and she doesn’t even wait for any water before swallowing them dry. 

“We will figure things; sit here and rest while I will make some calls.”

“Jose?” She calls out tiredly.

“Yes, mija? What is it?”

“Am I so hard to love? Mom never stuck up for me and he’s hated me since she met him because I wasn’t his.” She sniffs to keep the tears at bay.

“No Gracie, you’re not hard to love; none of this is your fault, okay?” He places his hand on her head for a moment before going to the desk and picking up the phone. 

She rests her head against the back of the couch as she listens to the soothing voice of José. She picks up some Spanish, but he is talking too low and too fast for her to completely understand. She flinches violently when she feels a hand on her shoulder. 

“Lo siento pequeña, I have set up some short term plans for you but you must get up and we have to go.” He hands her an envelope, a first aid kit, and a piece of paper with writing on it. “This is your money, and you are going to El Paso to connect with an old friend of mine. He and his husband will take care of you.”

She looks in the envelope when she notices that it is much heavier than it should be. “There’s too much money in here.” She states confused. 

“I’ve been adding money over time and so has Shawn and Mark. We thought it was for something like a car or something personal, so we wanted to help out. I’m sorry that you have to use it for this, but if you’re going to leave you have to go now. There is a bus that leaves in thirty minutes so I will walk you there and get you on the bus but after that it's up to you to make sure you make it to El Paso. Por favor ten cuidado, entendido?” 

“I understand, José, thank you.” 

“Now come on, let’s get you on that bus, mija.”

José takes her bags, and they make it to the bus just as it is pulling up. She grabs her bags from him and hugs him tightly as tears well in her eyes. 

“Buena suerte pequeña.” He pulls back and kisses her on the forehead gently.

“Te amo, José.” She whispers.

“I love you too, Grace. Good luck and we will talk to you soon. Go on now.” He hugs her one last time and nudges her toward the bus. 

The driver takes one look at her and smiles sadly. “Heading to El Paso?” 

“Yes sir.” She gives him a small smile and pays for her ticket before sitting directly behind the driver. 

“Whatever you’re running from, dear, you’ll be safe on my bus.” 

She blushes and drops her head. “Thank you, sir.”

Spanish: Ven aquí y date prize: come here and hurry up Ven conmigo: come with me Lo siento pequeña: I’m sorry little one Por favor ten cuidado, entendido: Please be careful, understand? Buena suerte pequeña: good luck little one Te amo: I love you

Here's Chapter Two! I really hope y'all enjoyed it! Much love to everyone that reads! ❤️

[msclaritea]

WHAT IS A CULT? CONTROL, SURVEILLANCE, EXCLUSION by YOUTOLOGY

LAPD: THE BBQ POLICE by YOUTOLOGY

I know what's important right now. How about the rest of the adults in this country? It's disgusting that THIS is happening in America. I don't give a flying fuck for those privileged college asses, trying to get their Revolution bonafides. This shows you exactly what Scientology is doing to children, and people who come here under Visas. Our leaders in Congress do and say nothing. How powerful do you have to be to get every drop of Law Enforcement to ignore what's happening?

The second video is also quite entertaining, as the buffoonish LAPD stalks peaceful protesters in L.A. under the orders of the cult.

[bonefall]

Clear Sky is a Monster.

Of all the characters in Warrior Cats, I think Clear Sky was the most heavily mishandled.

At every turn, the narrative begs you to sympathize with him, to "understand" the "misunderstood." To this end, his brother Gray Wing is used to "keep faith" in his inherent goodness, his abused son, Thunder, is forced to go back to him over and over, and his second dead wife is completely lobotomized in death to absolve him of all sin.

Because of this, of all this set-up for the "redemption" arc they're trying to tell in the last three books, DOTC is Clear Sky's story. Everything primarily exists to benefit and serve his arc. Thunder and Gray Wing might have POVs, but HE is the character who truly drives the plot. So in order to HAVE conflict for that back half, two evil foreign cats, Slash and One Eye, are summoned to act as contrast.

Their narrative purpose is to display "true evil" to make Clear Sky look less bad in comparison. Unfortunately, Clear Sky is the most malignant, deadly character who has ever blighted Warrior Cats.

The "pure evil" examples they summon aren't effective contrasts because they're flat. Clear Sky is what real abusers look like.

His rhetoric is what it sounds like when a cult leader is trying to keep control over a group. He lies when it benefits him, justifies his actions with his tragic backstory to assuage his guilt and manipulate others, and violently lashes out when his feelings are hurt before blaming his victim for making him angry.

He only made "some mistakes" in that SOME of his actions were accidents-- the vast majority of them were malicious, self-absorbed, intentional choices to punish, hurt, and kill others.

I've spoken about Bumble. I've tallied his body count next to Tigerstar. I've talked about how his infant son's death was his fault in sequel books, and called attention to the infected wound face shoving scene that no one talks about. I can't fit every detail into a single post-- because he's so rancid that I would practically be posting entire books.

So what I want to do here is tackle the heart of Clear Sky. Everything he does, everything he's motivated by, is absolute and utter control over other people. He leverages his "trauma" to evoke empathy from his targets to make them easier to manipulate. He's a dirty liar. He breaks down to physical violence when all other tactics stop working.

He's one of the most severe and realistic abusers I've ever read about outside of very adult literature-- and when I read the reasons why he's attracted to Star Flower, my stomach immediately lurched.

The Killing of Misty

Starvation Rhetoric and the Memory of Fluttering Bird

Aside; a question

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation

Exoneration arc

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

I think that index is an evocative content warning. But to say it again; this post contains child and domestic abuse, physical assault, public humiliation, incestuous grooming implications, and a lot of murder.

I need to start with the death of Misty. I see a few people saying that Clear Sky killed her for "being on his land" or trespassing, but this is actually a misstatement that I feel is important to correct.

Misty and her children were on their own land. It was her house. Clear Sky killed her to take it.

This is one of the most important details to remember about Clear Sky, that this is the consistent end point of his obsessive need for power and control. By harassment, by violence, or by death, he will brutalize anyone who does not give him what he wants, or who makes him feel bad, and find some way to justify it.

This territory expansion was for no logical reason. There was plenty of food and plenty of land. Any aggression that's happening on this territory is in response to how he's been stealing land and mauling people.

When it's found out she was fighting to defend her children, Clear Sky's immediate response is to slaughter them too.

Petal doesn't have milk either. It wasn't about the logistics. He wanted to kill the kids, because looking at them made him feel bad, and she just managed to stop him.

Starvation Rhetoric and the Image of Fluttering Bird

It is often said that Clear Sky is doing this because he's "traumatized" from how his little sister, Fluttering Bird, starved to death in the mountains. That the emotion came from wanting to feed people. That's incorrect. It wasn't about food. Fluttering Bird's death, and all the "starvation" he's faced, are used as manipulation tactics to guilt, influence, and control other characters, particularly when he might meet resistance or be held accountable for something.

It was always, ALWAYS, about control.

He does not care about actually helping people; "Starvation Rhetoric" through Fluttering Bird is an image he can invoke to justify the actions that are as bloody and cruel as the one this post starts off with. Either in his own mind, or in the minds of the cats he's manipulating.

He does this to Falling Feather, before slicing her face open in anger when she doesn't buy it. He does it to Rainswept Flower, before he strangles her to death. And he does it in the chapter just before Misty's murder, both to his Clan and then to Thunder,

Clear Sky climbed up in front of an entire crowd and gave a grand speech about hunger and "adjusting" the borders around territory he plans to conquer. When he gets to "forgiveness" he feigns pain to make his point because he is performing. If the sentiment is not a total lie, then at bare minimum, he is intentionally playing this up for the crowd.

He is rallying the Clan to support his violence against the cats whose land he wants to steal, and selling it with his life's hardships.

The audience is clearly well-trained, because several cats recognize the cue, particularly Frost who is praised for loudly comforting him. This signals "loyalty" because showing your sympathy towards his "suffering" is how this type of emotional manipulation works. It creates a persecuted, righteous in-group.

He's also apparently used this tactic before, since this entire crowd knows what "I Would Never Forgive Myself " means.

He's made sycophants out of his followers. Like a cult leader.

His abused son, however, hasn't been fully indoctrinated yet. Seeing Thunder uncomfortable with the idea of expanding the borders for no reason, Clear Sky calls him over for a personal propaganda session.

Clear Sky begins the exchange by calling this a "duty" and a "great honor." Immediately framing what he plans to do as righteous.

He puts on the act when Thunder shows resistance, dramatically pausing to let the guilt trip sink in.

"Thunder waited, realizing that he said the wrong thing."

And then Clear Sky launches into infantilizing Thunder, talking down to him like a child who's too inexperienced to see the "signs of starvation," acting like he's being "patient" in "explaining" it.

And then we get it. "I know what starvation looks like (so stop trusting your own eyes) because I have been through more than you (so shut up and do what I tell you), and I'm being a HERO for what I'm about to do (so opposing me would make you a bad person)."

Thanks to these crocodile tears, looking "moved," the act works. The victim is immediately wracked by guilt because the abuser seems genuinely emotional.

He even lovebombs him over the corpse of Misty in the next chapter, making Thunder feel threatened.

Thunder doesn't have the words to describe what is happening to him, but he knows that this sudden snap to praise isn't natural. That something is very wrong.

A Question.

Before I move on to show that this IS an act, and that he is lying about how important avoiding starvation is to him, I will ask a question. Please think about it, because I promise I mean it genuinely;

Why does it matter if Clear Sky actually believes this or not?

The victims are just as dead either way, yes? Thunder is just as abused and guilt tripped. The entire Clan has been driven towards violence while coddling and cooing at their Supreme Leader. Clear Sky is slowly annexing the entire forest. If you have ever accepted that he had "good intentions" as an excuse for the harm he did, or that abuse and murder was what he imagined was "the right thing," or that his trauma justifies the way he leverages his own pain to make cats do what he wants... why do you think that?

Why does that make it morally better, as the narrative concludes? Would you accept the same for every other WC villain or antagonist? Tigerstar? Slash? Tom the Wifebeater? Brokenstar? Rainflower?

How could you tell the difference, if you couldn't read their actual thoughts on the page? ...are there any other "good intentions" you've accepted, somewhere else?

Don't share that answer with me. It's a question for you. Sit with it.

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation.

...but, regardless, Clear Sky is not deluded about starvation. It's a justification for his obsessive need for control, and always has been. There was no shortage before stealing Misty's land and kits, he is fully aware that there's more prey than they can eat.

He punishes Falling Feather with hunger and harassment for thought crime, by briefly thinking of leaving. But first, he invokes Fluttering Bird at her like he did before, flying into a screeching fit of rage when she doesn't buy it,

"I'm sorry I hurt you... BUT" is THE wifebeater phrase. THE stereotypical line of a domestic abuser. "I'm sorry I hit you... but it's your fault for making me so angry."

She went through the same exact starvation he did, calls out that he's just framing his greed as being for the collective benefit of his subjects, and is assaulted for that.

When we're in his head, we see his REAL concerns are not about hunger. He invoked Fluttering Bird to try and make her shut up and bow down to him; what he's focused on is her "gossiping" and "whining" about the open wound he left on her face. He's still furious at Fircone and Nettle for how Thunder QUESTIONED him. So he will "strengthen their commitment."

When "starvation" DOES enter his thoughts, it is to assuage his own guilt and JUSTIFY what he already did. What he already WANTS to do. It's post-hoc.

He had to suppress his own guilt at how his greed and ambition made these children into orphans, completely unable to admit that he's ever been wrong or has a change to make, so he invokes the starvation rhetoric at himself to excuse it. So he feels less bad.

Everything, EVERYTHING, in this confrontation is about his pleasure at being able to torment his subordinates. To continue the abuse when the initial confrontation is over. If it isn't pride in his power and control over them, it's plain sadism.

He invokes starvation in front of the crowd, again, after being pleasured at the guilt in her eyes, hoping that everyone sees her writhing with shame and embarrassment. Fear wasn't at the root of why he assaulted Falling Feather; rage was, and now he feels better that he got to humiliate the person who offended him.

Starvation Rhetoric is a manipulation tactic.

It goes RIGHT BACK to his twisted idea of "loyalty." Obedience.

A cat who's actually, primarily concerned about starvation wouldn't encourage other cats to steal her food if they feel like it. He wouldn't be using it as a weapon to retaliate against her because she hurt his feelings.

This is paired with the fact he restricts and monitors the diet of his cats. They eat when he allows it, and only what he gives them, in spite of there being piles of dead animals rotting, going to waste.

We then find he personally doles out food from these piles, plucking carcasses off them and flinging them at his cats, one by one. Probably so he can watch how grateful they are to him and make sure they stay a little hungry-- and definitely because it means he can control WHO gets to eat at all.

If Clear Sky chucked a mouse at Falling Feather and someone took it? She would have gone hungry. For not groveling to him. Like when he decides to starve her brother; a hostage who he promised to feed and care for.

He's a dishonest snake. He lied about abandoning baby Thunder, calling it a "test of strength," he lied about Bumble's death, he lied about keeping Jackdaw's Cry fed.

And he lied about starvation to Thunder, because he was just making up an excuse to steal more land.

He wasn't "seeing the signs" of starvation when he moved to "adjust" his borders. Even FURTHER into this so-called "delusional slip" into tyranny, he's freely admitting that it takes months for a person to starve when it benefits his sadistic need to punish undeserving cats.

"Dumb moor cats, always expecting more than they DESERVE."

Not need. DESERVE. It's not a delusion about starvation and it never was. STARVATION is how he CONTROLS SkyClan, and once again he's angry that his pleasure has been sullied.

The massacre at Fourtrees was started over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat after being starved, on land that Clear Sky has decided RIGHT NOW that he also owns, because it mades him think about being disobeyed.

The bat is forgotten as Clear Sky pivots into a tantrum, wanting to make his family HURT for being 'disloyal' and 'ungrateful.' For leaving him. He LIKES seeing people grovel, cower, and beg, getting PLEASURE from watching how he can hurt and command other cats, and if you don't give him what he wants he will kill you.

Which, make no mistake, is what the "First Battle" actually is. Clear Sky attempting to murder those who don't worship him or swear their undying fealty to him and his twisted dictatorship. Particularly his own son, the most prominent victim of his emotional abuse.

It's not about the bat. It was never even about food or starvation. It's about retaliation for any perceived lack of control.

Once again he breaks out starvation rhetoric to try and manipulate someone, and when Rainswept Flower doesn't buy it just like Falling Feather didn't, he murders her in another fit of entitled rage.

Exoneration arc.

At the end of this battle that was entirely his own fault, we're introduced to the hollowed-out ghost of Storm. She has been flushed of all personality, so that she can be the perfect narrative mouthpiece.

She accepts yet another Fluttering Bird Invocation in spite of how we saw it's not sincere. He was lying the entire time and using starvation rhetoric as a manipulation tactic to get control over his victims.

And that's it.

That's the consequence. Storm's a little mad at him until he says "Buttering Flird" and she swoons.

He doesn't have to be ""afraid"" anymore because the cats just invented an afterlife to believe in. He keeps all of his power and influence and gets off scot-free, because "guilt" (which we SAW him repressing anyway) is supposed to be the best consequence for murder, abuse, and tyranny.

The husk of Storm even materializes again at the end of book 5 to say it outright; he "never drove anyone away." Not even after Book 4 where it's also his fault One Eye took over his Clan for 5 minutes. It was just destiny.

His "redemption arc" is just an exoneration arc. The narrative doesn't think he really did anything wrong.

EVERYTHING about Clear Sky has ALWAYS been about making grabs at power, but since the narrative didn't see a problem with him extorting his personal tragedy and the death of a child, his own sister, he continues doing it. As if these behaviors are normal personality 'traits'.

Even when that sister COMES OUT OF HEAVEN TO YELL AT HIM DIRECTLY,

He finds a way to COMPLETELY miss the point, so he can interpret her words in a bizarrely specific way that will conveniently end with him being the supreme dictator of the entire forest. Just like he ALWAYS does.

It's the entire 5th book. Clear Sky trying to convince everyone, including himself, that it's Fluttering Bird who wants him to grab at power, NOT himself and his own ambition, that THIS time, he promises, for realsies, it's actually about keeping everyone safe.

But just like ALWAYS, because he does not change, when this tried and true tactic manages to work on Thunder, during ANOTHER exchange where he's dramatically pausing and using the cold shoulder to make his pitiable act land harder,

He lapses right back into bullying his child, creating situations where Thunder will have difficulty or be put in pain, so that he can have an excuse to mock and belittle him.

And this all comes to a head when Clear Sky takes romantic interest in Star Flower, his abused son's previous romantic interest.

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

Direct parallels are drawn between Thunder and Star Flower. Star Flower contrasts her loyalty to her father to Thunder's "disloyalty" to his own, in an appeal to Clear Sky.

Clear Sky brushes it off for now, citing that he cannot accept her because of who her father was.

But then, Thunder makes the connection between himself and her, because he knows what it is like to be a victim of parental abuse and correctly clocks that they have this in common,

On his vouch, Clear Sky accepts her into the group. She starts trying to offer himself to him; hunting twice as hard as the others, self-imposing harsh conditions like taking a wet sleeping spot. In their second interaction, Clear Sky begins to take interest in her.

Thunder himself points out that Star Flower is seeking an abusive tyrant to replace her own father, which reads like he's deflecting the stress of how his father is abusing him to deny a connection he already made. As if Thunder sees so much of himself in Star Flower that it makes him (rightly) feel sick that his father is romantically invested in her;

Thunder then goes on to follow his own advice and form his own Clan, because Clear Sky IS like One Eye... while Star Flower remains here. At Clear Sky's side. Because she feels like this is what she "deserves," that she "understands" him, truly believing that her crime (warning her father that Clear Sky brought an ambush in case he lost the 1 on 1 death match he requested, which he did) are on the same level as his abuse and murders.

Clear Sky is attracted to Star Flower because, in his own words;

She is young.

She will not betray him.

She won't question him,

and she obeys him.

We've seen what "betrayal" is to Clear Sky-- not taking his excuses or his beatings. To "disobey" is betrayal. To "question" is disobedience.

These are ALL things he's tried to drill into Thunder. We saw him happily exploit their difference in age to tell him he can't have an opinion. He constructed humiliating games in retaliation for ever being questioned. He tried to murder Thunder and his friends for their "betrayal." Even now, being disobeyed causes explosive reactions.

He was previously grooming the things he now identifies as attractive in a young woman into his child.

If your body becomes too useless to serve him, like Frost and Jagged Peak, you're thrown out. If you don't unquestioningly follow his bloody commands, like Falling Feather or Thunder, you're subjected to abuse and public humiliation. If you're in his way, like Misty or Rainswept Flower were, you die.

If you meet all of his expectations...

You will be in a horrific position where you will never have agency over your own life ever again. Every move, every word, will have to be carefully crafted so that he feels like you're "loyal" to him by the arbitrary standard he feels that day. Never step out of line, never doubt his decisions, never live for anyone except him and the children you will give him, not even for a moment, because then you will not be "worthy" of his grace.

Star Flower would be in serious danger if this series wasn't written by abuse apologists. They accidentally wrote a perfect reflection of how child abuse victims often find themselves in unsafe and toxic romantic relationships with large age gaps which mirror what they went through as kids; but this team doesn't clock it, playing this relationship as wholesome and genuine.

He finally has someone who ""understands"" him. Because they think the character they wrote is misunderstood.

but reality is plain to see.

Clear Sky is a monster. The most realistic monster in all of WC-- far, far closer to real life predators and domestic abusers than the "born evil" rogues like Slash and One Eye. The Erins seem to believe that what separates Clear Sky from One Eye is "fundamental" good and "fundamental" evil, when the truth is that they'd be separated by very, very little.

If they had realistic motivations, they would be exactly like the character their existence is meant to excuse.

Slash and One Eye HAD to be kept flat and one-dimensional. If the book was more earnest, the only difference between Clear Sky and One Eye would have been that One Eye is stronger. So strong that Clear Sky needed to manipulate the other groups into helping him.

While anyone can change, not everyone will, and Clear Sky has no reason to. He sees no consequences. He has everything he wants; power, a pretty and obedient young mate, and unchecked authority over a brainwashed forest cult. There is always a victim on a leash, a naive enabler, or a bunch of desperate and gullible marks somewhere in his proximity to bully into doing his dirtywork

Whether his "intentions" were sincere or not (evidence points towards not) at its root it was always about control. Power is something he perpetually keeps, and continues to violently use.

[rosemaryyuri]

it's so hilarious how a large chunk of the homestuck fandom actually and genuinely believes everything rose lalonde says about herself and her life. she would be so happy. You think I'm cool, calm, and put together? You think I'm a reliable therapist for my friends? Tell me more.

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[haunthouse]

also, because i'm still thinking about the disco elysium kids:

i think the difference in how people react to cuno vs cunoesse is really so indicative of peoples' reactions in general to trauma survivors. they're both kids who scream at you and call you slurs, but cuno will open up to you a little if you talk to him the right way and pass the right checks and give him time. and you can go to cuno's apartment and find out exactly what's caused him to act that way; you can see his dad and hear about how his dad acts and go "well, his behavior is still shitty, but he's 12 and i know why he acts that way, so it's fine", and then harry can take him back to jamrock with him and presumably into a life that's at least slightly better than his life in martinaise.

but i've seen (mostly outside of tumblr) a lot of people who play the game absolutely hate cunoesse, and i think it's because you don't get such an easy explanation for why she acts how she does? she screams and calls you slurs, too, but she won't let you get close to her. she freaks out if you even walk near her and accuses you of trying to hurt her. you don't get to find her house or her parents or an easy explanation, and she's not about to give you any potential ammo to hurt her further with by explaining what's happened to her. and it's pretty clear if you look for it — a 10 year old isn't just gonna accuse any adult who walks near her of attempted assault unless some real bad shit has happened to them — but because she isn't able to be can-opened by harry, isn't willing to calm down and talk to you, isn't able to let her guard down to give the audience insight into her mind, she's immediately seen as less sympathetic. people empathize more with those who respond to trauma with sadness than with anger, even when both of the subjects are little kids, and i think it's fucked up that just because she's angry cunoesse gets less sympathy from the audience than cuno does!!

(also not to mention like. the additional axes of gender, and of her being from outside of revachol, and of the different types of abuse at play for each of them. because i'm sure that all also plays a part in the differing reactions in-universe and on an audience level!)

[twoheadedfather]

what i think a lot of people seem to misunderstand about people who were abused during childhood is that we have different "common world knowledge" and "life skills" than non childhood abuse victims. we either weren't taught certain things, or we were taught them incorrectly. like, no, i don't know how to do this normal, everyday thing. i don't know how to be a human, i was never taught to be a human.

[pomeness]

Watching irl football is so unserious, a guy scored a goal and the commentator instantly went like "oh [player's name], that's amazing! I will now proceed to talk about his traumatic childhood!"

Also now please picture this happening to Kaiser (...)

[reimeichan]

I was diagnosed with severe combined type ADHD well into my adulthood. The many years of undiagnosed ADHD has a major source of my trauma, and I hate it so much.

I know a lot of people think of ADHD as a silly, quirky disorder. Someone with ADHD has trouble sitting still, has focus issues, has short term memory problems, etc. None of this sounds like anything so bad on the surface.

What people often don't see is... how people like me are treated.

(tw child abuse ahead)

Growing up, I was often punished and berated for things that "normal" kids could handle. I constantly forgot my homework, couldn't get the executive functioning to start on projects until the last minute, would be so hyperfocused in a book that I would miss dinner, be unable to sit still long enough to practice piano, etc. And each time that happened, I would be punished for it. Hit, spanked, yelled at, grounded, belongings destroyed... it was constant, daily punishment. It felt like I could do nothing right. Pretty much all of my punishable actions could be tied in some way to my undiagnosed ADHD.

It was genuinely awful and I have a lifetime of trauma from that. I'm scared of even shaking my foot when I'm by myself in my own room, I feel guilty for spending any amount of time reading or playing video games. I beat myself up for my lack of executive functioning. And my parents never, ever tried to help me learn those skills. All they did was try to beat those "habits" and beat the "laziness" out of me. And tell me that "all kids experience that, you're just making excuses" (I now know that ADHD is often found within the same family, and I highly suspect at least one of my parents to have it as well to the point they normalized their own experiences).

I can genuinely say that many of my mental health disorders (the DID, the depression, the anxiety, the suspected NPD, and anything else I've missed) can all be tied back to my undiagnosed and unmanaged ADHD, and all the trauma that came with that. Hell, even into adulthood, I struggle more with my ADHD symptoms than I do with anything else. If anything, the other things just further exacerbate my ADHD struggles. It genuinely sucks.

This isn't to say I find all aspects of my ADHD bad. I genuinely enjoy the hyperfocus (when it's hyperfocus on something I actually want to hyperfocus on). I think the way my brain jumps from topic to topic, connection to connection, has made me more creative than many of the people around me. And it's very much a part of me that makes me kind of uniquely "me". But also... I know it's such a big part of my trauma history that to try to paint it as this positive thing in my life would be a lie.

But yeah. I wish we talked more about how traumatizing living with ADHD is.

[moxleys-darlin]

3: For One So Small, You Seem So Strong

Summary: Grace gets to El Paso, makes new friends, and feels safe for the first time.

TW: discussions of child abuse and food as a punishment

Disclaimer: This story is gonna have abuse in the beginning. I used a lot of my own experiences for this story so a lot of what Grace's stepfather, mother, and siblings do is my personal story that I exaggerated a little (but not much). THERE IS NO SA; it's all physical, emotional, and mental. I was very lucky to be saved.

This story has Eddie Guerrero, Chris Benoit, and Nancy Benoit. If this bothers you bow out now because they're here to stay. Nancy and Chris have never been together in this story, Chris is with Eddie and Nancy is with Taz (thank you for the idea @sinderellanightwolf) and the mother of Tyler (HOOK).

Flashbacks in italics.

I only claim Grace and her family; everyone else I'm borrowing.

(Pictures aren't mine)

She jerks violently at the hand on her shoulder and the driver smiles apologetically when she wipes the sleep from her eyes. “I’m sorry ma’am but we’ve made it to El Paso.” She rubs her ribs and nods tiredly. “Do you have someone picking you up or do you know where you’re going?”

“I’ll manage, sir, thank you for waking me up and for bringing me here.” She smiles at the confused look on his face. “Have a great day!” She waves and heads off the bus before sitting on the bench. 

“Apologies, mija, are you Grace?” She freezes at the masculine voice and hesitates to answer. “My name is Eddie Guerrero and José Lothario told me that he was sending a girl named Grace to me. Is that you?”

She whips her head to the side in shock before shaking her head and reminding herself that he’s just a person. “Y-yes sir, I’m Grace. It’s really nice to meet you.” She gives him a smile and holds out her hand. 

He grins and chuckles before shaking her hand. “He told me you were sweet and polite.” He looks at his watch and seems to make a decision. “Why don’t we get you something to eat before I subject you to Joanie and Nancy’s mothering, huh?” She cocks her head to the side in confusion before shrugging and agreeing.

“You don’t have to ya know… I’m sorry you have to take care of me at all, but I had nowhere to go.” She says as they start to walk down the street. 

“Hey, I volunteered to take you and I know my husband will love you. He’s a quiet man but he’s a very good man. We also have two girls that you’ll meet, Shaul and Sherilyn; Shauly is going to be fifteen in October and Sheri will be ten very soon.” She smiles at the mention of an October birthday.

“My birthday is in October too.” She states quietly.

“What’s that?” They make it to a diner, and he holds the door open for her. “Booth or table?”

She looks around and points to a booth in the less crowded part of the diner. “Oh, I said that my birthday is in October too, like your daughter.” 

He smiles brightly at her. “What day?”

“Halloween.” She mutters and waits for him to call her a devil like Marcus did. 

“Hey guys! Eddie! New friend?” A waitress comes over and greets them enthusiastically while dropping off the menus.

“Hey Amanda! Yeah, this is Grace! She’s gonna be staying with us for a bit hopefully. Grace, this is Amanda, she’s our favorite waitress.” 

Amanda scoffs. “He says that about all of the waitresses.” She stage whispers to Grace and it makes her giggle. “It’s nice to meet you! What can I get y’all to drink?”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Can I just get a water?”

“Of course, sweetie! And a tea for you, Eddie?” She sends a smile to the older man. 

“You know it, bonita.” He waits for her to walk away before turning back to Grace. “Nancy’s going to love you, kid; her favorite holiday is Halloween.” Her heart flutters and she blushes softly. “What did I say?” He asks confused. 

“Oh, um, i-it’s nothing.” She covers her mouth and drops her eyes when the stutter shows up. “S-sorry I su-stutter when I’m nervous. I-It’ll stop soon.” She utters quietly, hoping he won’t be annoyed.

“Hey, look at me.” She looks up at him hesitantly. “José didn’t tell me a lot, but he said enough; no one’s going to hurt you here and you can stay as long as you want. ¿Entiendes?”

She nods and looks away. “Intentaré creerlo, eventualmente.” She mutters and is thankful when Amanda comes with their drinks. 

“Here you go, lovelies. Now, y’all know what you want?”

She looks at the side options and smiles. “Can I just have some fries please? With a side of ranch?” She closes the menu and hands it to Amanda.

“That all you want? You can order whatever.” Eddie declares.

“That’s all, I’m not that hungry.” She grins, hoping he’ll drop it.

“Alright, I just want my usual, please.” He hands her the menu too and laughs at her eyeroll. 

“One day I’ll get you to pick something else mister. I’ll get those put in and get it out soon.” She turns but stops for a moment and faces Grace again. “If you want to order anything else, you let me know.” She turns and walks away before Grace can answer. 

She interrupts Eddie before he can ask. “I don’t eat a lot. I know José told you enough about Marcus for you to get an idea, so I’ll tell you a bit more. He used food as a punishment, and I didn’t eat a lot, so I guess my stomach adjusted and shrunk.” She shrugs. “I don’t really know but I do know that if I try to eat big meals, I’ll be sick.”

He nods and she’s thankful that he doesn’t push the envelope. “Okay, I’m sure there’s a way to work on that but for now, but for now just make sure you eat when you’re hungry okay?”

She chokes on her sip of water. “You’re talking like you’re gonna keep me awhile.” He sends her a sad smile. 

“I hope you’ll let us; you seem like a good kid from what José told me. He wouldn’t have sent you to me if you were a bad kid, not with my girls or Nancy’s son, Tyler. So, you can stay the week and if you decide you want it to be permanent, we’ll work on getting you free from your mom and stepdad, sí mija?”

She feels tears start to run down and she quickly wipes them away. Eddie hands her a napkin and she sends him a smile.

They talk about any and everything and Eddie is kind enough to not make her elaborate on anything she doesn’t want to; he just moves on to the next subject easily. Grace tells him how much she loves him as a wrestler and how Woman is her favorite, to which he gives her an amused look that she can’t decipher. She loved the stories of his husband and girls and how they decided to use a surrogate to start their family. 

“Why did you decide to retire?”

He gets a far off look on his face and smiles sadly. “I was having some health issues, chest pains and such, so Nancy and Chris made me go to the doctor. Long story short, my heart was worse than we thought, and I got it checked out just in time to save my life. So, I decided to retire and open the gym, then Joanie came to help out.”

She shakes herself out of her thoughts when they reach the gym, and her eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh! I love it!” She looks around and spots a familiar face. “That’s Chyna.” She mutters and Eddie laughs. 

“Yeah mija, that’s Chyna but her name is Joanie, and she works with me while Chris is gone.” He points to someone to the side of them and waves them over. “And this is Nancy.” He smirks. “Nancy this is Grace, she’s a big fan.” 

Grace turns and freezes. “Hey sweetie! I’m Nancy!” She holds her hand out and Grace blinks for a moment before reaching taking her hand and shaking it. “Aren’t you the cutest?”

She shakes herself again and tells herself to get ahold of herself before she looks like a fool. “I’m sorry about that. Hi, I’m Grace Parker. It’s really nice to meet you.” She drops her head slightly and blushes. 

She feels Nancy’s hand gently cup her chin and it feels safe, nothing like the fear she felt from her mother’s hand. “There is nothing to be sorry for. When Eddie called me and told me he would be having a new guest something told me I should be here.” She tilts Grace’s face up to look her in the face. “I can tell it was the right decision.” She drops her hand from her face and smiles. As she watches Eddie talk to Joanie about him and Nancy taking her to the house to get settled she can’t help but feel that small sense of dread about Marcus and her mom. Have they realized she’s gone? Do they actually care?

According to the alarm clock on the nightstand it’s two in the morning and she’s wide awake. If someone were to ask why, Grace wouldn’t have a good answer. She’s not scared of these people (surprisingly), and she actually has a bed, not just a mattress on the floor. She likes the daughters, and she thinks they like her too; they didn���t seem to hate her for being in their house, so that’s a win. So why is she crying?

“Come on in, Grace.” He opens the door and lets her and Nancy in first before following them and setting her bags on the floor. “Mis hijas! Come here please!” Grace looks around the beautiful home in wonder.

“Papa! You’re home early, oh hi.” Grace focuses in when Nancy places a gentle hand on her back and waves at the two girls in front of them. 

“Hi, I’m Grace.” She smiles nervously. 

“Come on girls, why don’t I make some food while Papa shows Grace around, okay?” Nancy leads them off to the kitchen and mutters something to them that makes her nervous. 

She taps at her collarbone as she watches the three walk off. “I hope they or you don’t think I’m taking up space. I just-.”

Eddie slowly puts a hand on her shoulder so she can watch him and smiles. “Nonsense mija, Nancy’s just better at explaining things sometimes depending on the situation. Now come on and let’s get you set up in your bedroom and you can call José too.”

He leads her up the stairs and to a beautiful bedroom with a huge bed and its own bathroom. She can feel tears start to well in her eyes and she hopes they won’t fall. Eddie turns to her and grins softly at her. 

“It’s beautiful sir, really, thank you so much. It’s too much though, I can sleep on the couch or something.” Eddie shakes his head and sets her things on the bed. “No cariña, Chris and I want you comfortable for as long as you stay. It’s a bit bare right now because Chris wanted you to pick your own things out, should you choose to stay with us.”

She is busy looking around the room and whips her head to him. “Choose my own things? W-why?”

He looks confused. “Because this would be your home and you deserve to decorate how you want. We let the girls decorate their rooms when we moved here officially too.”

“I-I’ve never even had a bed, sir, just a mattress on the floor and Mom only bought me what I needed so people wouldn’t question her. I-I’m just confused not ungrateful, I promise.” 

“You are absolutely allowed to say no Grace, but may I hug you?” She thinks for a moment before allowing a short hug that she pulls away from when her ribs start to scream. “Let’s get you fixed back up and then I’ll leave you alone for a bit to freshen up and call José, okay?”

A knock on the door scares her and she lets out a shaky come in. She lets out a sigh of relief when one of the girls opens the door. 

“H-hey, Sherilyn, right?” She smiles at the slow nod and gets a smile back. “What’s up? Are you okay?” She discreetly wipes the tears from her eyes and sits up.

 “It’s your first night and Tía Nancy said that that can be scary, so I brought you one of my friends.” She whispers excitedly before coming 

over to the bed. “This is Ghost and he’s a good protector so I thought he could sleep with you tonight. If you want that is.” She shrugs and hugs the white bear to her chest and Grace spills more tears. 

“Thank you Sherilyn, he seems like the perfect protector, I’ll be sure to give him back in the morning, okay? But let’s get you back to bed.” Sherilyn holds her hand out and Grace gently grabs it before letting her lead them to the hallway where Shaul is sleepily waiting. 

“I thought she may go to your room; did she bother you?”

“Not at all and either of you are welcome any time.” She hands Sherilyn off to her sister and Shaul pauses for a moment.

“Aunt Nancy says you didn’t have nice brothers.” 

Grace stiffens. “They followed after their daddy… I can’t fault them for that.” She skirts the question. 

“Nosotros no hacemos eso aquí.” Shaul mutters before walking away. 

“Así que estoy aprendiendo.” 

Grace wakes up early the next morning and she’s confused before the next two days flash before her eyes. She lays there for a moment and hopes sleep will take her under again, but it never comes so she decides to get up and get ready for the day. After a shower, she softly goes down to the kitchen with Ghost in her arms and is surprised by Nancy sitting at the island. 

“Good morning sweetheart; how did you sleep?” 

“It was rough at first, but Sherilyn let me borrow Ghost to sleep with and it got better.” She smiles to herself at the memory.

“Sheri’s a sweetheart and easy to love; she loves just as easy too. Not like my Tyler for sure.” She points to the couch using her coffee mug where Grace can see a sleeping boy with wild hair. “He’s gonna blame me for that hair one day.”

“He looks adorable.” She makes a cup of coffee for herself and silently asks if Nancy wants more. “I thought I would make breakfast.”

“You don’t have to; Eddie and I usually make something when I’m in town.” She stares at Grace for a moment before continuing. “You don’t ever have to live the way you did before Grace and we’re going to help you away from them whether you stay here or not.”

“Why? Why are you and Eddie so ready and willing to help someone you just met yesterday? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but w-why?” She turns to face the sink as her breathing picks up slightly and she focuses on her breathing. “I just don’t understand, and I want to.” She says slowly. 

“And that’s a valid thing, it does seem strange from your point of view; to go from what you did to overly helpful people? Your brain must be screaming at you to run and run far, right? You don’t have to believe this but we’re doing it because we can, and we want to. No strings attached for you Grace; you can walk away at any time.” Nancy makes her steps loud so that Grace can hear her coming. 

“No strings? Just help?” She’s crying again and she hates it. 

“No strings sweet girl.” Grace sighs softly and nods. “Now why don’t you and I cook together?”

Grace smiles. “I’d like that.”

They make a big breakfast to feed everyone in the house and Grace makes herself two scrambled eggs and a bowl of fruit. She asks Nancy questions and learns that El Paso is her family’s second home, and she stays here when Taz is away for business. Eddie seems surprised when he sees Grace is still there that morning and Sherilyn seems happy as well. 

“Good morning.” She gives them a small wave. “I helped Ms. Nancy make breakfast; I hope that’s okay.”

“Sí absolutely, whatever makes you comfortable, but you don’t have to ever.” Nancy nods while he talks.

“I told her that Eddie.” She smiles at Grace, and it warms her like the sunlight. 

She feels a soft tug on her shirt, and she looks to see Sherilyn. “Hey good morning! Here’s Ghost back; thanks for letting me borrow him last night.” She grins at the younger girl. 

“You should keep him; he seems to like you a lot.”

“A-are you sure? Won’t you miss him?”

“You’ll be here so so will he.” She shrugs and walks off to join the sleepy Tyler and Shaul as if it’s the easiest solution in the world.

Grace can feel Eddie and Nancy’s eyes on her, but she can’t stop petting her new friend and protector.

Bonita: pretty ¿Entiendes?: You understand? Intentaré creerlo, eventualmente: I’ll try to believe it, eventually Mis hijas: my daughters cariña: honey Tía: Aunt Nosotros no hacemos eso aquí: We don’t do that here Así que estoy aprendiendo: So I’m learning

Here's Chapter Three! I really hope y'all enjoyed it! Much love to everyone that reads! ❤️

[bartholomew-junior]

flowey and sleep deprived clover

[somewhat-very-insane]

things that people seem to think are perfectly fine and socially acceptable, but that should not be punishments. and no, i don’t care what your kid did do «deserve it,» these are just wrong

starving or withholding food from your children

making your children destroy their comfort objects (or destroying the objects yourself)

feeding your children foods that they are allergic to

watching your children while they shower or bathe (when significantly past the age where any «help» bathing would be necessary)

hitting your children, manhandling your children, or otherwise utilizing aggressive physical contact against your children

making your children pick up broken glass (without teaching them how to safely do so) or walk on broken glass

withholding medical treatment from your children

threatening to do any of these things to your children

teaching your children ideas like «privacy is a privilege, not a right,»; «these items are in my house, so i am allowed to destroy them even if you paid for them»; and «people are allowed to hurt you if they feel like you did something wrong,» are so damaging to impressionable, fragile minds. you are setting your child up for a ruined, unstable future by doing these things.

* feel free to add on

[harukapologist]

Lately I was thinking about 0108 parallels since they're both so associated with water and I had a thought.

Haruka and Amane are both shown drowning in their MVs

Amane tries to swim back up; she believes she can still get what she reaches out for,

she believes she can still truly be a “good girl” despite how much it is destroying her and how terrified she is of the very people who enforce the cult ideals on her, to the point that their faces never appear in her MVs (in Magic, there weren't even any humans beside her to begin with, only the mascots and animals)

Haruka, on the other hand, just lets himself fall into the water; he does try to reach out for what he wants—his mother’s love—later on in the MV

but she promptly disappears, i.e he already knows it’s no use doing that. He’s accepted that he cannot become what is expected of him, he believes that he’s inherently at fault and has already accepted that (thus the inno verdict in T1 ignited a lot of inner conflict and self loathing, even though he tries to appear confident and happy and Okay)