Tw: Abuse - Tumblr Posts

Snaggle-Toothed Smile

TW: abusive relationship, grooming, death

Wolf is knocking on the front door

Sharp sharp teeth in a snaggle-toothed smile

Come here, little rabbit, let us play 

Come here, little rabbit, for I’ll stay here awhile

Wolf brings food to me every day

Come, little rabbit, I’ve come to play 

Wolf brings gifts to me every day

Come, little rabbit, have this beautiful bouquet

Wolf combs my fur for me every day

Protects me and never leaves me alone 

Careful, little rabbit, it’s dangerous outside 

Careful, little rabbit, don’t be on your own 

Wolf tells me how lucky I am every day

That he takes care of me, little rabbit 

And then he smiles that snaggle-toothed smile

Oh, little rabbit, you could become a habit 

Wolf accidentally hurt me today 

He asks me and asks me why did you make me do it? 

Feather-light kisses upon each wound

Snow white rabbit has become blood red rabbit

Wolf smiled that smile today 

Sharp sharp teeth with a snaggle-toothed smile 

Asked me, are you afraid of me? 

Run, little rabbit, run, run to the wild

Wolf didn’t come back today. 

Wolf didn’t give me gifts today. 

Wolf didn’t give me food today. 

My only companion was gone today. 

Wolf was oh so tender today. 

Wolf apologized for not coming yesterday. 

Oh, little rabbit, you will never be free.

Wolf killed me so gently today. 

rubber bands

did anyone else's mom make them wear those rubber bands so that everytime you spaced out, cut yourself, or even looked like you were just having a bad day that might result to cutting she would hit you with it? Like pull it back really far and then snap your skin with it?

cuz chat. I'm starting to think that might have been abuse.

pjo is trending again and this is a reminder that i do have a pjo verse for both my babies! 👀👀

they are both still fae and found themselves into the pjo world after praying to be freed from their respective abusive households in prythian.

mor is adopted by enyo, goddess of war, destruction and bloodlust, at the age of 16 after escaping her world and arranged marriage to eris (FULL PJO!MOR BIO HERE).

az is adopted by thanatos at the time of his death, which is the day his stepbrothers canonically attempted to kill him by setting him on fire at the age of 10, and he’s raised in the underworld (FULL PJO!AZ BIO HERE)

Monaca Towa Redesign!!11!!!!

8 , not 11-12.

Actually was put into the wheelchair by Haiji (bc of the ph7sical abus3) (im also rewriting her, so its not going by most canon)

Likes : Plants, Enoshima

Dislikes : Dumbasses , Watermelons

Uses neo-pronouns because they're "adorbs" , but most of the time uses she/her , forgetting she uses neo pronouns (she puts it to her convinience lol)

I gave her less pickle-y looking hair, and made her hair a mix of her OG hair and Haiji's hair, since her OG hair doesnt make sense, so i added haijis hair. I also Fixed her chair, giving it more personality like add little stickers to the bottom of her chair, and her chair can open/close , and she put important items like byakuya's key and other stuff. She also likes her presence known so she can have attention, so she added bells. I gave her a more childish but professional outfit, i feel like it matches her better.

Ok so I don’t think Flint ever beat Lucas. And honestly it’s just out of character for him to do so. I think the whole “Daddy’s gonna beat you” in TaneTane island was Lucas’s trauma off watching his dad attack the villagers in chapter 1.

I highly doubt Lucas or the villagers had seen Flint lose it like he did when Hinawa’s death was announced, so it did take everyone off guard. To Lucas, it’s his fear of what happened occurred mixed with the fear of it possibly happening to him. Like it’s that mentality of “If dad could hurt these people who we know and are close to, what if he gets mad and goes after me???”

Flint does love his sons. I’d say his only real crime was just not being there for Lucas for 3 years, by spending the time looking for Claus.

There’s a reason the games ain’t called FATHER

‘‘how romantic it must be to be imprisoned in a castle and made to squeeze out heirs’’ (1x04)

til death do us part by edmund blair leighton (1878, detail) / zella day - jerome / susanna and the elders by bernardino luini (c. 1521-1525, detail) / halsey - the tradition (inspo) / the french lieutenant’s woman by john fowles (1969) / lear and cordelia by ford madox brown (c.1849-1854, detail) / the penitent magdalen by unknown follower of giacinto brandi (c.1623-1691, detail) / death and the maiden by hans schwarz (c.1520) / fire and blood by george r.r. martin / ganymede by jericho brown

Day 7 - Morsel

[Trigger Warning for blood, abuse, and thoughts of death]

Garlean Soldier based on Silvaire Vana'diel

Bryn hated nights like these.

Sometimes, in his life, it was better to be out of his house, in the dark with only the night sky as company, trying to sleep on the ground rather then facing the drunken wrath of his father. He felt bad, sometimes, for leaving his mother to deal with it alone, but at twelve, even he knew to put his own well being ahead of an adult. Even if that adult was his mother.

He rolled, grunted, rising up on his arm, and punching a root under his hip, sighing and rolling onto his back to stare up at the scraggly branches of the tree above him, and the moon cradled in it. He wished that he had better clothes, something thicker than the scraggily cloth he had on his back, and the too long pants that itched. But that was about as likely as a full belly when he fell asleep.

It sucked. His life sucked. His dad sucked. His mom too. Catering to the Garlean invaders, the ones who grabbed and took whatever they wanted. Whenever they wanted. No better than animals.

He hated it.

Sitting up, he grabbed a fistful of dirt, and threw it angrily, his silver eyes glaring as he watched it scatter, and dust over black boots.

Boots that had not been there a moment before. That he had not heard.

He leapt up, fear striking deep, dragging up from those boots, over armored legs, armored chest, gloves hands, and white furred shoulders. Garlean.

Shit.

His mom would smack him for that language, over his left ear. Weird thing to think of as his gaze dipped down to the chest plate, to the Garlean insignia on one side. It was only natural to trace the detail and curves of the armor far too intricate to be a common soldier, and the helmet.

It was like two sets of mouths grinning at him as the man chuckled mirthlessly.

“What do we have here?” The voice was callus, cold, the shiver of dread down his spine far too real. He had just thrown dirt on a Garlean soldier. Some had died for less.

Was he going to die?

Some, the thought would have frozen them. Others, it would have had them turning tail, running. For Bryn, it made him scowl. Made him meet those empty eyes that adorned the mask, and scowl. Bravery, perhaps, or foolishness. But he did not back down, he did not look away, he did not freeze.

Apparently, the wrong thing to do, or really, what he knew was the wrong thing to do. Don't look them in the eyes, don't confront them, ignore them. Well, he was breaking all of those rules. And that just seemed to make the man more interested.

There was this sound, of near animalistic interest, and the Garlean took a step, and another, slow and steady, circling Bryn as he shuffled to keep facing him. “Defiance. Here I thought the regulars had bled all of that out of this town. Yet here I find…some fun.”

Bryn did not consider this fun, the way his heart was hammering, the way he could hear blood rushing in his ears. He was on the balls of his feet, his breath slow and easy, and still staring at those empty eyes as he kept turning. There was a moment, where that black booted foot was coming down on a root, could throw him off balance, and Bryn launched himself at the black armored man, determined to knock him over, to throw him off balance and escape. It was a foolproof plan! It hardly mattered that he was half the size and weight and-

The crack of the gloved hand across his cheek and head sent his brain rattling, ears ringing, dirt in his mouth as he tried to figure out why he was on the ground, when he had gotten there. There was laughter, above him, around him, he couldn't pinpoint where from, pushing up on an elbow as he spit out the dirt in his mouth, and shakily looked up, eyes swimming as he stared at man in black armor, and realized it was him laughing.

“Oh, you are interesting. What are you, a decade old? And yet with such fire. I wonder how long that fire will burn until it's snuffed out.”

The black haired tween rose to his knees, then to his feet, wobbling, as something wet and warm dripped down the side of his face. He could hardly think straight, and he heard that voice again, calling out tauntingly, “Go ahead, come at me again. Land a hit, and I'll even let you go.”

Freedom. A way out. He was stumbling forward, fist raised, swinging blindly at that black armored chest, and missing. He had sidestepped the child flailing at him, and laughed. The boot that connected with his stomach was not a laughing matter.

It hurt, it hurt so bad, unable to breath, on the ground again, curled up, coughing, blood on his lips, his tongue, his own blood as he wheezed. Why? Why him? Wasn't his life already bad enough? Slowly, slowly, his arms uncurled, his hands clenched at the ground, and he shakily rose onto all fours, coughing. He couldn't even stop from getting pushed over, the tip of the boot in his side nudging him, rolling him to his back, leaving him staring up at the moon, dragging in breath after breath as he felt like his lungs were on fire.

There was nothing he could do as the soldier leaned down.

Nothing he could do as he reached up, and removed his helmet.

Amber, honey, sharp eyes, little flecks of green. His eyes, and those long black locks, pale face. He was handsome, deadly so, even as he stared down at Bryn without a single hint of remorse, reaching down to the young boy, and slapping his cheek lightly. “Come on now, you have more fight in you. Don't you?” All Bryn could manage was a wheeze, and the man above him sighed in disappointment, shaking his head. “How sad. I guess that's all the fire you have. Well, you're hardly worth the meal, little morsel, but it would be a waste otherwise.”

He barely heard the glove come off, didn't even register the hand on his burning chest, but he did feel the two wicked claws pierce the flesh of his chest, cut through his shirt, and drag down his body.

He couldn't scream, there wasn't enough air in his lungs. All he could do was writhe under those piercing claws, jerk and shake, beg in his mind for someone to save him.

Who? Your dad? Your mom? You have nobody.

Those dark whispers, edging in at the corner of his mind, threatening to drag him under. Telling him to just give up as the man leaned down, his face twisted in a sneer of pleasure at the pain he wrought.

Who would even miss you?

No, not like this. Not to a Garlean.

Didn't you want to die?

Not like this!

Then fight!

That voice, rippling with power, filling his mind, strength bursting through his bones, his body, his arms, his fist launching up, and slamming into the open mouth of the soldier over him, and smacking it closed with a solid pop.

The claws in his chest froze, and a look of pure shock danced over the Garlean’s face, staring down at the panting boy that had just socked him. There was silence, for what felt like minutes, but was only seconds, before he started laughing, this time for real. True mirth.

Bryn felt those claws pull away, saw the glove pulled back onto a still bloody hand, and sucked in his breath as the honey eyed man leaned down. “Grow strong, little morsel. I swear, I won't lay another finger on you until you’ve mastered that power within you. You will taste all the sweeter once you do.”

Bryn didn't remember him leaving, or blacking out, but he awoke with the sun beating down on him, high in the sky, and his mouth dry. A hand shakily lifted to his chest, traced down the two healed scars, drew breath into his no longer burning lungs, and would have thought the whole thing was a dream.

Except his shirt was torn, in the same path as his new scars. Scars that felt and looked months old, not hours.

His arm flopped back out onto the ground, and he lay there under that tree, slowly replaying that night, mulling over it, and remembering what today was.

“My name day,” he croaked out. He was thirteen. He likely turned thirteen sometime during that torturous night. And now he knew for certain one thing, and one thing only.

He had to get out of Ala Mhigo.

mentorship was probably scary for him at first

Once Upon A Time...

Once upon a time, long ago, a demon disguised himself as a man. He lived in a snow-drenched city in solitude.

Once upon a summer day, the demon fell in love with a human girl. They found shelter in an abandoned church. They found solace in each other.

Once upon a winter’s night, the human girl gave birth to the demon’s dead dreams. She suffered at his hands for her weakness, and he cursed her to a life of pain.

Once upon a frozen city, the human girl longed for her end in an empty church. No more shelter; no more solace.

Once upon a time, people listened to the anguished wails in the abandoned church.

Once upon a bitter time, people walked away.

Once upon a time, Death came for a human girl. He found her alone, covered in purple blossoms, and felt pity in his heart.

Once upon a more hopeful time, the human girl was shown mercy. No more pain; no more weakness.

Once upon a time, Death cradled a human girl in his arms, and he carried her away from the frozen city.

Gierra, the Wolf

An automaton built to lead an army of other automatons, until the day she was put in stasis for routine maintenance. When she next awoke, three centuries had passed, and her home lay in overgrown ruins around her.

She had been awakened by a band of explorers, all of whom were promptly slaughtered for trespassing. She found another of her kind still intact and revived her as well, and the two would guard the ruined city-state for a decade, massacring anyone foolish enough to attempt plundering it for riches. During one such attempted theft, an underground chamber was revealed, the dusty air choking the thieves long enough for Gierra to dispatch them. Within the chamber, she found only a mask depicting a beautiful woman's face, the eyes obscured by silver cobwebs. Rather than return the mask to its display case, Gierra decided to keep it with her. Something compelled her to keep it close.

Gierra began to have thoughts. Not directives from long-dead rulers, not logical conclusions based on machine learning, but thoughts. She wondered about the world beyond the city-state's crumbling walls. Was the world outside still ruled by wise old women? Do they still worship the goddesses in the proper manner?

One day... Gierra simply left. Abandoned her duty, abandoned her comrade, abandoned the only home she'd ever had. Beyond the walls was a vast jungle, full of life. Beyond the jungle lay other cities, brimming with people. So much noise and color was nearly overwhelming after so many years surrounded by dust and greenery.

Then she began to notice things that undercut the dazzling display of this new world. Old women were left sick and shivering in alleyways. Women were forced to wear constricting, heavy clothing that covered every inch of their bodies and hair. Girls were forbidden to run and play with boys. Young women were leered at while they cowered away. Everywhere, men carried swords and ran shops and enjoyed themselves with working women and alcohol.

The first time Gierra encountered a man beating his wife, she was so appalled that she broke into the house and ripped the man apart. To her surprise, the woman began to scream in terror, calling for help, and Gierra was chased out of town by soldiers attempting to arrest her. She did not understand why the woman feared her, when Gierra had just saved her from such unjust abuse.

It was now that the mask began to whisper to her. It informed her that the female-dominated ways of her old life were long past, and men had taken over, subjugating women so thoroughly that they couldn't fathom being able to fight back. The mask revealed to her that this new world was full of such societies, where women suffered and died at the hands of men. The news infuriated Gierra.

From that day forward, she vowed to use her strength to protect women whenever she could. While her physical limitations meant that not all could be saved, perhaps her efforts could spark others to do the same.

Gierra donned the mask, allowing the whispering voice to guide her, and she began her crusade.

we're not saying people with npd, aspd, ect cant hurt you or abuse you

we're saying disorder =/= abusive

people with npd, bpd, aspd, infact, ANY cluster b disorder CAN abuse you. HOWEVER, having those disorders dosent instantly make you an abuser

dont be abelist.

people with ANY disorder can abuse you. that dosent mean they WILL abuse you. the fact that they have that disorder dosent mean theyre an abuser. it dosent make them abusive. they can be abusive, that dosent mean suddenly every narcissist is evil, suddenly all aspd people are threatening you, all bpd people are rude and abusive. stop throwing around the word abuse like its nothing. stop specifically linking it to personality disorders. thats blatantly abelist.

ihope all cluster bs have a lovely lovely day please ignore the hate and abelism yall are so gorgeous treat yourself to your comfort food

Just gonna reblog my post from our system blog so I have it on my own personal one too. I literally can't stop smiling ❤

Hi I'm gonna be so brave now, but hi Erwin here, I'm super scared about existing and I'm literally shaking and holding back tears right now haha 😅 I'm uh... lowkey in an emotional flashback and I'm trying to be super brave and just sit with it and be kind to myself and be proud and happy that I didn't go through with some of my suicide plans in the past. I was a host when we were in our late teens and I recently came out of dormancy. I hope it's a sign of healing. I don't know, I feel so scared but relieved in a way? Like I'm free in a sense? Idk maybe I'm finally realising I am not having to endure abuse anymore. I don't have to let myself be used. I don't have to kill myself. God, I'm actually crying now. I really need a hug haha. Idk I'm just... It actually over? We survived? Like I thought we wouldn't. I thought we'd die and I never really wanted to die. I just felt like I needed to die to spare others because I was somehow ruining my family's life by existing. I wanted the pain to stop, but I wanted to experience the world and I was mourning not being able to go travel and try things as I was preparing the noose to hang myself in our garden

I'm alive and I don't have to let anyone use me ever again. I can just say no. I don't need to let myself be abused. I can walk away. I can fight back. Man... I did not expect myself to have this moment on a random Tuesday night, but here we are. I'm feeling so happy? Idk... Like.... Fuck... Idk how I'm alive. Shit.... Thank god...

Man... we haven't cried in ages and it feels good to finally let it out. Idk man... I'm at a loss for words kinda (I say after a long rant)

Anyway, I'm gonna stop this rambling now before I repeat myself even more times over. But we survived... fuck...

I do have sympathy for jojo siwa for what she had gone through on dance moms but that doesn’t excuse her abusing the kids in her own group XOMG POP. It’s sad that most people who are abused and don’t get proper therapy or don’t actually come to terms with it end up being abusers themselves in the future. It’s a the cycle of abuse, which is why it’s important to talk to people and go to therapy. I genuinely do hope she realizes the harm she’s doing and the people she’s surrounding herself with aren’t good people (Colleen ballinger, Shawn Dawson, etc…) Despite her pass she’s still hurting people and surrounding herself around people who’s hurt so many. It’s terrible, this whole situation is terrible.

I make this post for the men who have trauma and constantly get discredited for it or ignored, silenced, and told to be quiet just because they are a man. Anyone who thinks vulnerability is weak is ridiculous. Show support for all victims no matter their gender.

Mens rape, abuse, and sexual assault matters just as equally as it does for women. My platform is for both men and women, and for anyone in between. It’s for people who need a voice because they are scared to speak up, because they are told their story doesn’t matter, because they are forced to stay quiet, because they are told it’s their fault.

I’m here to tell you it’s not your fault, that your story’s valid and there are dozens of people who understand, who gone through similar, who are here to support you through it.

im coming back to the internet!

update post? im coming back to tumblr, insta, yt, etc again. soon i will be back to making up terms and posting the silly little flags.

anyway i need to talk about why a certain hashtag has been removed from many of my posts. and the reason i was gone in the first place. look, im not going to sugarcoat it, i was in an abusive relationship. im not going to go too much into detail but this person was very controlling over me and my system and was abusive to me and all our headmates. to people worried where me and all my friends went, this is what happened. i didnt want to say anything about it online while i was still with them because i was scared of them (and i still am.) i had purposefully not questioned our relationship until one of my headmates brought it up that their not going to change. which in all honesty they didnt. but looking back at the posts i made then, it was obvious something was wrong. firstly i had to break one of my blog rules of not giving credit to creators of terms/flags since terms belong to communities, not people. they always wanted credit for whatever they made, so i gave it because i didnt want to fight about it. also as sone may have noticed, my flags got very desaturated in color. they had this thing for really desaturated colors to the point where some of the flags they made couldnt even have the number of stripes counted because the colors was too hard to see. well he got mad at me for anytime i put even slightly bright colors in my flags. i know some of them are too bright, which is a topic for another time. but they was being somewhat ridiculous with it, making me change the colors on flags even if i already desaturated it. there was also one time they said my flag was ugly and remade it, which made me feel really horrible because i like the flags i make and for someone that i loved to say they hated it made me cry. i dont really care much if people want to remake my flags or hate on them, its just when someone that was close to me did it, it really hurt. also im going to keep this part short because i really dont wanna have to bring up other stuff they did but basically i never felt like they accepted me for who i am. it was not liking me because of i have too many genders and pronouns or because my orientation is uhh weird. like oh yeah make fun of me because my labels are stupid or becausse i put too many pronouns and shit on my personal google doc. also the um.. roleplaying (not going to elaborate on this.) they knew how much i care about making terms and flags but yet they ruined it for me. at one point i gave up on making terms and flags and even archiving flags or even adding things to my gender horad because i completely lost my confidence in all of it. shortly after that i started loosing my will to live. one day after something happened that pissed him off he quit talking to me and didnt break up with me. thats unrelated but it still makes me angry. i didnt want to leave them because i didnt want to admit to myself that i screwed up by getting together with this person. only reason i ending up leaving is because one my headmates did it. after that i realized something. i never loved them. dont go and find this person. just avoid them. if you see them out in the wild, just walk away. just please dont tell them i said anything or that im back online because im trying really hard to avoid them. i dont feel safe being anywhere near this person so i really dont want them slithering back to me. i know their not a very pleasant person to be around and that they do have a history of not only abusing us, but others to.. but please dont ask me for now atleast to make any type of call out post. its not safe me. hell, even posting this probably isnt safe. but im not going to hide this. because im not just going to suck up to them and cover for them forever. anyway have a good day/night everyone and thanks to anyone who read all the way through!

Silco and Jinx: My Opinion

Tw for suicide, alcohol and abuse (emotional + vaguely sexual)

Alright alright, let's talk about the complex father-daughter relationship that Silco and Jinx have. Did Silco use this emotionally and mentally messed up kid for his own personal gain? Yeah, and that's pretty shit. But he also really did care about her.

It sounds simple enough on paper, that Silco is a bad person and a bad parent. But, it's a lot more complex; he cared, he wasn't ready to give her up for this dream he had. He wouldn't turn Jinx in for anything. She was everything to him.

Was he manipulative? Yes. "Everyone else betrays us," he said. But, at the same time, he didn't want to lose his daughter. He didn't want her to leave him like Vander did.

Though Vi was clearly better, he still treats her with so much kindness and shows her so much love. To be fair, as bad of a parent as he may be, I'm jealous.

So, this brings be to my final opinion: Is Silco a good parent or a bad parent?

I think it's all about perspective, which could have a lot to do with how you were raised. Let's use my childhood as an example.

My Childhood Trauma (tw)

I had a pretty unpredictable childhood. Some days were happy, but I often had to hear my parents fight, and this was usually happening right in front of me. My dad was an alcoholic, he cheated on my mom a few times, got violent; it wasn't good. At all.

A lot of the abuse towards me was emotional: he'd say obscene things to my face, like, "I don't need you," "I'm gonna kill myself," etc. But, there were some nights in which he'd keep me in his room, get on top of me, I'd tell him to get off, but he wouldn't.

My little sister had it bad, too. He was being an asshole as usual, he had drank, like, over half a bottle of vodka on his own, and my little sister's trying to intervene, and he slaps her upside the head. He even attempted suicide in front of her, too, so that's fucked.

I remember having to stay in a safe house with my mom and younger siblings. I was on the phone with him and I was talking to him about how I wish he'd stop drinking, but he never did. He never even tried.

In Conclusion:

Again, it's all about perspective, really. Silco wasn't the best parent ever, but he's definitely better than some. A lot better. I think I'd do anything to get that kind of fatherly love in my life.

The scene where Mickey put the gun on Terry. The fact that Terry saw a FRACTION of the terror he inflicted on Mickey his entire childhood and turned into a blubbering mess while Mickey was forced to save face when it happened to him. The fact that Mickey could have at least bruised him a little with the gun but he didn't. Mickey just made him feel fear that for  a moment. Maybe remembered what that felt like. The fact that it broke him a little to know that his abuser couldn't take even a small hit of his own medicine; that he wasn't even better than Mickey at not being afraid.

It was a really big missed opportunity to not explore! I thought that when we saw the abuse scene with him and his dad, they would point out how his dad is extremely racist (let’s be honest, he is). This would then lead to a deeper dive into Billy’s character, and how he was only being “racist” towards Lucas because he knew that Max would get hurt because of it. He needed to stop it before the news could get to his dad as if it didn’t matter if he saw it. But if his dad saw, he would also begin to abuse Max. Which was something he would not let happen to his little sister. This is coming from my own experiences as an older sibling, and what I already know about psychology (with it being my major). 

I think the thing that bothers me most about the racism storyline with Billy is that it’s handled so poorly, it centers Max so much, that it becomes a “not all white people” storyline. Lucas is incidental to it, really, because at the end his feelings about what happened aren’t even discussed. He never gets to talk about it. The white people “fixed” the racism for him and now it’s done forever and we never talk about it again. Only Max even knows what Billy said? Who makes a racism storyline where the whole point is to valorize white people? What kind of seventh heaven ass storyline is that?

And I understand at the end of that story not liking Billy. It couldn’t be me, because I want Billy to learn differently and be better to Lucas. I want an actual resolution. But I guess I understand if you just skate on the surface, thinking Max is good white person and Billy is Bad white person and not thinking beyond that. Because the story doesn’t ask you to.

I feel so bad for Warren because he grew up with a Dad who did domestic abuse towards him and his family. To finally to get run away from it. To only be trapped again and be abused and manipulated by someone who he thought loved him, as an adult

After finding out Warren is older than Emily that he was Eldest Daughter Syndrome. He was typed to try to protect Emily from their Father's physical and mental abuse. After so long of dealing with the abuse and their Mom's death, he couldn't deal with it anymore. So, he ran away from everything and didn't want to deal with responsibility of life, after dealing with for long.