#tw: abuse

[red-balloon12]

Spoilers for Episode 5 of TADC

Hey guys isn’t it funny when you try to hide pain with positivity because if you indulge in your feelings you you might end up like the abusive parental figure you learned this defense mechanism from/for and so you keep trying to be nice and kind but people start to ASSUME you’re being fake and the ONE person you thought would be worst than you turns out to be more likable and then you finally slip up and now everyone hates you for that too so not only are you not trust worthy but genuinely disliked now despite everything you tried to do but now you’re caught in an endless cycle of loneliness you might as well have put yourself into?

Hilarious.

[anewbeginningagain]

I have to admit, I did not see this one coming

[caruccio]

Please report and block his all accounts.

⚠️ URGENT WARNING TO MY MUTUALS ⚠️

I kindly ask you to read this completely — it means a lot and could help protect me and others. 🙏

As many of you may remember, a person named Yasir Khan from India (Rajasthan), who claimed to work in a hospital, was previously reported by me and several others for creating multiple fake accounts and engaging in disturbing online behavior. A few months ago, we shared screenshots and evidence showing how he was repeatedly contacting us, many of whom were minors at the time, including users like @skyrigel, @sleepdeprivedphilosopher101, and others—with inappropriate messages and harassment. After we publicly exposed this behavior and many people reported his accounts, he deactivated them, seemingly out of fear of accountability.

Just a quick reminder to all my mutuals:

Below is a list of previously known accounts used by Yasir Khan, which are currently deactivated. I’m sharing this so you can recognize the pattern and identity of someone who has shown repeated harmful behavior online, including harassment.

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆

He has now reactivated a new account under the username @hopeless-romantics, where he is pretending to be a kind and genuine person — but many of us know the truth behind this identity based on past experiences and evidence.

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆

But this time, he’s taken things even further. He has allegedly hacked into my friend’s accounts — specifically @omaxy and @omaxyy — and stolen her usernames. He is now using one of those stolen identities to impersonate her and gain trust, making it difficult for people to realize who he actually is.

Worse, he is stealing original content from many of us — especially from accounts like @caruccio, @ruhlare, @massivex, @dumblr, @omgsen, @soulcontact, @wordx, @crimsolyn, @letsbelonelytogetherr, @zexox, @museify, @sadmates, @halflifesk666, @mournfulroses, @phraz, @rosavelle — and reposting every single thing, claiming it as his own. More alarmingly, he is posting private avatars and personal pictures from some of my female mutuals — pictures that were never meant to be public. This is a complete violation of privacy, and it’s extremely upsetting.

This is the same person we exposed months ago for online harassment and disturbing behavior toward minors. He had deactivated after getting reported widely — but now he's returned, using fake identities and stolen blogs to continue harmful behavior.

After being reported and deactivated before, he is now back and continuing to target, harass, and steal content from the same people who stood up to him. This behavior is not only harmful but a violation of our safety and rights on this platform.

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

He continues to violate the privacy of my mutuals by posting their avatar pictures without consent, using an account that originally belonged to my friend. This behavior is clearly intended to harass and intimidate others. Please help by reporting and blocking these three currently active accounts that are associated with him:

@omaxy

@hopeless-romantics

@omaxyy

Please help us take these accounts down so he can no longer keep stealing my original posts or those of my mutuals. 🙏

Just a reminder of why he continues to do this — because we exposed him months ago with screenshots showing repeated harassment and disturbing behavior. He used multiple accounts to send sexually inappropriate messages and abuse, especially through anonymous asks.

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As you can see, he constantly steals other people's work using new accounts like @omaxy and @omaxyy which he hacked to stolen the usernames. He copies all content from Pinterest, slaps his own logo on it, and shamelessly claims it as his own — and yet, he has the audacity to call others content thieves. What a hypocrite! Let me make one thing clear: this toxic person is using my name and my friends' names to send abusive messages and steal content. Please stay alert and let me know if you catch him doing it again.

Once again, I would like to share evidence of his inappropriate and sexually abusive behavior toward girls online — particularly minors. This is deeply concerning and should not be ignored.

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

I could have simply asked you all to report and block him — but I felt it was important to explain everything in detail so you truly understand what’s happening. This individual is copying usernames, avatars, and original content from me and my mutuals — especially those with large followings — in an attempt to gain attention and seek revenge. He is doing this because we previously exposed him for inappropriate behavior, and now he's targeting the same people who spoke up.

He is even using our real profile pictures and usernames to create fake accounts, misleading others into thinking they are legitimate. His goal is to silence, humiliate, and discredit the voices that stood up to him.

Please:

Do not reblog or engage with any of his content.

Report and block his currently active accounts:

@omaxy

@omaxyy

@hopeless-romantics

Protect your work and your real avatar pictures, especially if you’re a female creator.

He is violating the privacy of my mutuals simply because they helped reveal the truth. Let’s not allow him to continue this.

Please share this post to spread awareness and help stop this behavior. Thank you for standing with us. 🙏

[bonefarm]

While we are on the subject - financial abuse is not always just physically taking money away or not having a savings account or escape stash. For a lot of people it is the other spouse sabotaging your credit score, constantly overspending, and you being unable to trust that joint household bills and loans are paid. Did you know that once you add an authorized user to your bank account it’s nearly impossible to remove them without their permission? Did you know that your spouse, who likely knows your birthday and SSN, can often gain access and reset passwords for any online accounts and create new ones?

Financial abuse will ruin your life and there’s really nothing except significant time that fixes it. If you are in a situation where you think this might happen to you you should freeze your credit with all three major agencies. You can find info on how to do this at USA.gov/credit-freeze

This is not something that only happens to tradwives. You are not exempt because you are independent or competent.

[galaxymagitech]

Bruce’s Favorite Batkid…according to the Batkids (aka the most biased narrators possible):

Dick: “Well, Bruce adopted Jason first, and hit me over his death, so Jason, obviously.”

Tim: “Bruce nearly killed people and himself over Jason’s death…he just used me as a guilt trip.”

Jason: “Uh, the Golden Boy, obviously. *cough* KGBeast *cough*”

Steph: “I mean, he only revived one of us…so it’s gotta be Damian, right?”

Duke: “Can you guys stop competing over whose death he reacted the worst to? Anyway Barbara’s so useful with the tech and also kinda scary, so it’s gotta be her.”

Damian: “Drake is most similar to Father and inherits his company. He is clearly in the favored position.”

Barbara: “He remembers literally every problem you guys have caused; Duke just hasn’t had the chance to cause as many problems yet. No offense, Duke.”

Cass: “Me. He thinks…I am him. He is wrong.”

No one thinks Steph is the favorite.

[timkontheunsure]

Stolas' hints about the abuse

Stolas thinks Blitz's exes would actually try to kill him, when he was fine walking through them earlier. Maybe one or two would punch him.

But even Verosika, the most hurt of his exes, doesn't really want him dead. Unlike Stella does.

He talks about relationships being unfairly tethered. Thinking he'd trapped Blitz, like he was trapped to Stella.

Stolas flinches when screamed at.

That rough housing scares and triggers him. He is genuinely worried about M&M here.

And while he's not scared when Blitz tries it, it does still really does upset him.

That when he's depressed he blames himself; and his affair, for someone (Stella) trying to kill him.

Agreeing that maybe he doesn't deserve to live for leaving his wife. And trying to be happy with his boyfriend, and their children.

And Blitz does now know that Stolas' family is fine with killing him.

Blitz almost all has the puzzle pieces.

Edit: forgot this one that leads to a whole heap of them.

"I'm sorry nevermind. It's not a big deal.

I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast.

But maybe I read too much into that that. I'm glad if that's not the case. I wasn't upset either.

I just wanted to make sure you weren't, and obviously you can handle any stupid joke a clown make.

Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humour. But I thought it was pretty funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest.

Maybe you can say mean things to me to me next time you come over".

Stolas tells Blitz to be mean and take the piss out of him, like Ozzie and Stella do. Just as long as he stays around.

And that he's used to being torn to pieces emotionally over things like how he loves his kid, or being gay.

Because it's always just a joke, and he's always the punchline.

That he's used to being physically grabbed and restrainted while these attacks happen.

And he's used to having things thrown at him and just having to take it, while he dislocates to get away in his mind at least.

Honestly if this leads to Blitz learning about Stella's sexual assault of Stolas; I don't know how easy it'd be too stop Blitz going on the war path.

[itssteffnow]

I was made to rise above it

[mournfulroses]

Hanako Footman, from her novel titled "Mongrel," originally published in 2024

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: Trying to get you pregnant

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Deku + Shoto

Reaction: An inside view of some moments between the boys and their darling when they're deeply invested in getting you pregnant - willingly or not.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captive reader; Implied Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

–

Hawks

“... none of that, babe, just close your nose and gulp it all the way down.” Keigo’s soft voice does little to help you, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the contents that attempt to rise up to your mouth. 

He patiently stands by your side, holding the cup of the disgusting mix of vitamins, nutritional powders and vegetables, waiting for you to recover from the small sip.

The taste is somehow even worse than the putrid smell, lingering in the corners of your mouth – bitter and repulsive. It takes long minutes before you’re reasonably recovered – after painfully  swallowing back the bile that kept rising up your throat. 

“C’mon, just a few more sips and it’ll be over quickly, okay? Just pretend this is a soda and trust me, this will go down much easier.” you turn your face away, pursing your lips shut when Keigo pushes the cup closer to your mouth. 

“I can’t drink more.” 

“Babe, we talked about this.” he sighs. “This is for your own good, to make you healthier and stronger.” 

“I’m just fine.” you weakly scoff, pushing his hand away. “And you’re just saying that because you’re not the one drinking this gross thing. It’s seriously awful.”

“Babe…” he starts, wings ruffling behind him, restless. “You know exactly why drinking this is so important.”

“And I already told you – I don’t want a kid. So why bother?” you argue back. 

Keigo visibly frowns at that. 

“Don’t be like that.” he says. “Of course you want a kid. Maybe not now, but trust me, when our little birdie is born you’re gonna love it.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. And arguing with me won’t let you off the hook.” his tone hardens at that, brows tightening for a moment before Keigo forces himself to relax. “C’mon, just a few more sips, okay? Super tiny sips and I promise it’ll be all for today.”

“Keigo, I can’t, it tastes so bad, I’ll just end up throwing up.” you grab his arm vehemently, begging. 

“You’re a strong girl, I’m sure you can hold it all down, right?” he cheers you, immediately pressing the cup back to your lips. You gasp, feeling the sickening content touching your lips.

Keigo doesn’t relent until you finally open your lips, even when your hands attempt to push back the glass away. In the end, it takes the sharp stab of a red-feather against your thigh for you to at last open your mouth and Keigo is eagerly tilting the cup and slipping as much as he can into your throat. 

“That my good girl, drinking it all down.”

Your ears barely catch onto his praise as you’re too busy choking, the retching content refusing to slip down your throat and worse, it seems like all of it – including what you had already swollen – is aiming to come to the surface, much to your dismay. 

All it takes is one fleeting glance towards the kitchen sink and Keigo is immediately behind you, aggressively tilting your face backwards.

One hand slaps down on your mouth while the other works on pinching your nose shut. Muffled screams and tears are the only reaction you’re able to deliver, unable to push Keigo away. 

Fumbling and pushing is futile against his overwhelming strength and your vision starts getting fuzzy, the lack of oxygen getting to your head and you barely realize that you’ve swollen the nasty liquid until Keigo is finally allowing you to breathe again. 

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” 

Shoto

Slowly scanning the test, it comes back as negative and relief immediately floods you, tense shoulders relaxing at the good news.

But the tension returns just as quickly when Shoto reaches from behind you, retrieving the test to see for himself. 

Controlling your face to be neutral is harder than it seems when Shoto’s disappointment switches into cold rage in a heartbeat. His hand angrily presses down on the pregnancy test, crushing it between his fingers before your silent figure catches his attention. 

Pressing your arms to your sides and lowering your eyes to the ground do little to calm Shoto's emotions and the tall man walks closer to you until he’s breathing on your hair. 

“I’m sorry.” the words escape from your lips, coated with softness. 

“Yes, you should be.” he icily glares at you, squinting his two-colored eyes down at you. “It’s been five months since we started trying and there are yet no positive results.”

“I’m sorry.” you repeat. 

“Look at me when I’m talking.” Shouto hisses at you, his simmering frustration leaving you uneasy as you reluctantly raise your eyes to meet his monochromatic eyes. “I don’t care about your meaningless apologies. What I want to know is why aren’t you pregnant yet? Care to explain that to me?” 

“I don’t know…” you quietly mutter, fingers fidgeting with each other in a nervous tick. “... but I didn’t do anything, I swear.” 

“Yes, I know that. There are no ways for you to prevent a pregnancy – I made sure of that – but clearly your effort and desire of building a family together is disappointingly low, to say the least.” 

If you could, you’d roll your eyes at that, frankly insulted on why would Shoto even think you’d be thrilled to have a child with your kidnapper.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders. 

He groans in frustration, hand rubbing all over his face. 

“Clearly you don’t desire this child as much as I do. I can’t force you to want a child, I’m aware of that.” he starts, provoking a wince in you when he brings his hand - his cold hand - to cup your cheek a little tighter than usual. “But I’ll be damned if I can’t make you love them. They deserve your love and attention, just as much as I do.”

His eyes burn into you, hot turmoil behind them. 

“And then we shall be a perfect family. No matter what I have to do in order to achieve that reality.” 

Bakugo

“Bak– Katsuki, can I take a break? I’m tired…” you beg breathlessly, sweat profusely running down your forehead.

Your feet are numb and the muscles of your legs burning with how long you’ve been forced to walk on the treadmill. 

Ever since Bakugo cemented the idea of having a baby you haven’t been able to rest for a single minute, constantly terrorized by the man that demands you to exercise following an incredibly demanding and exhausting physical plan. 

“And I don’t care. I told you before, the exercise plan has to be followed correctly to get results.” Bakugo sharply reprimands you. “How the hell are you supposed to be healthy and in shape to carry our kid if you can’t even walk the treadmill for 45 minutes, huh?” 

You frown at that, sending him a dirty look that he clearly chooses to ignore. Fuck him and fuck the kid. If it’s up to you, he won’t ever get that baby he wants so much.

But much like everything that has been happening, your level of decision is frankly limited. 

“You’re almost done with the treadmill anyways. 10 minutes left, that's a piece of cake.” he declares, checking the smartwatch on his wrist before returning his full attention to you. “After that, it’s the 60 push-ups and some light pilates. See? Easy work-out since you’re whiny today.”

You scoff.

“Oh yes, soo easy, thanks a lot.” your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed as Bakugo raises a brow at that. 

“Keep bitching and I might add more exercises to it.” he lightly threatens you. Pressing your lips together, you push yourself to keep going and finish the stupid workout. 

Bakugo doesn’t give up on pestering you as he leans forward, veiny hands holding onto the handrail and pink lips curling into a smirk.

He looks you up and down, drinking in your figure dressed with a revealing sports bra and tight leggings and his eyes darken with desire. 

“Might even create a new special workout exercise just for you.” he rasps out. “Get those legs ready cause I’m gonna make you ride me till I knock you up.” 

Deku

“Is this uncomfortable, my love?” he asks, fingers gently tracing random patterns against the slightly wet skin of your legs. Izuku’s messy hair tickles you when he leans to press a few loving kisses over the expanse of your naked stomach. 

“Silly question, of course it’s uncomfortable.” he replies to his own question, shaking his head. “But you’re fine with this, right, my love?” 

He looks up, sickly smiling at your exhausted figure.

You can’t answer – not with a gag-ball stuffed inside your mouth. You can’t move either – not with your arms rigidly tied to the bed’s headboard.

But what Izuku truly means is the obnoxious position way your legs are being held up into the air, blackwhip rigidly holding them up.

You’re not even certain if the old trick to holding legs in the air is scientifically proven to be accurate, but Izuku has been obsessed with forcing you into such a pose ever since Kaminari confided to him how Jiro got pregnant after a short period of time by doing this trick. 

Izuku coos, noticing the clear discomfort on your face. 

“Hey, I know, I know. It’s not very cozy, is it?” he apologizes, moving up so that he can hover over your face. His face is glowing, covered by a thin layer of sweat and happiness.

“But just think about it, my love, how all of your little sacrifices are going to be worth it in the end when we finally get to hold our little bundle of joy. Our own sweet baby!”

His eyes glint, unhealthy obsession and delusional love glimmering in those green esmeralds. Izuku looks nothing but personified insanity. 

“Oh, I can’t wait!” he reveals blithely, shuffling his body to lay your head on his bicep as he nuzzles your neck. “We’re going to have the cutest babies ever. Even Kacchan will get jealous, I bet.” 

You screw your eyes shut but that doesn’t stop a lonely tear from sliding down your cheek. Izuku hums, kissing the tear away. 

“You’ll see, my love, we are going to be one big happy family.”

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: kidnapping, torture, sedatives, abuse, mentions of r*pists, p*dos, & murder, angst, helplessness, heavy subject matter all around, language, mdni

— notes: a continuation of this blurb. something a little darker than what i usually write. please be mindful that there's some heavy stuff ahead. if i forgot to tag anything, please let me know in the comments. thank you for reading!

— now playing: dusty room - evgeny grinko

An insistent dripping draws you from the inky embrace of unconsciousness. 

It always does. It’s been your alarm clock for the past…three days? Four? Week? You’re not sure anymore. Time moves differently when you’re in captivity, and your mind is constantly invaded and warped.

At first, you could glean the passage of time by the moon or sunlight seeping through the small window in the corner—your captors had shoved you into a spacious room of rotting metal walls and only one entry point. It reeked of mildew and sweat, and you’d nothing but the creak of metal and that ceaseless dripping sound to keep you company.

But your senses are no longer reliable. They’ve poked around your mind so much that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to gauge the difference between reality and fiction. 

Only a few things remain constant during your stay here: the henchman of the day comes in to administer you a dose of something potent with a syringe. Something to ease the ache of your limbs, to curb the hunger gnarling in your gut. But it’s also to keep your Evol tucked in the furthest reaches of your mind. To keep you at their mercy. 

Next, two more men trickle in, sinisterly laughing as they deprive you of food and warmth and keep you lucid. And one of them constantly probes your mind, manipulating it to see and experience things that aren’t always real. Dredging up memories you had compartmentalized after taking up this new life, furthering your torment. 

You would be impressed—their ability is almost on par with yours and would certainly make a man clad in red and black whistle with appreciation—if you weren’t already clinging to your sanity by a thread. 

Your captors have been surprisingly generous, only hitting you a few times when you get mouthy. You’d once heard them say to each other they had to keep you alive long enough to lure your boss from the shadows. Still, you’re sometimes their human punching bag, suspended from the ceiling by chains rubbing your wrists and ankles raw.

They learned their lesson when they first brought you to this prison. When you’d called them pussies and, with what little strength you could muster, took three of them down before they subdued you with stun batons and a heavier dosage of whatever cocktail they’d been pumping you with.

Each time they enter, they ask you more questions. Interrogate you about Sylus and the inner workings of Onychinus. Splash you with frigid water to wake you, inject more serum, and sink their claws into your psyche when you display an inkling of resistance. All in an attempt to bring you to the brink of insanity. To break you. 

You’re a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered. It hurts to breathe when the medicine wears off. You’re constantly shivering, constantly blacking out. You’re sure they’ve shattered a rib or two. And you haven’t much strength left, stripped of nourishment and proper blood circulation for God knows how long. 

You have one good eye, the other swollen shut from their previous assault. Your lips keep splitting, so goddamn dry. They could’ve done much worse. Could’ve violated you in unspeakable ways. So you’re grateful the illusions are seemingly their most potent form of torture. 

No matter how many levels of hell your captors subject you to, you don’t cave. You’re still as haughty as ever. Piss them off whenever you can, fighting back with your tongue in a way that your body can’t. Anything to distract you from the unyielding torment and pain. From your thoughts creeping in, from your mortality looming over your shoulders. 

“He won’t come for me,” you bitterly laugh each time your captors taunt you. “He doesn’t care about me. You’ve got the wrong person.” To which they heckle like hyenas, looking at you as if you’ve said the most absurd thing. 

They tell you you are the right person. That it’s only a matter of time before your ‘boyfriend’ comes sniffing you out. You’re more valuable than any treasure, any amount of money. But you always push those words to the back burner. Those empty attempts to give you a flicker of hope.  

He’s subjected you to danger numerous times before. Thrown you to the wolves on several occasions. What makes this time any different?

One thought reigns supreme in your mind each time they torture you. Each time they fill your head with trickery, visions of him, and memories of past misdeeds. 

If he wanted to save you, he would’ve already come. 

The truth hurts, but it’s somehow comforting. Sylus will never find you like this. Never see how far you’ve fallen from grace, breaking apart at the seams, slowly succumbing to the cold and delirium. He’s got more important things to worry about—more important people to occupy his mind. 

You’re disposable. You’ve known this from the start. 

The notion only rooted itself deeper the moment a certain Hunter disturbed the monotony of your lives.

It was merely a matter of time before one of Onychinus’ most revered assassins was wiped out. 

In a way, your captors are doing Sylus a favor, ridding him of your presence so he doesn’t have to lift a finger to do it himself. You’ve always worried he would no longer find a use for you. Knew you couldn’t always be at his side. And now that he has someone else to play his bait, to bat their lashes at him and tug at those little heartstrings, you know you don’t stand a chance. 

Savagely, you laugh, your face turned up at the silvery moonbeams sinking in through the window. And it hurts, your throat dry like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. Unbidden tears scorch down the sides of your face. Whether they’re heralded in from agony or hysteria, you don’t know. 

Your solitude in this room is as much of a reprieve as it is a cage. Sure, you’re free to collect what little coherent thoughts you have left before your captors are back at it, shocking you to hell and tearing your mind at the seams. But you’re also left with nothing to do but stew in thoughts of your inevitable demise. 

Maybe this is your punishment. All the lives you’ve taken. All the innocents you displaced when you were a fiery-eyed killer fueled by rage and fear. Murdering coldly, killing because you were told—forced—to. 

No matter how far you ran, the past always snuck up on you. But shielded beneath Sylus’ wings, you were able to delay its descent onto your shoulders.  

Sylus had taken you away from it all. Redirected your ire, your revenge, onto the scourge of humanity. No longer were you a gun for hire, taking out high-profile figures because your very life depended on it. No. Instead, you wiped the most vile men from the face of the planet. Pedophiles, rapists, murderers. And you supposed that served as enough repentance for your life before.

Still, no amount of justification will support what you’ve done. What you continue to do. And all for the love of a man who will never see you as more than a rook. A chess piece, lazily dragging across the board for use at his disposal.

The single door to your prison groans open, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts as a blinding stream of light pours in. You wince against its brilliance, your bruised lips canting up in a sardonic smile. 

Once the new presence clears the entryway, a shock of white greets you. And it’s followed by a wash of scarlet, moving through the bleariness. You huff a painful laugh as the figure nears you, agony swelling in your chest. This trick again. Weren’t they getting bored of using it?

Finding your voice, you grit out, “You’ve tried this one already. It’s getting old. Gonna have to do better than that.”

But your tormenter doesn’t err in their steps. Instead, they hasten their approach until the warmth they carry wades over your skin. And through the dank scent of your entrapment, you make out familiar notes of amber and sandalwood. As convincing as the illusions have been lately, they’ve never smelled this vivid before.

Searing hands curve around your cheeks. Angle your head back until your vision fills with red. Red eyes nestled beneath brows knotted with anguish. Pink lips parted with the effort of breathing. As you fully take in your tormenter’s harrowed features, you slowly realize that maybe you’re not hallucinating this time. And a thick film of tears washes over your good eye, the world blurring and bending.

“You’re getting better at this,” you sob-slash-laugh, still disbelieving. There’s no way he could be the real thing. There’s just—

—no way. Could he? Could it…

Suddenly, the metal chains of your shackles rattle and loosen. And you’re freefalling, loose-limbed and weightless, heading for the ground along with your restraints. But a pair of virile arms spread like wings beneath you, cradling you against a rigid chest, and a ferocious heart beats a war cadence beneath your cheek as you press further into it. 

Weakened by your time in captivity, you feel something prodding around inside your head. Something warm and feather-light creeps through the folds of your mind, chasing away the darkness. It’s a voice—an inherently masculine voice reverberating in your head, working like a soothing balm over your psyche.

I’ve got you, it soothes, dulling the ache in your bones, the maelstrom in your head. And its familiarity is enough to bring a smile to your lips. More tears pour in rivulets down your cheeks, and you cling to the silk of his shirt, unconsciousness pulling you under. He came for you. He really—he actually—

—came.

And as you succumb to fatigue, hypothermia, and hunger, two sentences pierce through the darkness like a lighthouse beaconing through the storm.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

[shaggydogstail]

One-time fauxgressive, now graduate of the Johnny Depp school of misusing the legal system to torment women, Neil Gaiman is suing Caroline Wallner for breach of NDA. From the article:

Vincent White, Wallner’s lawyer, was surprised Gaiman had filed the claim against his client. White, an employment lawyer in New York who specializes in sexual harassment in the workplace, said that in his experience, allegedly abusive men only rarely sued women for violating NDAs because the optics were so poor. When you’re trying to silence someone who’s alleging “really heinous acts,” White said, “everyone thinks, Oh, the allegation must be true. I would think he may have come to the conclusion he has nothing left to lose.”

Oh, I think he can lose a lot more.

Archive Link in case you hit a paywall.

[descendinight]

“May this land forget your calling、May you ne’er return again。”

[witherby]

I think a cute fic would be Alfred reading Punchline to sleep after a nightmare.

-📝

Also, LOVE EVERYTHING YOU E DONE :}

You got it! And thank you!!

Punchline - Scattered Nighttime

⚠️ Content warning: Nightmares, the Joker abuses his daughter, description of injuries ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

There's something very strange about seeing the reason why you can't move your hand properly, despite not feeling it.

Popsy's laughing. You've pleased him, you've entertained him, and the only price you had to pay was your hand getting smashed by a pipe. It looks like a black and blue pancake, the palm flatter than normal and several fingers badly misshapen.

You turn your hand over, admiring the front and back, and try to flex the fingers. They twitch and bend at an angle that isn't normally possible. There's an odd pressure between the joints you instinctively understand is wrong. You wonder if you have enough ribbon to tie the digits back into the correct shape so that they heal into something usable again.

"What, you don't think that's funny?" Your father asks, something thin and dangerous in his tone. You immediately snap your gaze to his and the smile on your face stretches wider. "Why don't I give you something to giggle about, then!"

You see him gear up to swing the pipe at your head. An old, long-buried instinct screams at you to duck. You stand still and compliant for your Popsy, because that's what good and entertaining toys do. They always do what they're told, or they get broken and discarded.

You briefly wonder why you're still being broken if you're the favorite.

The sound of metal crashing into your ear jolts you awake, and you find yourself looking at plain, beige walls.

Your hand flies to your head, fingers brushing along the shell of your ear. You feel the sensation of touch, but hear nothing. Almost total hearing loss on the side of impact. You look at your right hand, at the small crook in your middle and ring fingers you didn't manage to completely set right as they were healing. Usable, but forever altered. The digits crack every time you flex it into a fist. Pop. Pop. Pop.

You take stock of the rest of your body while your breathing slows back to normal. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. Ten toes. No new cuts. No new breaks. Some new bruises, but aside from being colorful little polka dots in your skin, you ignore them.

You're fine. But you can feel your heart hammering in your ribcage, and the ever-present tremor in your limbs has worsened after waking up. The itch of inactivity is making itself known under your skin. You don't look at the camera in the corner of your cell, but you still feel that instinct to perform, to please, to entertain.

But these people don't think you're funny. Not like Popsy. They don't get your jokes. They don't play your games. They don't tell you what they want from you, so you do nothing for as long as you can, until the boredom and the itch settles in and becomes unbearable.

Right now it's unbearable.

You get up off the floor and wander to the door, pressing your fingers into the seam between it and the wall. If you apply enough pressure, the sensor inside thinks it's got something stuck in the doorway, and it pops open. A hilarious safety measure you exploit whenever the boredom rears its head.

Wing-a-ding is watching you tonight. Or, he would be, if his attention wasn't on a case file he's got open in his lap instead of your camera feed. You could scare him for a laugh, but the way he looks at you isn't fun, so you leave him be. It's child's play to slip past him, inattentive and unaware at the bat computer, and climb the first set of stairs you find.

You creep through the grandfather clock and step into Wayne manor, casting your gaze about the brand new space with wide, curious eyes. So many breakable things! So many fancy things, too. Fancy chairs, fancy desks, fancy mirrors, fancy carpet, fancy stairs...Batsy is richy-richy-rich!

The house is large and easy to get lost in. Larger than any other building you've ever been in. It smells nicer, too. You step into the hall and pick a random direction to go, footfalls light and airy. It's a nice distraction from your dream, and the palpitations aren't as harsh the more you walk.

You find a sitting room. The chairs are big, but kinda stiff, so you don't sit long and keep going.

Another sitting room. This one has a loveseat that's bouncy. You jump up and down on it until the wheezy, light feeling you get from the broken ribs forces you to stop. You accidentally tip a vase over as you climb down, and it lies cracked on the floor, but no one comes to hurt you, so you ignore it.

You have to lie down for a couple minutes to catch your breath before you can continue, but eventually you're up and off again.

There's a big book room. You wander between the shelves and trail your fingers along the spines, eyeing the colors and symbols detailed on each one that stands out to you. You pick one and pluck it out of the shelf, thumbing through the pages as though you had any chance of deciphering the messages printed on them. You wonder what story lies inside it with a curious quirk of your lips.

You think of calm, even tones and a quiet voice, reading a tale about an angry little girl who has to adjust to a whole new way of living now that her parents are gone. You wonder if...

The book falls from your fingers. It's more amusing to leave it on the floor than put it back where it belongs, so you knock a couple more down to join it before you leave the big book room with a snicker.

You've just stumbled upon the kitchen when someone clears their throat behind you.

Grinning, you twirl around and clasp your hands behind your back, finding yourself looking up at Alfred.

"Lady Punchline," he greets you. He's wearing pajamas, so you must have awoken him while exploring. He doesn't look upset. "Can I get you anything?"

You get asked that a lot. You don't know what the right answer is. You don't know how to play their games yet. You just smile and click your feet together. The noise is soothing.

Click. Click. Click.

"It's quite late," Alfred continues, "or early, depending on your opinion. Why don't I get you settled into a bed and we can read another chapter of The Secret Garden together?"

He holds out a hand for you to take. You wait for it to curl into a fist, wait for it to dart forward and strike you somewhere, but it doesn't.

Alfred continues to stand there with you, waiting quietly. You look at his hand for a long time, staring at every weathered groove and line. You notice the uniformity of his fingers, the callouses borne of hard work, the lack of scarring.

You brush your right hand against his palm, comparing the shapes against your own. He's very warm to the touch.

Click. Click. Click.

"Lady Punchline," he speaks up. "I will take you to my quarters for the night. If that isn't acceptable to you, all you need to do is remove your hand from mine, and we can go somewhere else."

A command. No...a direction. A plan. You just have to follow his plan. That's fine. You are Popsy's obedient little toy, and you're very good at it. You can follow Popsy's plans. You can comply with others, too.

You thread your crooked fingers in his pretty ones. He gives you a single nod and a featherlight squeeze, then leads you through the halls of the large house.

You walk for a while together. You have to stop twice when the wheezing gets bad and the world starts to tip around like a rollercoaster, but Alfred just keeps his gentle hold of your hand and guides you along when you're ready.

Soon enough, you're ushered into a large bedroom and tucked into a bed that could easily fit ten of you. It's both soft and firm, supporting your back and easing the pressure in your ribs and warming you in a way you're not used to. You stare at the ceiling and feel your heart beating heavily against your chest while Alfred grabs his book and sits in the armchair a couple feet away.

"The last we left off was chapter six. I shall start from there," he says.

You let his voice wash over you and drown out all other sensations. Your racing heart slows down. The trembling in your limbs lessens. Popsy's voice echoing around in your mind quiets, until all you can hear is Alfred's soft, steady cadence and all you can think about is Mistress Mary, learning how to be a child.

Your eyes slip closed and you're out before he's halfway through the chapter.

[zeropro]

Hi, what are your thoughts on Megatron? Most Starscream fans don't have very positive ones about him lol, but everyone is different and I would like to know that you think

I like Megatron okay, he doesnt bother me but im not like jumping up and down for megatron content yknow? but I get not liking Megatron as a Starscream fan. It's just, you can't deny how intrinsically the two characters are tied together. Really can't have Starscream without Megatron, which is unfortunate for someone like me who does not like drawing Megatron lol!

Maybe the reason most Starscream fans dont like Megatron is because of their abusive relationship? And let's be clear, due to the power imbalance, I do interpret it as an abusive relationship. Despite how much we like to joke that Starscream deserves the punishment he gets (I'm not entirely sure how attempted murder/political assassination attempts factor into an abuse allegory) no one ACTUALLY deserves to be abused. The fact that Starscream is low key also evil and has done evil things is a separate issue from Megatron's abuse of him, we can hold him accountable for the one while also having sympathy because of the other. For me personally tho? Megatron abusing Starscream doesnt make me dislike the character at all, it's honestly the main draw of the dynamic for me. Maybe I just like to see my blorbos suffer…

The G1 Cartoon Megatron is probably the most fun, and I think this dynamic is the most on the level in terms of Starscream dishing back as much as Megatron gives him. They're all just bullies on the playground, their toxic back and forths feel a lot more slap stick and silly than actual abuse. What makes it work I think is that Megatron is not as crazy powerful as he is in later continuities, and Starscream responds to the abuse like a cartoon villain, immediately bouncing back and plotting his revenge, so it's funny rather than upsetting! I also find it hilarious how Megatron is weirdly nice to all the other Decepticons who aren't Starscream lmao? G1 Cartoon Megatron is a 10/10 for me.

If G1 cartoon's Megatron and Starscream are more on an even playing field, Prime Megatron is like the opposite of that. Prime Megatron is so impossibly powerful it almost feels like no one has a chance against him in a fight, and Prime Starscream is so scrunkly and small it's almost laughable. I think I feel the most pity for Prime Starscream when he gets beat up by Megatron, but he almost always makes up for it by being possibly the most evil of the Starscreams. I like how in the third season, he genuinely seems happy to finally dedicate himself fully to Megatron, but you just know how much he'd been beaten down and broken over and over again to even get to that point. Good for him for trying to get revenge in the sequel series. As for Megatron himself, I think more often than not when I am reading fics I see Prime Megatron in my head, and it's his voice I hear. What can I say, it was the first Transformers show I watched haha. Do I love how his redemption arc was handled? Not particularly, it sorta came out of nowhere, felt really rushed, and he just goes away anyway so we don't even get anything out of it. I like redemption arcs in general, but I don't necessarily think this particular Megatron needed one.

To be perfectly honest, I didn't think the 2005 IDW Megatron deserved one either, only because when it comes to over powered, unstoppable, irredeemably evil Megatrons, this one ranked right up there if we take into consideration everything he did before Dark Cybertron. His redemption does kinda come out of nowhere. But like, idk mang! It's also really fun? Like, Bumblebee carrying him around cuz his pants got blown off is hilarious! Him actually upset at Bumblebee's death and then taking Bumblebee's Autobot badge and putting it on over his own was sweet! Him dealing with the crazy crew of the Lost Light is a lot of fun! And him actually having to confronting and deal with what he's done (and other characters dealing with him dealing with it) is a lot more interesting than just him dying. idk. The comics have been around for years by that point, and passed through the hands of many writers, so if a little handwaving and a little contrivance and a little suspension of disbelief is what is required for us to have an honestly pretty fun take on Megatron, I think I'm okay with that.

I do have one complaint tho, mostly based on content I haven't read yet so take it with a grain of salt. I have been told that the adjacent series to the Lost Light Megatron stuff covers Starscream's side of the story and that it does actually address his abuse at the hands of Megatron. My problem is that apparently (and again I haven't read that far yet so this is just hearsay, but apparently) the writers on the Lost Light Megatron stuff didn't get the memo so while Megatron feels bad for and is working at redemption for all the evil war stuff he did to everyone, the one thing he doesnt regret is apparently his treatment of Starscream? Haha, like come on! on the one hand it's really disappointing to me because id like the catharsis of Megatron’s remorse, but...on the other hand, I guess it's kinda true to life actually. Your abusers are people, and they can change and grow and become better, but it doesnt mean they will ever become better for you. It doesnt mean they will ever apologize or even feel bad for what they did. Maybe theres something to be said about having to move on and heal without that. I guess whether this is a complaint I maintain will depend on how its handled.

I get that some people don't think Megatron should ever get a redemption arch, because he's an abuser, a monster, a tyrant, and an evil warlord, and it's completely fair for your stance to be that he should just be killed and that would be justice. I personally really like continuities that treat him more like just some guy. I think Starscream put it best in 2005 IDW during Megatron's trial when he said Megatron wasn't some political genius or the most gifted strategist. He wasn't even the most evil man. In IDW, Megatron started out as a social advocate from the lower class, and despite the problematic narrative of "the bad guy had a point and just did advocacy wrong/went too far," I think the idea that Megatron kinda got swept up by his own hype and was used by people and powers more devious than he is a compelling one.

Starscream is Starscream, so who knows how much of what he says is true and how much is him lying, but this idea just rings true to me. It humanizes him. If handled well, I'm honestly not opposed to stories redeeming Megatron. I'm also not opposed to stories treating him like the devil and just killing him lol. I love a character that can do both!

Uh uh, what else. Earthspark Megatron is nice, I like him. There's...a bit of cognitive dissonance in trying to reconcile the things he chastises Optimus Prime for and the idea that he still was a ruthless warlord at one point, both of which continue to be left unexplored. Transformers One Megatron is neat, I was worried going in how they would handle the switch from Orion Pax's brother to lets start a 4-6 million year war, but like, I like the way he actually was super okay with accepting his lot in life. Like obviously he didnt like it but he didnt see a point in fighting it, and that adamant complacency as a coping mechanism is what lead to his feelings of rage and betrayal by the end. Also I think its hilarious how much younger he is from all the other Decepticon high command, especially Starscream XD.

I don't think I've read or watched anything else with Megatron in it. Man, I wrote a lot. At the end of the day, Megatron is a good character, I like the role he plays in Transformers, I'm not like actually that interested in him on his own but more what he brings to the table when considering Starscream's character. You can't have one without the other! Do I ship them? No, not really, no more than any other ship. But I'll still read Megastar stuff cuz sometimes you just want to watch two people be toxic and make it hurt so good. I'll always prefer Trine stuff anyway ha! Have fun out there!

[galaxymagitech]

…Bruce. You brainwashed him. Your abused son placating you does not mean you made amends.

Also… “The worst of it now. Having to explain my actions.” Do you have any idea how you sound right now Bruce? Well? Do you?!?

As it turns out, Bruce doesn’t even end up explaining his actions. Instead, he shoots his son in the face.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. The man who has trauma about his family being shot proceeds to…shoot his family. And honestly, “I did it to shatter his helmet to make sure he’s not Clayface” is a really terrible excuse. Keep in mind that this occurs during an argument over Bruce saving the Joker yet again.

Anyway. Wanna play spot the difference?

Yeah, the stuff Bruce was saying in RHatO 25 was worse, but the context of Batman 159 is worse. And the fact that Bruce shot Jason in the face. Even with the helmet it’s a true wtf moment.

I don’t know why Jason went “evil” this time but tbh even if it’s not a trick or some secret plan (which it very well could be) I’m kinda with Jason here.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).

I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense. 

That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it. 

And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit. 

And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims? 

Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.

Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing? 

And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased? 

Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.

He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own. 

Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends. 

Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.

You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust. 

And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.

Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.

Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.

Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.