#tw rp abuse

[oh-shinx]

Fun pokefashion fact!!!!!!!

*Ahem!!!*

DO NOT GLUE WIGS TO YOUR POKEMON BECAUSE THAT IS EXTREMELY BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do not care that your gulpin looks bald, it is actually unhealthy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fatetainted]

Clearing the air here though I'm genuinely afraid for my own safety to.

I didn't block @whitexdove "for no reason" and if they had an ounce of self awareness they would know they were an abusive, manipulative person who drove me to attempt suicide because "it's been a week now" and I "need to stop being so negative all the time." If I didn't respond to their messages they would ask me if I hated them or tell me I was ignoring them or I was making their paranoia worse so I would update them that I wasn't in a headspace because I was having a breakdown or a meltdown and would look later. Because of this they accused me of making their anxiety worse and I needed to get over it because I was having a very bad week with my life falling apart. I nearly killed myself because of years of manipulative abuse and them telling me to just get over it when I was suicidal.

But they've been suicidal for years and I was meant to comfort them every time and several times now they have threatened to cut me off multiple times over the most minor, insane little things. Instead of actually communicating what was wrong and how they felt they made essentially a break up playlist blaming me entirely and told me to listen to it to see what I did wrong and the only fault they would ever take was that they didn't say anything sooner. But suddenly when everything was fine again they would ask when I would send them a gift I bought them. However they had essentially convinced me we were over to the point where I grieved the friendship and returned the gift because I had no use for it anymore.

They hide behind mental illness and autism as if that excuses them being abusive to me and the things they've said to my friends. They blame my BPD for blocking them when it's their own actions and I'm sick of your annoying pity parties.

For years they have emotionally abused me and for years my therapist has been telling me they're not a good influence on my life and she was correct. I developed a THC and xanax dependency because they caused me so much anxiety with their abuse that I could not speak to them without using both daily (and of course, if I didn't speak to them or tell them why I wasn't going to be, they would tell me how paranoid I was making them, but if I DO tell them then I'm being too negative and ignoring their boundaries)

They were ALWAYS setting unreasonable boundaries and I bent over backwards to accommodate. Blocking them is my boundary. And now they're fishing for attention and sympathy for a situation they caused themselves and to drag me back into their abusive cycle.

In addition to this they would say very shitty things about my other friends that actually treated me well and tried to manipulate them into not only making them a LOT of free art but making the character details and backstory (which is a very similar thing they got mad at another artist for!). Most of my friends didn't even like them and were being cordial because I was their friend.

They are now refusing to remove characters based on my original work and flipping out on my friends for no reason other than jealousy and pettiness. Stop plagarizing me, stop claiming you just added to my lore when you added NOTHING and nearly everything is based on my ideas, including Dreameater who is literally the twin of my oc in my original work. And Caelum who is the brother of another oc of mine in my universe. You said you "won't throw away characters you worked hard on" but you have no lore that isn't mine and barely ever spoke of these characters or developed them. You added nothing to this universe or these characters. Don't you EVER use the design I made for the alien species (that is my lore and not yours!) again. It's no longer yours and you can have back that mime design you gave me, I truly do not care. But if you don't listen to me now then by your own logic I can bring back those ocs I made in your universe and I will use them because I worked "so hard" on them.

Before you pull the "I'm younger than you, how can I be manipulative?" Like you did before when you had a major fall out JUST like this (and yes! You also force shipped with me and guilt tripped just like you did with her!) Anyone of any age can manipulate someone else of any age. Just because you're younger doesn't make you the victim.

Stumpy. You are a toxic person the refuses to seek out ANY form of help and expected me to play therapist for you all the time but God forbid I need someone to listen and you expected me to accept how terribly you treated me forever. That's why I left.

You identify with and project heavily onto a character who has canonically killed her entire school and drugged her crush to get him to like her and you ship them despite the clear sexual assault and how canonically abusive and terrifying her obsession with him is. She's a genocidal white savior and that's fucking terrifying. Even more so terrifying is the way you joked about how you kill your rats and feed the dead rats to raccoons. And the fact you fetishize trans men being pregnant, it's a very clear very gross fetish you cannot let go of and forced on me constantly. The fact you seem to fetishize sexual assault and rape and ship people like that with their victims is vile. The way you talked about sleeping next to me in the same bed was disturbing as I look back on these things and I truly don't trust you to have not done things while I was unconscious. I have that little faith in you because of how you act and fetishize things.

You also told me you were going to whitewash a canon poc character and it's okay because it's you doing it. Genesis is Asian. He isn't white. You drew my Japanese character with yellow skin. You white knight in public but you're shitty to any race that isn't Korean or Native American.

For the record, I don't hate you. But I'm happier without you in my life and I don't feel anything for you anymore because of your own actions that broke our relationship irreparably. You're a toxic, vile person and completely self centered and extremely possessive.

Get help. And stop playing the fucking victim.

Allow me to return the favor. I take accountability for not saying anything sooner even though with your unreasonable boundaries and constantly telling me you're suicidal that I could never bring it up with you or any bad thing you were doing to me because you would probably kill yourself if I upset you.

Now you take accountability for your actions and deal with the consequences of abusing me.

You literally never loved me, you just miss having someone love you so much you didn't have to love them back (which you pretty much told me several times you were incapable of even with your own family).

Good riddance. Thanks for the memories even though they weren't so great. I truly will not be returning to this blog so don't bother trying to contact me here or anywhere else. I'm done.

[justsigma-bsd]

Eighteen

Honestly, way too many warnings.

TW for: starvation, abuse, dehumanization, human trafficking, (more or less off-screen) death, violence, etc.

Basically me trying to use the panels of Sigma's canon backstory and trying to make it into a short story. And likely making it worse.

People who might be interested:

@respiratory-kristem @my-taintedsorrow @fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency @currentlyeatingrocks

Pain. That's one of the first things he felt, learned. 

The pain of hunger, of thirst and of the sun burning his skin, of hot sand burning the soles of his feet.

The people who'd found him had seemed... not nice, not kind, not gentle, but safe. They gave him water and food, even as he all but fell face first into the sand in front of them. They brought him out of the sun and into a cold building, dragging him along by his arm. He'd passed out somewhere along the way, exhaustion catching up like a tidal wave. 

When he'd come to, he'd found himself waking in a cold place with stale air, quite whispers reaching his ears. Something metallic rattled, every now and again, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dim and dirty room with a dozen other people in varying states of awareness, some asleep and some talking in hushed murmurs.

No one seemed to have noticed him being awake.  

None of them looked all that healthy. Sunken faces, thin frames, clothes and faces and hair dirty. They looked as exhausted as he felt. It took him a moment before he realized yet another thing they all shared in common. Heavy metal shackles wound around these people's wrists, and a glance down showed him that he was no different. 

The metal was cold and unyielding, sharp edges digging into his wrists and leaving them aching. He couldn't tell how to get them off, and thus didn't even try. 

If anyone noticed him being awake, nobody felt the need to talk to him. 

~

Over the course of the next days he found himself stuck in a routine. 

Early in the morning all of the people in the cramped room would be ordered out and into yet another cramped space, told to do one task or another. Sometimes they'd be allowed to eat, sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they dug for hours in the sands, sometimes they stood at assembly lines putting firearms together until their hands couldn't move anymore. 

He hated it with a passion, but he saw what happened when someone paused for even a moment too long. When someone tried to stop themselves from messing up by taking a few seconds to just breathe and didn't resume quickly enough. 

Sometimes, it was a whip that lashed through the air. 

Sometimes, it was a fist that connected with someone's face or ribs. 

Sometimes, and those were the ones he found most horrifying, a bang would echo out. 

Most of the time, the person wouldn't get up again after the shot. Rarely they did, and were gone the next morning. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. 

He didn't want to end up like that, no matter how exhausted he was. He didn't want to die, even if giving up seemed so much easier, half the time. 

Still, he never found himself working enough, no matter what he did, how hard he tried. He'd always find a kick connecting with his ribs, a slap causing his head to snap to the side. How he hadn't broken a bone yet, he wasn't sure.

He just knew that pain was a constant companion. 

~

Among the other people stuck in this place with him was an older man who tended to sit next to him in the cramped room, quietly murmuring words in a language he couldn't understand- he'd later learn, in a different conversation a few days after their first, that the words were Greek and that it was the alphabet he had been whispering to himself. 

He didn't know it, then, but the alphabet was the only bit of Greek he'd learn. 

They didn't talk with each other though, not at first. They didn't talk until his second week in this place- or perhaps his third. He couldn't quite tell anymore. 

It wasn't the other who initiated the conversation. No, the older man had only passed him the bit of bread he'd been given. And he'd stared down at the additional ration, face blank and confused. 

"This is yours" he'd found himself saying, and blinked at how raspy his own voice sounded. It was as if sand was scratching across his vocal cords. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked. Or drank, for that matter. 

The old man smiled, and even in the dim room he could see the odd... warmth, in the other's eyes. A sort of warmth he'd never seen on the faces of their captors. "It's alright, Eighteen. I don't need it. Eat" 

He winced at the name, the name their captors had bestowed upon him. But who was Eighteen to complain? It wasn't like he had a different name to go by- he couldn't remember one. 

He tried to argue, tell the other, Four if he remembered correctly, that he doesn't have to share. But Four was adamant, and Eighteen was hungry. He hadn't gotten a lot the last few days, a consequence of not doing enough work, which had led to him doing an even worse job. 

In the short time, he'd already accumulated more injuries than he could count, and he doubted many of them would fade entirely. 

Others, quietly, whispered about wanting to leave. He didn't fully understand. Leave? To where? The desert? Certain death? He hated the pain and fear and hunger, but the thought of leaving left him just as scared as the thought of staying. 

~

Over the course of his first month he occasionally shared rations with Four, who he'd learned was actually called Alexandros. Alexandros was different. Not just from him, but most of them. He was treated differently, wasn't made to work as much as the rest of them. Simply because out of all of them, he was the only one with an ability. 

"The Boundless Garden" he'd whispered, once, when Eighteen had asked why Alexandros was given more rations than the rest of them and watched him share some bread with a young girl he dimly remembered being called Seven. He remembered her mainly because of her pride and her insistence that they'd all make it out alive, one day. 

He never knew her real name. 

The Boundless Garden was such an odd name, Eighteen couldn't help but think. It sounded so grand, so beautiful, so free... but all it was, was an ability that could tell apart lie from truth. An ability that, so Alexandros told him, was quite valuable to their captors. 

To Eighteen, the ability seemed like a blessing, with how it seemed to make the other's life a little easier in this dark place.  

He'd learn soon enough that it wasn't the blessing he thought it was. 

~

Eighteen bit back a pained groan when his knees hit the cold, hard ground. Th muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head, a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. "Y'know, Boss was thinking of just selling ya to get at least a bit out of ya, useless as you've been" 

It wasn't the first time the word 'sell' had fallen around him. Alexandros had mentioned similar things, and in all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was afraid of being sold or hoping for it. It could be a worse fate, or one far better. 

He stayed silent, even as the grip on his shoulder grew painful. "Useless as ya are, making a bit of profit off of you might even work, ya know? You're an odd one, you rat. You'd fetch a nice price for your appearance alone, only issue is that you're good for nothin'" 

Eighteen didn't understand why his appearance would have anything to do with it, but it wasn't like he actually cared. He knew that he stuck out among the others, that he looked different- but he didn't care enough to pay it any mind for too long. 

"That's why I think gettin' rid of ya would do us a lot more good" 

He felt his blood run cold, a sharp, dark sense of understanding filling his chest. He knew what would happen, and he wished, desperately, that he could stop it. He didn't want to die. He didn't. He'd only seen the desert and this building- he knew nothing of the world out there... and he wanted to live. 

The white-purple haired man didn't want to die. "Please, I can... I can do better" he found himself begging, and flinched when he received a harsh hit with the handle of the gun. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough for pain to blossom on the back of his head. 

"Eighteen, Eighteen, Eighteen... always begging, yet never useful" There was a quiet click, the safety of the gun unlocked. And Eighteen couldn't help but wonder: How can I be useful? How can I survive? Did anyone else ever survive this? 

His thoughts whirled wildly, and the next thing he knew was a wave of thoughts not his own crashing down upon him. Then, he knew no more. 

~

They tested it, a few times. 

It took weeks until he properly knew how his ability worked, and even longer until he managed to be useful. 

Day in, day out he'd get harsh words. If he got lucky. They didn't hesitate to do worse if they deemed it necessary. There wasn't a day where he didn't feel pain. 

Sometimes, when he failed to activate his ability, he got slapped. He preferred that, since other times he found a knife slashing across his back, or his head slammed into the wall or ground as a consequence for his failure. 

Other times, when he did activate his ability but didn't get the information correctly (and how was he supposed to if they didn't give him specific orders and made him guess?), they threw punches and kicks until he thought he couldn't breathe, until he thought he'd pass out. 

A couple times they dunked his head under water and refused to let him up no matter how much he struggled and clawed at everything in reach. Refused to let him up until he went limp and was about to pass out. Sometimes waited until he inhaled water if they were being especially cruel, only to leave him hacking and coughing on the ground until he calmed just enough to repeat the process. 

A permanent thing was the new cell. It was small and empty. Lonely. He spend more than one night curled up against the wall, trembling so bad that it left his shackles rattling, crying himself to sleep. He would've preferred the cramped cell, solely because he wouldn't have been so alone. Eighteen didn't even want to talk with them- he just didn't want to be so alone. 

 They refused to leave him with the others, and he guessed they were afraid that he would spill some of the information he'd acquired from their captors. 

There was no Alexandros to share rations with anymore, either. Either he received food, or he didn't and had to deal with it. His stomach ached. He'd been hungry before, but now it was flat out painful. They barely gave him anything, just enough to keep him alive. 

Eighteen thought it'd get better once he was finally useful. 

Instead it felt so much worse. 

He was alive, but at what cost? Day in and day out he was in pain and hungry, alone with nothing but his own thoughts and afraid of what the next opening of the door would bring. 

~

If he thought it couldn't get worse, reading Seven's memories did make it worse. It was the first time he read memories off of a corpse and her open, lifeless eyes were still burned into his own. The memory of a knife sinking into his (her chest) and choking on his (her) own blood still echoed through his mind. 

Eighteen doubted he'd ever be able to forget it. The blood staining once only dirty hair. He hadn't known her well. He hadn't talked with her much before, but he knew of her ambitions to leave this place. 

He understood now, and silently wondered if escaping even was possible. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out. 

That night he didn't cry himself to sleep, and instead remained awake until morning, silently mourning for a person he hadn't even known. A person who's name he'd never learn. By morning, he'd come to a decision. 

He wanted to get out. 

~

Eighteen met Alexandros only once after being transferred into the solitary cell, in the hallway. The old man looked shaky on his feet, and he looked paler than usual. The younger man couldn't help but think that he looked like Seven, with the difference that he was clearly still breathing and moving. 

"It was nice knowing you" Alexandros murmured to him, and Eighteen frowned. "Alex?" he found himself whispering, a hint of fear creeping through his veins. He tugged on his shackles, trying to stop in his tracks. The guard dragged him along mercilessly, leaving his feet to drag across the floor. 

Alexandros didn't look back, even as Eighteen struggled and fought to turn around, craned his neck to watch him walk away. He knew the room the old man was led to. Had seen the doors open once in passing, had seen the decaying bodies inside. 

The old man who'd shared his rations so long ago with him, who'd occasionally indulged him with stories about a world he'd never previously seen, who'd told him about abilities and a life in freedom, was being led to a fate not unlike Seven's. 

"ALEX!" Eighteen shouted, and cried out in pain when the bottom of a gun connected with his ribs harshly. He doubled over, but the pain was enough to distract him from his attempts of escaping. So he was dragged along, throwing only one last glance back, and watched as Alexandros was shoved into the room. 

A minute later, he heard the bang of a gun going off. 

He never saw Alexandros again. 

~

Pain, hunger, dizziness, loneliness. 

Those were his constant companions, staying with him day and night. 

Pain from the constant injuries, hunger from the lack of food, dizziness from the lack of sleep and over-use of his ability and loneliness from the solitary cell. The only words spoken to him were either orders, or rageful fits over his incompetence and failures. 

He was less and less sure how long he'd be able to keep going like this. 

He wasn't even sure how long he's lived like this. He could've sworn he heard one of the guards say something about a year having passed since a specific deal had been struck, remembered that the deal had been made not too long after they'd picked him up. 

If that's the case, he couldn't help but numbly think, then I've been 'Eighteen' for a year. Been in this hell for a year. Have suffered for a year. 

He missed the desert, if he was honest with himself. He missed the desert, for even if out there was nothing but certain death, it was still better than this. 

Eighteen glanced down at his shackles, and silently made a choice. 

~

Dizzy, that's what he felt like. Everything hurt and he didn't bother moving after he was thrown into his cell. He just laid there, staring at the ceiling numbly. The familiar click of the lock didn't reach his ears, though. 

Eighteen waited and waited, but nothing happened. He sat up slowly, wincing at the feeling of water droplets dripping from his hair and running down his face. The door wasn't fully closed. He couldn't believe his luck. 

He stumbled to his feet, slowly walking closer. It truly wasn't closed fully. He sneaked a glance outside. Nothing. Not a single guard in sight. His eyes burned, and he couldn't tell why, but he didn't bother to hesitate longer. Instead he slowly walked out of his cell, down the hallway. 

Nothing. 

Slowly and carefully he made his way down the hallways, peaking around corners carefully and doing his best to stay quiet. He was absolutely terrified. If he got caught now, he was a dead man. No matter if his ability was useful or not. 

But he wasn't caught, somehow. He made it all the way out and waited, patiently, until the gates opened for one person or another.

He felt bad, in all honesty, for leaving all of these people behind. But if he didn't take this chance and instead went back for the rest of them... would he manage to free them? Manage to get them all out of here, like Seven had wanted? 

He didn't know, and guilt clawed it's way up his throat at the thought of not even trying, but the gate opened and nobody had noticed him, the alarm wasn't blaring yet and he stopped thinking for a split second- 

And Eighteen ran. 

He ran like his life depended on it, because it certainly did. 

Baffled shouts and angry yells filled the air behind him- they recognized him instantly. How couldn't they, when his hair gave him away so easily? 

Shots filled the air, caused the sand to explode next to his feet, but he kept running on and on, not stopping even as the hot sand burned his soles. He ran until his chest ached, ran until his knees felt like they'd give out any second. 

Eighteen ran until he was certain he was safe, and collapsed in the shade of some rocks. 

Somehow, he was still alive. 

~

Only a few days after his escape Eighteen would find himself be picked up by seemingly kind strangers, who asked for his name. 

And Eighteen, who wished to forget that horrid number yet didn't know any other name, remembered his time with his captors. Remembered the shackles that had been broken off by these nicer people. Remembered Seven and Alexandros and the shared rations and the quite murmuring in a language he couldn't understand. 

And he would choose a name that he wasn't sure he'd one day regret or find happiness with. 

For even if it was a new name, there was still a piece of his old name in it. 

"Sigma" 

[dazai-mackerel]

i’m immune to the ‘1, 2, 3’ thing that parents do cus like- what’s the worst they could do? hit me? been there- done that.

[gayest-red-lantern]

OOC: Have some Ellis angst! Feel free to rp but no pressure. I just felt like hurting him because I'm still sick and bored.

Ellis wakes up slowly, groggily. He rarely does that anymore. Usually he snaps awake because of a noise– or, worse than that, because of fingers twisting in his hair.

There isn’t a clock, down here. It’s dark, and it’s been dark the whole time. It’s been a while since the hatch opened, though.

He doesn’t tell Ellis when he leaves. It’s probably on purpose– to put him on edge. He knows he’s not safe down here, and he knows that he’s not escaping on his own.

And he knows that that hatch could open at any time– in a minute or an hour or a month. He dreads what happens when it does. What happens in this basement is hell– although from what he hears hell might be more pleasant. In hell maybe no one would drag him upstairs and keep him chained to a bedpost. Maybe he could eat real food.

He laughs, slightly. Gods how depressing is it that he is fantasising about hell?

He eats a few handfuls of kibble. He doesn’t even gag anymore. He used to hate the smell of dog food, now it’s just a background sensation– not even noticeable. He always feels just a little bit sick, though. Sick and weak and so, so tired.

He’s starting to see things. His parents, his own limp body, a dog that hasn’t been alive since his second week here. He can feel himself slipping.

But he cannot break. He will not. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. His fourteenth birthday has to have happened by now. Maybe his fifteenth. Maybe his sixteenth. He wonders if people are still looking for him.

They have to be.

He shakes his head to clear it. The thought of people looking for him just makes him think about his father, and the only thing worse than thinking about his father is thinking about his mother and he doesn’t want to do either.

Thinking about someone coming down those stairs– someone saving him… It makes his heart hurt. It makes him want to cry. Not that that’s an accomplishment.

He cries so much, since he’s been down here. He cries when he’s sad and when he’s angry and when he’s afraid. You might think it would stop, after so long, but it hasn’t.

He cries, but stops it quickly enough. There’s no use making his head hurt more than it already does. He drinks water from the smelly, rusted tap in the corner. It’s cold, at least.

He's cold too.

The hatch slams open.

Oh gods no. He didn’t even hear footsteps. He isn’t ready. He isn’t–

Yellow light. The only light he gets in the basement. His heart races, and his useless legs– broken and healed wrong– push him against the wall, trembling.

He’s smiling. It’s never, ever good when he’s smiling.

His steps are heavy, and loud, and make the wooden stairs creak. He’s holding a newspaper, and he throws it at Ellis’ feet. He can’t read it.

He looks between the paper and him, and slowly his eyes focus, making out words in the horrid yellow glow of that ring.

It’s on the obituaries. There are pictures of the deceased.

That’s a picture of his mom.

An inhuman sound comes from his throat. No. No. No no no no no nononononono–

“Funny thing, pet. No one is coming to get you. You’re mine”

Rage. All he can feel is rage. He can't speak. His mom is… but no– no, she can’t be– she was supposed to save him she can’t be dead he was supposed to come home. She can't be dead.

He wants to kill something. He wants to kill him.

But nothing happens. He's frozen. He taunts him for a minute longer, and then promises to come back later. It’s been too long, he says, since he was brought upstairs.

Ellis knows what that means. He’s scared. He’s angry.

And he’s trapped here. For the rest of his life.

-☙☣❧-

Ellis gasps and sobs awake, scrambling at the sheets of his bed. He’s soaked with sweat and his throat is tight and he scrubs at his face, his breath shaking horribly.

It’s not dark. It isn’t dark here. It doesn’t smell like dog food. This is his room. This is his house. He lives here with Jason and his siblings.

He is not in the basement. He is not in the basement no matter how much his brain tries to trick him.

He is in the corner, smirking. Fucker.

Ellis kicks off his covers and walks over to his bathroom, downing the pills he’s supposed to take every day. He looks in the mirror, and tired red eyes stare back at him.

He didn’t even mean to sleep, but he was tired, after his little stint at heroism. This is precisely why he doesn’t sleep– because his brain only seems capable of nightmares.

In real life, he wasn’t trapped in the basement forever. He got his ring and he saved himself. He is a Red Lantern. He is Ellis Martin Jordan, and he has a life and a family and he did break, yes, but he’s putting the pieces back together.

He sighs, gets dressed, and leaves his room. Maybe someone will be around the house to talk to. Gods know he needs it.

[missazura]

i had to draw these as a reminder that shit's WHACK hgfkdHFKJSD

context in rp:

i messed up his robbery by shooting at him before he could, i assumed, kill/torture the hostages. he got real pissed and chased me up the rooftop before batman showed up at the last second.

joker gets arrested, i get escorted by the police force to make sure that i get out of gotham as quickly as possible. while i was packing my last things, joker shows up at my door- having killed the cops and detectives outside to pick me up.

after the crime free date we had, i tried to break up with him by being honest that we're not gonna work out since... he's a murderer and a criminal. pretty self explanatory. he did not take that well and proceeded to "fix" me by injecting me with toxin.

attempted to run away by stealing his car, locking him out and drove off. his henchmen stopped me before i could escape and swerve into a funhouse where i ran off to hide. he catches up to me and HATED how much trouble i caused.

batman saves me again and joker sends me a letter thats laced with scarecrow's fear toxin. starts to hallucinate about clowns and eventually joker essentially begging me to stay. felt pity for him only to find out that's not. a hallucination joker. i'm back in his arms for the time being................... (fear)

[starshine-akari]

Momma found the burns I got the other day… she’s really mad at me… was yelling a lot… reminded me of our old place… and now my cheek’s all red and stingy…

Never had momma this mad at me before… it’s scary… don’t wanna make her mad at me ever again…

[ariadosanon]

“Allll Pokémon are special little snowflakes deserving of our respecttttt weh weh weh” Instructions UNCLEAR, went out and caught the entire nearby Wurmple population for my Spinarak >:p

[Tw: Pokémon abuse!! Please heed the tw.]

[An image is attached: A surprisingly extensive, and undoubtedly unsettling collection of Wurmples in small observation tanks. The tanks sit on lined up shelves in what looks to be a pantry, some flanked by bags of various gamer-esk flavored tortilla chips. Many of the captured Pokémon seem to be missing their protective spines, or even a leg. There’s a noticeable amount of spiderweb build up between the tanks, implying Nictoria’s Spinarak and Ariados are allowed to freely roam in to choose which unfortunate specimen they’d prefer. The Wurmple are clearly miserable, several visibly trying to push their tanks off the shelves.]

I hate these things. They sting.

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

You guys are all different people with very differing opinions I'm sure..

But what is everyone's opinion on people who abuse children? Any type of abuse

"I'm definitely against it, and those people end up down here for a reason."

"Yeah, that's not okay."

"It's despicable."

"It's real shitty. Not to mention cowardly to take out your frustrations on someone who can' even fight back."

"Agreed. Shitty doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Yeah... what they all said. Here's hoping those fuckers will get what's comin' to 'em!"

"Eh, I don't really care."

"Now, I'll admit, sometimes a firm hand is required. But there are limits, and I would certainly take issue with anyone who sees fit to cross them."

"I don't fucking give a shit. Your daddy beats you and mommy says you're an embarrassment? Boo-fucking-hoo. We've all been there. Suck it up, and get over it."

"They make my job easier for me! Some of the kinkiest fuckers were abused at one point or another, and they're also generally more inclined to sell their souls for the right price."

"Here's an idea. If you hate kids, don't have 'em."

[theseance444]

Pre S1 starter for @handlcd

May contain mature themes including addiction, homelessness, and substance abuse. All posts will be tagged.

"Someone's coming--Klaus, wake up! Someone's coming!"

If Klaus had a nickel for for every morning he woke to his dead brother's voice grating in his ears, he'd have enough money to buy a decent bag of crystal. Yet here he was, being chewed out by Ben instead.

The sun beamed in through the crack of the dumpster lid, somehow hitting him directly in the eyes. Klaus unjustly decided this was Ben's doing. But he'd done what his brother asked! He'd found shelter for the night. Even if it was a dumpster full of half eaten pizza, at least he had a roof over his head, and a meal in his belly! Most nights, he couldn't say the same.

After leaving the Academy at seventeen, Klaus had been "in between places" for over five years. Couch surfing, short term flings, and favors with friends had quickly become homeless shelters, dumpsters, and the occasional stint in rehab. Usually he saved that for the winter, when being on the streets was the harshest. But the ghosts that surrounded him stayed comfortably numb these days, as long as he stayed stocked up.

"KLAUS! Get up you idiot, SOMEONE'S COMING!"

Before he could react, Klaus was blinded by the full force of the sun, as someone flipped the lid up. Tattooed palms raised defensively to cover his face, but nothing came. Slowly, he opened his eyes. What the fuck?

A woman was eating pizza out of his dumpster. For a moment, Klaus was too shocked--and hungover--to speak.

"...Uh, hello? Can't you see I've got this place occupied?"

[that-little-fucking-shit]

Open Starter <333

TW: Technical Suicidal Ideation, Choking, Implied Deaths of Innocents + Child Abuse In Later Reblogs :). Please be mentally careful with this RP :).

--

"You know, I thought you were over all this destruction. You're not a teenager anymore, Poseidon, you should be able to control and handle yourself. You're starting to act like our father."

The mere thought of that conversation makes Poseidon want to choke, it makes the breath refuse entry outside of his lungs, threatening to suffocate himself with carbon dioxide like he deserves. He's avoiding his wife, he knows, and can feel the stares of the others within his kingdom. His son, Triton, is even blatant with it but he gets a shiver down his spine thinking about bothering his father, so he doesn't. The waves on the surface are acting strange--there are too many riptides to count, drawing people in and forcing them down to placate the destruction that Poseidon wants to focus inward. He wants to puke.

[Poseidon's current prediction is threatening everything you hold dear--yourself, your friends, your family, even your homes (no matter how far from the shore they are). You are trying to ask for his council to either force him to let your home go or to plead with him to. How will you proceed?]

--

@unhinged-waterlilly @totally-penelope-and-not-a-siren @totally-percy-jackson [bc why not :)] @madson-of-hermes-notluke @littlest-sunbeam-of-hermes

@daonedaonlyskh @odysseus-reigning-king-of-ithaca @odysseus-of-ithaca-is-lost @heraaaaaaaa @cerberus-no-biting

[Please tell me if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag-list <333]

[hark-the-togekiss-sing]

Hello everyone.

Back reading through this blog now, it wasn’t made with my knowledge. I’m deeply sorry for any trouble the angel might have caused.

~ Elder Alpin of Arceus’s Fellowship

[dutchess-of-dilemma]

please inform your father that I am not emotionally manipulating you.

- Dr.Crane.

That son of a bitch beat me so hard that I can’t walk straight anymore!

He tried to KILL me because I told him to retire!

He’s the manipulative one! And he’s proud of it! He’s proud of all the suffering he’s caused me!

[rpcrimeboys]

c!tommy wakes up, unable to catch his breath, every scar on his skin searing with pain. Every one. Every part of him aches so bad it feels like it's burning. He's not in exile anymore. Every morning it feels like he has the pleasure of reliving it.

Everytime someone drags their hands through his wings, or plays with his hair, their hands take on the shape of one's too familiar. The panic catches in his throat, knowing its irrational, but not being able to stop himself from double checking. It makes him feel sick, knowing how cDream's touch has tainted him. So much of him, ruined, scarred, broken. He misses when the bandana at his neck didn't feel like a collar: being tugged on, choking him.

He misses when struggling didn't feel like drowning. He misses when healing didn't feel like a betrayal.

He misses Wilbur, and her stupid coat and stupidly warm arms that would hold him. He misses that safety, even if it never was quite safe.

Wilbur was safe the way two guns pointing at eachother was safe. Dream was safe in the way he had a gun pointed to your head, but promised it would be gentle and quick.

Tommy wonders if he really deserved it, spending hours in church prime, praying and begging at carefully constructed alters to gods who have abandoned him .

[dazai-mackerel]

hitting kids is not a good method of discipline

[rpdepartment]

Toxic, berating and abusive Sentence Starters

20 starters | obvious TW for. All of that.

« you're so useless. »

« what a disappointment. »

« god, you're so annoying. »

« nobody's here to help you. »

« there you go, crying again. »

« you're nothing without me. »

« do everyone a favor and shut up. »

« don't you fucking talk back to me! »

« look at me when i'm talking to you! »

« i don't give a damn what you think. »

« you don't need anyone else but me. »

« i should've left you where i found you. »

« you really think anyone would love you? »

« you're just like anyone else in your family. »

« you're just a burden, you know that, right? »

« seriously, what did you think you could do? »

« oh, please, you're getting upset now? you're so sensitive. »

« i'd like you more if you didn't have to bitch every two minutes. »

« if i knew you were so pathetic i wouldn't have bothered with you. »

« you really think anyone other than me would give a damn about you? »