02-26-2017, 06:53 AM
[align=center][div style="bgcolor=; border: none; width: 375px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; color: #262626; font-family: arial; text-transform:lowercase; margin-top:0px; padding-bottom:20px; margin-top:-2px;"]trigger warning for abuse, incest, pedophilia, and general not okayness also italics is flashback shit//
She was beyond saving, beyond restoring her honor. How could she be when at that very moment her poor, sweet boy was struggling for breath because of her? Desperate, she strangled her eldest son who was only seven while screaming sounds that could never be connected to speech. His small hands smacked against her arms as he struggled to survive. Something about that moved her, that her son wanted to live, it was beautiful to her. Like he had shown her a first place trophy. Despite this blanket of calm that was suffocating her she didn't let go. She needed proof. Of what? That was something she couldn't answer, but it was something important.
Johnny, her little savior, began crying, only for that to feed into her rage. Locks of soft blond hair framed a terrifyingly angry face, her pale skin pink with effort. She looked like a monster, she was a monster, but to her son she looked beautiful. Something Peony would never understand. Even after the hell he'd gone through because of her, he still loved her. Somehow. She let go of his throat suddenly, the tips of her fingernails shiny with blood. "Honey," the woman screamed, "Johnny!"
No, no he had to live. He was alive, he always was. Her little trooper, her little hero. Breathing heavily she dragged Johnny, shaking and scared, into her chest. Tears began to wet the front of her nightgown as he caught his breath. Oh God, he was okay. Gently she began to rock him back and forth, hand running across his back in comfort. This was her damn husbands fault. Always lashing out at her, beating her, how else was she supposed to respond? She knew what she was doing. Peony knew perfectly well that the only reason she hurt her baby was because it would hurt Colby, the bastard.
"Your father," she whispered, "he hurt me. He made me do it baby. I would never."
A jagged breath ran through her chest. Gingerly she cupped his face, making him look at her. "You know that, right?" A relieved smile planted itself across her lips as he nodded. Johnny was a dim boy, a trusting and loving boy, but he was nonetheless an invalid. For that she was thankful, he would never know better. Johnny was hers. Lovingly she kissed his freckled cheek before just barely brushing against his jawline. "Mommy loves you," Peony Robinson cooed to her son as she nibbled at his neck. Her boy. No one else's, wasn't that beautiful? Someone so sweet and trusting belonged to her and only her, it was a gift that she didn't deserve.
Johnny looked up at the ceiling of his shoddy cabin, his hip pulsing with pain. Tears ran down into his ears as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He remembered how soft her pale skin was, how her hair was like a halo around her gentle features. Jesus, the feeling of nervous curiosity was etched into his stomach because of his mother. She had done things that made him want to dig his fingers into the stab wound at his hip. Yet he couldn't remember her as anything but beautiful, like a perverted angel in a religious painting. The woman who had defiled him, why? Why did he have to do that to himself?
Disgusting, he was so fucking disgusting. He'd liked it, he had enjoyed something so, so disgusting. Fuck, he still thought back to it with twisted fondness. No matter how many times he cried or how much he hated the very thought of his mother he couldn't help it. It was like he had the idea of enjoying his own abuse branded into his brain. John didn't want to remember how it felt to have his body become something that wasn't his anymore. At every angle it was wrong, sickening.
His palm smacked against the ground as he searched for his rifle, chest still. He wanted to kill himself. One instantaneous moment of pain was worth it. Cold metal grazed his fingertips, making his heart beat so fast it was deafening. He didn't really want to die, he knew that, but it seemed so much easier. One bullet and he'd be out. No one would have to burden themselves with helping his wound, nobody would mourn him. It would just be another death on a list so long and infinite that... That what? He needed help. He needed help and he had no one, not even a sound to break his attention. Nobody was going to help him. Johnny was alone and if he wanted to live then he'd have to help himself. He couldn't though, he had always been the dumb kid who felt too much for his own good, maybe he needed to die.
Slowly he moved his hand away, moving it back onto the mattress. He had been raped by his mother throughout his childhood, by the woman he had cared for most, and he had been conditioned to like it by that woman. She was a monster who didn't care about him. Whether or not he had enjoyed his mothers abuse it wasn't his fault, and he had never deserved it. He knew that. He knew that.
// I dunno I didn't want to go into details because ya know pg though I'm pretty sure this is not that
Anyway yeah this made me feel sick so I think it got the point across
Also if you want to respond he's basically laying in a cabin in the middle of the night trying to figure shit out idk
She was beyond saving, beyond restoring her honor. How could she be when at that very moment her poor, sweet boy was struggling for breath because of her? Desperate, she strangled her eldest son who was only seven while screaming sounds that could never be connected to speech. His small hands smacked against her arms as he struggled to survive. Something about that moved her, that her son wanted to live, it was beautiful to her. Like he had shown her a first place trophy. Despite this blanket of calm that was suffocating her she didn't let go. She needed proof. Of what? That was something she couldn't answer, but it was something important.
Johnny, her little savior, began crying, only for that to feed into her rage. Locks of soft blond hair framed a terrifyingly angry face, her pale skin pink with effort. She looked like a monster, she was a monster, but to her son she looked beautiful. Something Peony would never understand. Even after the hell he'd gone through because of her, he still loved her. Somehow. She let go of his throat suddenly, the tips of her fingernails shiny with blood. "Honey," the woman screamed, "Johnny!"
No, no he had to live. He was alive, he always was. Her little trooper, her little hero. Breathing heavily she dragged Johnny, shaking and scared, into her chest. Tears began to wet the front of her nightgown as he caught his breath. Oh God, he was okay. Gently she began to rock him back and forth, hand running across his back in comfort. This was her damn husbands fault. Always lashing out at her, beating her, how else was she supposed to respond? She knew what she was doing. Peony knew perfectly well that the only reason she hurt her baby was because it would hurt Colby, the bastard.
"Your father," she whispered, "he hurt me. He made me do it baby. I would never."
A jagged breath ran through her chest. Gingerly she cupped his face, making him look at her. "You know that, right?" A relieved smile planted itself across her lips as he nodded. Johnny was a dim boy, a trusting and loving boy, but he was nonetheless an invalid. For that she was thankful, he would never know better. Johnny was hers. Lovingly she kissed his freckled cheek before just barely brushing against his jawline. "Mommy loves you," Peony Robinson cooed to her son as she nibbled at his neck. Her boy. No one else's, wasn't that beautiful? Someone so sweet and trusting belonged to her and only her, it was a gift that she didn't deserve.
Johnny looked up at the ceiling of his shoddy cabin, his hip pulsing with pain. Tears ran down into his ears as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He remembered how soft her pale skin was, how her hair was like a halo around her gentle features. Jesus, the feeling of nervous curiosity was etched into his stomach because of his mother. She had done things that made him want to dig his fingers into the stab wound at his hip. Yet he couldn't remember her as anything but beautiful, like a perverted angel in a religious painting. The woman who had defiled him, why? Why did he have to do that to himself?
Disgusting, he was so fucking disgusting. He'd liked it, he had enjoyed something so, so disgusting. Fuck, he still thought back to it with twisted fondness. No matter how many times he cried or how much he hated the very thought of his mother he couldn't help it. It was like he had the idea of enjoying his own abuse branded into his brain. John didn't want to remember how it felt to have his body become something that wasn't his anymore. At every angle it was wrong, sickening.
His palm smacked against the ground as he searched for his rifle, chest still. He wanted to kill himself. One instantaneous moment of pain was worth it. Cold metal grazed his fingertips, making his heart beat so fast it was deafening. He didn't really want to die, he knew that, but it seemed so much easier. One bullet and he'd be out. No one would have to burden themselves with helping his wound, nobody would mourn him. It would just be another death on a list so long and infinite that... That what? He needed help. He needed help and he had no one, not even a sound to break his attention. Nobody was going to help him. Johnny was alone and if he wanted to live then he'd have to help himself. He couldn't though, he had always been the dumb kid who felt too much for his own good, maybe he needed to die.
Slowly he moved his hand away, moving it back onto the mattress. He had been raped by his mother throughout his childhood, by the woman he had cared for most, and he had been conditioned to like it by that woman. She was a monster who didn't care about him. Whether or not he had enjoyed his mothers abuse it wasn't his fault, and he had never deserved it. He knew that. He knew that.
// I dunno I didn't want to go into details because ya know pg though I'm pretty sure this is not that
Anyway yeah this made me feel sick so I think it got the point across
Also if you want to respond he's basically laying in a cabin in the middle of the night trying to figure shit out idk
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ONESHOT STORAGE | JOHNNY | THE BADLANDS