Tw Abuse - Blog Posts

Childhood Bites Chapter Two: The Hunt

⚠️TW: Blood, violence, implied abuse⚠️

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Zeke didn’t sleep that night.

He lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of his family’s rundown beach house. The air inside was thick with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes, the walls too thin to block out his father’s snores from the other room.

His stomach twisted in pain, but he was used to that.

His father’s latest punishment had been a week without food.

Zeke had learned how to ignore the ache, how to push through it. But today, it was worse. Because now, he knew what could make it stop.

His tongue ran over his teeth, the memory of Campelter’s blood still fresh in his mind.

It had been a mistake. An accident. A loss of control.

That’s what he told himself.

The taste hadn’t disgusted him.

It had made him hungry.

He turned onto his side, gripping the old blanket tighter, trying to will the feeling away.

I won’t do it again.

He repeated the thought like a prayer.

I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.

But his stomach growled. His hands trembled. And in the darkness, his eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, where his father’s metal bat leaned against the wall.

The same bat his old man had used on him. Dried blood stained the tip. His own blood.

It had always belonged to his father. A tool of punishment. A reminder of Zeke’s place in the house.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it was his.

The Boathouse

Zeke walked the empty streets of Glass Shard Beach, the bat gripped tight in his hands.

The town was quiet this late at night, only the occasional streetlight flickering. The summer crowd had thinned out, leaving only the locals.

Leaving kids like Campelter free to roam.

Zeke knew exactly where he’d be. The old boathouse near the dunes wasn’t much—just a crumbling shack covered in graffiti—but it was where the older kids went to drink and mess around.

That’s where Zeke found him.

Campelter sat on the dock outside, flipping a lighter open and closed, the flame reflecting in his bored expression. His friends were long gone, leaving him alone.

Perfect.

Zeke stood in the shadows, watching. His heart pounded.

He could still turn back.

He could go home. Forget this. Try to be normal.

But then Campelter shifted, his injured arm catching the moonlight.

The same arm Zeke had bitten.

And just like that, the hunger roared back to life.

His grip on the bat tightened.

Campelter sighed, shaking his head. “I know you’re there, freak.”

Zeke stepped forward, the wooden planks creaking under his weight.

Campelter rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

Zeke’s voice came out quiet. “I don’t know.”

Another lie.

Campelter scoffed. “You here to try and bite me again? Jesus, dude, what is wrong with you?”

Zeke didn’t answer.

His body moved on instinct, stepping closer, closing the distance. The bat in his hand felt heavy. Solid.

Campelter frowned, finally looking at him—really looking at him.

Something in his expression changed.

“…Wait. Are you serious right now?”

Zeke’s breath came faster. The hunger clawed at his insides.

Just go home.

Just walk away.

But his father’s voice echoed in his head.

“You’re nothing. You don’t fight back. You don’t stand up for yourself.”

Zeke’s fingers twitched on the bat.

“You’re weak.”

His jaw clenched.

“You’re always gonna be hungry.”

Zeke swung.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

To Be Continued…

Oh no it looks like Stanley upset Filbrick again… he hid in the closet Stanford finally found him and now he is gonna patch Stan up like the good brother he is

(I hate that man so much, who wants to kill him with me?)

“Over here we have our latest experiment C1TR4 they are a humanoid cyborg feline, they have Enhanced vision (night vision and thermal sensors). Retractable claws capable of cutting through metal. Superhuman agility and reflexes. Hidden compartments in their robotic limbs for tools or weapons.” The scientist would bang on the glass to get C1TR4 away from the window “I apologize for the bothersome noise they are making a few volts should keep them quiet.”

Tw: abuse

Just survived a couple hours with my abuser while casually chitchatting around family. I need to run away.

Ash watched the target closely as he went into the bar. She stood on the roof of the four-story office-building across the street, hidden in the dark of the night. She was dressed practically, in simple clothing – black jeans, a dark grey t-shirt, a leather jacket – her purple hair tied back behind her head. At her feet was a black biker’s helmet. At her right ear was a Bluetooth earpiece.

She needed neither binoculars nor night-vision to see clearly in the night; she was Damphyr, the child of one afflicted with vampirism. Beings without most of their progenitors’ strengths, but the few gifts they possess by comparison makes them far greater than humans. Durability, speed and enhanced senses are their hallmark, but the gifts come at a cost. The cost of human blood. A Damphyr can survive on the blood of animals for a time, but they are required to drink the blood of a living human with disturbing and increasing frequency.

For now, she needed only once a month or so. But as her years of life wore on into centuries she would need to feed weekly or even daily. She pondered this as she watched the bar.

“Ash!” buzzed her earpiece. Focusing back in to the present, she barked an answer to the microphone on her lapel. “What, Vesh?”

Vesh responded, “I can see you from here. Stop zoning out! We need you to watch the door. If the target is meeting one of the nine, we’ll need to be able to act at a moment’s notice. You’re our surveillance.”

“If you wanted surveillance, you should have gotten a van,” Ash cracked.

“Who needs a van when you have the sharpest eyes this side of the globe?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Ash quipped, as she noticed something off with the bar. The sounds of violence were emanating from within, which would not have troubled her unduly were it not for the scent. Her sense of smell was arguably her weakest, but there are some scents she could never miss. The scent of blood, the scent of a damphyr, and, strongest of all, the scent of a vampire.

Vampires are rare creatures; few in number and rare to reproduce. They make up for it in unholy might; a single vampire could lay waste to a small city in a single night. But they tend to occupy their time with petty power struggles between each other and attempts to control large swathes of territory. Their servants, known as Revenants, were humans vested with some of their power. Weaker still than even damphyr, Revenants were slow to age and stronger than mortals.

But the scent of a vampire was what Ash smelled now. How she had missed it for so long was beyond her, but it was clear now. The smell was difficult to define – somewhere between a rotting corpse and a rose, soaked in blood. A smell of beautiful decay.

“Vesh, we need to move. Now.”

“Got it. I’ll get the back entrance. You cover the front.”

“Got it.”

Ash jumped from her perch, flipping from headfirst to a pencil dive and landing on the pavement, cracking it. She was unharmed by the tumble, she got up and charged the door as a man was thrown bodily from the window. Or rather, a corpse. Its head was twisted and nearly torn off, a look of agony on its face. Its limbs were twisted as if it had been tortured, but knowing what lay inside, she understood that it had happened within seconds.

She took a second to spit on the corpse. A fool who had been bargaining with a vampire for extended life. But the artifact that he had found was too powerful. His contact with it made him a liability, not an ally.

She charged the door, knocking it off of its hinges. Inside, an unwelcome sight greeted her. Revenants, a dozen of them, were feasting on the corpses of the erstwhile bar-goers. A couple were holding onto the bouncer by the arms, one drinking from his carotid and another on the opposite side, who had chewed through to his aorta.

They all looked up at her, with bestial glares. Damphyr blood was poison to them, but they were bound to their master’s will, and would be more than happy to kill her.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a long dagger – something caught between shortsword and knife in size, but finely wrought all the same, of some strange, silvery metal. She whispered the invocation. “Carnwennan, feoht for mec, innan thone ciegnes Arthorius.”

The blade sheathed itself in shadow, its magic enhancing her accuracy, speed and strength.

Moving faster than the creatures could even fathom, she had already drove the dagger through three of the creatures’ chests, piercing their hearts before they could even draw breath. “Eallgrene sealt adfyr.”

Green flame ripped its way through the creatures anew, burning their flesh and reducing them to ash faster than should have been physically faster. Continuing, she made quick work of the others, and had destroyed the bodies of those who had died. Little evidence remained, and the magical fire did not burn the objects in the room. She breathed, for the first time since entering the place. “You alright?” asked Vesh, through the earpiece.

“…Yes.”

“Good. Nothing on my end. I’ll meet up with you at the basement doors.”

They had gone through the blueprints for the building before the strike. There was a basement, prohibition era, that led down into the sewer. They had guessed the vampire would use this route to escape after putting down the ‘livestock’.

She went over to behind the bar, went into the backroom, and took the short hallway to the back room, where she Vesh was waiting.

Vesh wasn’t damphyr, nor was she human. She was a Nephilim, the long-lost bloodline of angels. Moreover, her bloodline was the (in)direct descent from King (well, queen, but that’s another story) Arthur. She wasn’t all that much stronger than a normal human, until the bloodline was used in conjunction with an Arthurian one. Ash’s weapon was one, the bloodline only enhancing the weapon’s traits, not granting ones on their own.

But Vesh was more powerful in her own way. For she wielded two weapons – Rhongomiant, an ancient spear, and Clarent, the coward’s blade. With their power, she could take down many opponents with little effort – but at a cost. The two could only be wielded in conjunction for a short time, or she would burn up.

Vesh was breathing heavily, her sword sheathed and her spear at her back. “You okay?” asked the (suitably) concerned Ash.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“There’s no shame in turning back,” warned Ash.

“Yes, there is.”

“Okay, only a little,” conceded Ash.

“I’m not going to sit back and let you hog all the glory. Here,” said Vesh, holding out a thermos.

“I’m not thirsty,” protested Ash.

“Yeah, you are.” Said Vesh, gesturing with the thermos. “You didn’t’ have any blood at breakfast, and I’ve been keeping eye on your little freezer down in the basement. You haven’t touched it in going on a week and a half. Drink.”

Ash could smell the blood, and hunger snarled deep within her stomach. But at the same time, a foul disgust was creeping through her. “No.”

“You’ve got to drink sometime. Please. You need it.”

Vesh hold the thermos close to Ash’s face.

“I said no, damn it!” Ash shouted, batting the thermos out of Vesh’s hand and to the ground. Warmed blood spilled across the ground.

Vesh became more concerned. “Ash…”

Ash was stumbling away from the spilled blood, retching at the smell, reaching a corner and throwing up blackened bile. “We need to follow the vampire.” She coughed out, between dry heaves.

“You’re in no condition to fight a vampire. We can turn back – we can get more…”

Ash shook her head. “Don’t say it.”

“Damn it, Ash. You need to drink. You don’t think I’ve noticed you? You don’t sleep anymore. You can barely get down food, and blood… you barely touch it unless you’re desperate. This isn’t healthy. I’m here for you.”

Ash shook her head. “We have to go on. I know… I know this vampire.”

“What? You can differentiate between vampiric bloodlines now? Are… are you certain?”

“I know this one well. This one is…” she trailed off, and began to make her way down the stairs.

--- A Year and a Half Prior ---

Ash was chained to the floor of the cell, her interrogator standing above her. Throwing down a lukewarm blood transfusion bag, he kicked her in the stomach. “Drink, half-blood.”

“F… fuck you…”

He kneeled down, grabbing her by the back of the head, and held her mouth open. Kicking the bloodbag aside, causing it to leak across the ground towards the drain in the center of the room, he gestured to the door. A man stepped in, carrying with him a bound and gagged teenage boy. The boy kicked and screamed as he was dragged into the room. The man carrying him drew a wicked-looking hunting knife, and drew it across the boy’s throat in a swift, decisive motion. The boy was gurgling his last breaths as blood poured from the wound. The interrogator turned Ash’s face up as the other man put the boy’s throat to her open lips, blood pouring into her mouth, her nose, most spilling but some she felt going down her throat.

--- Present Day ---

They were making their way down the stairs in sullen silence when they heard it. The scratching, the skittering, the sound of rats, moving around them in the dark. Ash closed her eyes, her breathing becoming ragged. Vesh took the lead, and motioned for Ash to sit down for a moment. She whispered in her ear. “I’ll be back in just a few seconds. Wait.”

The sounds of blades being drawn and of the screeching of rats. Finally, Ash heard the words, “Eallgrene sealt adfyr.” A bright flash of green, and nothing else. “You can open your eyes now.”

They continued on their way.

--- A Year and a Half Prior ---

Ash was blindfolded as she was led into the room and tied to the chair. It was a cold, study thing of wood. Chained at the ankles and the wrists, weakened from blood deprivation, she struggled against the chains until she was exhausted. She heard him, chuckling and chiding. “Is the little girl tired? Poor little girl…”

“Maybe the girl needs some friends. Yes, maybe some furry friends.”

She heard the sound of blade against sheath as he drew a knife, and felt it as he drew thick lines every few inches down her wrist and thigh. Blood slicked her skin as he stepped back, and whistled.

It was then she heard them. Skittering across the rafters, across the floor. Ash felt it as they fell onto her body, and tried to throw them off, but they kept piling on. She screamed as they bit into her flesh. She screamed and the man laughed.

--- Present Day ---

The hallway was sparsely lit with dangling, electric lights as they continued on their way. The form of the hallway was made of brick and wood, with a floor of cement. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” asked Vesh.

“I’m fine,” responded Ash, a little too quickly, having been waiting for the question.

“Ash… for gods’ sakes…”

Ash drew Carnwennan, and began the invocation again. The blade sheathed itself in shadow. “I’m fine.”

They reached the end of the hallway, and they saw it.

Sitting in the center of the room was a finely-wrought silver casket, surrounded on all sides by human bodies, blood splattered against the walls. Not catching her breath in time, Ash smelled the blood, assailing from all sides. Gagging, she began the purification invocation to cleanse the room with fire. “Eallgrene sealt adfyr.”

The room flashed green as fire consumed the corpses, leaving ash behind.

“What is this thing?” said Vesh, looking at the coffin.

“An artifact of great power, so they say. The coffin of the progenitors. Capable of bringing a vampire to an almost godlike state.”

“And capable of purifying the blood of a damphyr, my pet,” came a voice from the shadows.

They turned. Ash gasped. “You… you’re dead. I killed you…”

The interrogator stepped forward. “Only a spear of ash and silver can kill a vampire, as you well know.”

Gesturing to a stitched-shut scar around his throat, he laughed. “All you did was offend my vanity.”

He walked forward, touching the coffin with an outstretched arm. “You hurt me, running away like you did. All I wanted was what’s best for you, after all, little cousin.”

He held out his open arms to Ash. “Come to me, pet, I will take you with me and make you my immortal lover.”

Ash held Carnwennan at the ready, taking a step back. Her stance was nearly broken by her shaking.

“Come here, girl, I will hurt you no longer.”

Vesh stepped forward. “Enough.”

Drawing spear and sword, spear at the ready stance, sword ready to guard against blows, Vesh charged, speed and strength enhanced by the magic. The man just jumped out of the way.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to kill me, child. I am a vampire, not some weak-blooded mockery or halfblood pretender.”

Vesh struck with speed and strength, with each strike gaining more momentum and hitting faster. She felt her muscles burn as she fought him, but he dodged each blow with almost nonchalant ease. Growing tired of this, he grabbed the spear by the shaft and struck quickly, knocking the sword aside and biting deeply into her forearm. Vesh let out a cry of pain, as he threw her backwards.

Ash couldn’t stand still anymore. Half frozen in fear while Vesh struck, she steeled herself and struck. The interrogator laughed. “You can’t harm me any more now than you could then, girl.”

Before she could strike his flesh he dodged under the blow and slammed into her, sending her flying across the room, landing next to Vesh.

He crossed the room to where Ash lay, and grabbed her by the throat. “Your blood will fuel my power,” he said, biting into her throat. She felt herself being drained. After a couple moments, he pulled away, lips slick with blood.

“Watch, now, as I ascend to godhood,” he stated, wiping off his lips, opening the coffin. Inside was black velvet. Ripping off his shirt, he lied back into the coffin as the lid closed automatically.

A hissing sound like hydraulic sealing could be heard as the coffin closed.

“Ash,” said Vesh, trying to get closer to her, coughing up blood from broken ribs, unable to move her legs. Ash lay unconscious. Vesh took her wounded arm and put it over Ash’s lips, letting blood drip into her mouth. Still not conscious, Ash’s mouth instinctively bit into Vesh’s arm, draining blood. Vesh grimaced against the pain, but it was not in vain.

Ash awoke, her body repairing itself faster for the blood. She felt a surge of power from her blood, from Vesh’s blood, as Vesh faded out of consciousness.

The coffin opened just as Ash arose, holding Carnwennan and Clarent at the ready. The blood of Arthur she had drunk felt like fire rising in her veins as she spoke in the old tongue. “Cier asprungennes, Vampire.”

Her enemy had changed. Like some monstrous bat, his features had twisted into a vile mockery of the living. His fangs had grown and his teeth grown sharp. He growled.

They did battle, moving faster than sound, booms echoing off the halls. She dodged blow after blow, dealing small wounds bit by bit. Eventually, he failed – mis-stepping, he was impaled on the blades.

“This cannot kill me, whelp. I will return to hunt you. I will return to end you.”

“I know,” said Ash. “But next time, I will not hesitate. In the meantime, let’s see how well you can reform from my namesake. Eallgrene sealt adfyr.”

Flames engulfed him as he screamed in agony, burning as Ash gathered the weapons, picked up Vesh, and began to return up the stairs.

Story Shard 543

You know what I want? I want a Bad Ass Female Super Hero who is afraid of something small and cliche, like bugs or mice, but whose compatriots don’t make fun of her for it. They just step up and take care of the things she can’t. And her fear does not make her any less bad ass it just makes her human.

Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.

Of fucking course

What sick bastard doesn’t

Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.

Of fucking course

What sick bastard doesn’t

Something I think about sometimes is that my mental health got better after leaving my ex which looking back on that relationship it was far from being a healthy relationship, they ended up cheating on me, spreading rumors about me at school behind my back and would always try and start fights with me all the time and forced themselves on me, my mental health was at rock bottom and was on the verge of ending it when I was with them but when I left I was a lot happier and I was doing things I actually liked even when my ex was harassing me for being happy, I felt free after leaving them and I need to give myself credit for leaving them

When it comes to talking about what my parents did to me I hate when someone says "but" because to me it feels like they are trying to dismiss it, someone told me that what I went through was awful but maybe they were abused when they were younger and it annoys me because it is sad if they were abused but it shouldn't use to dismiss what they did to me

4. Write about the ugliest thing a human being can do. (From this Pinterest post.)

Sink your fingers into someone’s thorax. Deeper. Deeper. Till you reach that ever-beating muscle. Rip it out (really feel all those blood vessels ripping), throw it on the ground and stomp on it till it is a mess of blood and veins and muscles and cartilage. Apparently the pain from heartbreak can be felt as a physical ache. That’s what it feels like when a mother cuts off her kid’s airflow, her longer, stronger fingers circling around the trachea and pressing down like it’s a gripper, not a life. When a spouse restrains another to the bed and their legs kick around for some chance at freedom. When you realise that all that pleading and begging and forgiving brought you nothing but the relentless thump thump thump of your heart against your chest, threatening to burst out of your ribs like some kind of bubbling volcano of obscenities. 

All bad things come with the intent to shatter a heart irrevocably. And that determination to proceed is what ultimately renders it ugly. It’s like battery acid that leaks onto the tips of your fingers, damaging the skin yet falling deeper and deeper to permanently render your fingers incapable of feeling or moving. Maybe one could thus argue that the ugliest thing to come out of humanity is the cycle of treating the heart like a toy. 

(tw for sa mention)

so it's 3 am and maybe i'm thinking too deeply into this but uh. i feel like i've seen very little content about how genuinely horrific vlad's cloning attempts of danny are? maybe it's just me but it's always read a little bit like an allegory for sa. ik it's mostly looked at through the halfway-unserious cartoon lens but like. i remember being physically nauseous the first time i saw the ep, even though i knew through the phandom pipeline that it happened.

the way danny is kidnapped, restrained, and repeatedly tortured/forced into transforming by an adult "family friend", the way he can't tell his parents what happened because vlad is effectively blackmailing him with his secret/they wouldn't believe him, the way jack is absolutely convinced vlad is incapable of any harm because he's a "good friend" even though his WIFE knows and explicitly calls him a creep. the fact that dani remains as a completely innocent yet permanent reminder of what happened just makes it worse imo.

please don't get me wrong, i love dani and all of the content about her grappling with her identity as a clone, but it's never sat right with me that i don't see just as much about how terrifying and deeply violating it must have been for danny, and how it must have affected his own sense of identity. maybe i'm just not on the right side of phandom tumblr for that though

johnny depp won!

i know i'm SUPER late to the party, but i think it's still worth celebrating that Johnny Depp won his case against the defendant! (i will no longer say her name because it will get her more attention and it is disrespectful to keep saying the abuser's name whenever you mention the victim.) anyways, also a reminder that narcissistic abuse is REAL. It may or may not be what JD went through, BUT IT IS REAL. Plus he won his case on world narcissistic abuse awareness day, so the world was able to acknowledge it!! This is not a hate post for people with NPD as they do have struggles too, but there are many with that disorder who abuse people and claim to be the victim, much like the defendant did. anyone who doesn't believe that narcissistic abuse is real and/or supports the defendant, please go fuck yourself and do not interact with my account.

Mens reactions to a story about women being brutally raped while on vacation in Dubai. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore but it always does.

Men are happy enough to share these comments on a public platform, with their real name and photo of themselves. But we are meant to believe they give a shit about consent? We are meant to believe they view women as fully people? Women get condemned for being naive, but what young person isn’t naive and trusting, who doesn’t want to have a good time on holiday? Nothing is said about the men who attack us and rape us.

you can like Doki Doki Literature Club and also admit that people used the game's story and plotlines as an excuse to make incredibly insensitive jokes about suicide, self harm, and abuse.

How to heal a witch and/or pagan's soul 101:

"When we live together you can light candles/light incense/etc."

"When we live together feel free to have an altar space in our home"

"Of course you can have protection spells placed on the house I don't mind"

"I dont mind learning about your faith and spirituality"

Like seriously, all things I never thought I'd ever hear from someone outside of our little community, and all of it was said by my S/O. I didn't even realize there was something there that needed healing until they said it.

They sure don’t.

(—I’ll do a happy version of this later, since it’s two sides of one coin. ;) )

via weheartit

So do I, Sweetheart. <3 😈 🔄

Wolverine is an interesting name for Logan.

While he is somewhat feral and hairy, yes, that’s not enough to go off of when Scott and the Professor stumble on him in those woods. Another trait of a wolverine is that they are easily domesticable. Easily tamed, in a way. Xavier took one look at Logan, who was broken and scared, invaded his mind to shape it how he saw fit, and named him after one of the most tamable wild species. And even still in the X-Men, he is shamed for his animalistic instincts. He is expected to be tame and civilized, is expected to be domesticated like many wild animals people bring into their homes. And when he acts on these less desirable instincts, he is cast out, in a way. When he lashes out, whether in some sort of courtship- much like a wolverine- or because of overstimulation, he is scorned and tosses aside until he is ‘presentable’ or docile. He is fundamentally deprived of the pack activities from the very animal he is named after, and is just expected to be okay. He is expected to discard these instincts, and yet he is named after the very thing these instincts resemble. He is used as a work animal, sent into dangerous situations like a canary in a cave, only to be retrieved and saved if someone may be fond of him- like someone may be fond of a pet. Logan is presented as an animal, and is yet expected to act like a man.

Anyways, Scott/Storm/Wade is the white lady who takes one look at a traumatized fight dog, goes ‘oh, buppy’, and has that thing spoiled in a week.

“you hurt yourself so what’s the difference of me hitting you” im mentally ill and your just crazy.

Hi, I'm someone from the Philippines who needs some help saving up emergency funds because I'm about to tell my father that I plan on dropping out of law school.

K*-Fi

P*ypal

TO CLARIFY: Donations are appreciated, however if you would like services/goods in return, my commissions are open. Funds are used to help provide self-care/necessities.

Standard Commissions

Chibi Commissions

TERMS OF SERVICE

More under cut (TW: Financial abuse and abuse in general / homelessness)

My father has a history of physical abuse towards our family and he oftentimes uses brute force to get what he wants or when he just wants to de-stress, he also tends to hold his financial power over us, reasoning that since he bought a majority of our necessities, it would only be fair to follow his rule. He has broken several things of ours without remorse due to this (laptops, phones, TVs, etc).

Moreover, he has paid over 90% of my tuition in law school (which he had coerced me into entering) and will likely be holding that over my head and will use it as an excuse to be aggressive once I tell him that I'm dropping out.

With this in mind, I'm struggling mentally, physically, and financially due to burn out and stress, finding myself fatigued and dissociating more and more.

If the worse happens, I will be staying in the barracks at work but I will still likely need money as I'm a contractual worker making less than minimum wage with small chances of receiving a year-end bonus.

Abuse has a goal behind it, and a lot of the time, it's about changing the victims behavior. If someone screams at you for not doing X activity, eventually you learn to do X activity. If someone hits you when you defy them, eventually you learn not to defy them. If someone abuses you frequently enough, and you begin to break down to their will... It is possible to reach a point where it may seem like you're not being abused anymore.

They don't yell anymore because you stay quiet and do what you're told. They don't threaten you anymore because you don't voice even the slightest disagreement or need. What used to be screaming fighting arguments have become lectures at your expense. They may even praise you for doing what they want you to. And all those mundane moments - breakfast, the rare kind act - stand out more. Your perception of the relationship skews even more. It's all normal now.

And it's still abuse. It's just reached its end goal - wearing you down so badly that they don't need to overtly abuse you anymore to get what they want. All they need to do is make a joke, or complain to guilt you, or tell you want to do/not to do, etc. etc. The fact that's all it takes now doesn't make what's happening to you less severe - if anything, it means you're in much, much more danger than you could realize.

It's abuse. It's horrific. It's just not obvious anymore... and that's terrifying. You deserve so, so much better. You deserve to truly be safe - not to have your wellbeing held behind fearful compliance. That's not safety. That's not love. That's abuse. It being psychological doesn't make it less dangerous.

i'll protect you

Runner / End Of Beginning

Steve has never seen his father as upset, as furious, as he was when he got home with his final exam results. He'd known- suspected- that his father would flip when his results came in...

His father got angry at small things. Hearing that he'd had a party while they were away, that a girl went missing at that party, had been the closest Steve thought he'd ever get to recieving a beating.

But when he came home with his grades... when his father realized that his son, his supposed prodigy, barely passed...

Steve has never ran as fast as he currently is.

As soon as he'd seen an openning, a clear line to the door, he'd stumbled to his feet and bolted. He'd picked a random direction and ran. He isn't going to stop running until he physically has to stop, knowing that his father is most likely in his car, trying to find him.

He can't stop. He has to keep running.

Eventually, he has to pause. He has to catch his breath.

He leans against a trailer, panting. He prays that no one thinks to look outside and spot him. He prays that no one will-

"Harrington?"

"Fuck." He hisses, squinting up at- "Munson?"

"What the fuck happened to you?" He says, eyes widenning when he finally gets a look at his face. "Second round with Hargrove, or what?"

"Nothing happened, I'm fine."

Munson eyes him for a moment, frowning. "Is someone after you?"

"What do you care?" Steve heaves a deep breath, forcing himself to stand up straight. He brings his knees up in a few knee highs, gearing up for another sprint.

"Ugh. Just- you can come into my trailer," Munson says, sounding as though Steve is forcing him to make the suggestion. "No one would think to look for you there. You can, like... I don't know. Drink some water? You jocks do that, right?"

"Wh- I don't need your help!"

"I'm not waiting for you all day, come on, let's go!" He makes a wide, exaggerated gesture for Steve to follow.

"You just assume I'm gonna follow?"

"Yeah."

He sounds so confident, so sure, that Steve can't think to do anything other thank blink and say, "fuck it, yeah, alright."

Steve is a little surprised at how much space Eddies trailer has. It's cramped, but in a nice way- the way a home gets when people actually live in it. When the people inside are actually happy and chase those joys.

Munson does get him a glass of water, mumbling at him to "sit anywhere", before flopping onto the sofa himself. He turns the TV on, focusing on that.

"Thanks," Steve eventually mutters, awkwardly sitting down.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"Sure."

"There isn't," he insists, despite how casual and accepting Munson is acting. "It's my fault, anyway. I deserved it."

"Did you?" Munson turns to him, eyebrow raised. "All us freaks and losers can talk about these days is your change of heart. King of Hawkins High turned lame boytoy."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better," Steve sneers.

"Even Jeff thinks you're alright now," he barrels on. "Said he bumped into you, pretty hard, knocked all your shit down, and you apologized. Said his coffee ended up on an essay, or something. Thought he was about to get his ass kicked and you just..."

He waves his hand at him, as though that's explination enough.

Steve doesn't know a Jeff, but he's pretty sure he knows who Munson is talking about, and; "I wasn't looking where I was going. If anything, we were both at fault."

"See?" Munson waves his hand at him again, a little more pointed. "Don't doubt you've got a long way to go, but you're not half-bad. You didn't deserve whatever the fuck happened to your face."

"Whatever."

They fall quiet, both pretending to watch whatever is on the TV. Steve is so zoned out that, when someone clears their throat, he flinchs.

"Sorry to startle you boys," the man chuckles. But the humor quickly teeters out, once he gets a good look at Steve. "You alright, kid?"

"I'm fine."

"He's not," Munson grins wide when Steve glares at him.

"Staying the night?" The man continues, only looking at Eddie now.

"If I can convince him," Munson shrugs.

"I can't stay the night," Steve tries.

"Good," the man nods, as though Steve hadn't said anything. "I'll start making us all some dinner." He finally looks to Steve. "You got any allergies?"

"I can't stay," Steve tries again, insisting.

"No," Munson answers for him. "No problems with meat either."

The man gives Munson a thumbs up, heading through to the kitchen.

"I can't stay," Steve repeats, turning to Munson. "Really. I have to go back or... I have to go back."

"What will happen if you don't go back?"

Steve grimaces. "Nothing. Just- I can't stay here."

"Why not? They gonna hit me too?"

"You know what, Munson? Yeah, probably. And your- your dad?"

"Uncle," Munson snorts, standing, stretching. "No one messes with us though. We're too scary." He wiggles his fingers in Steves face as he passes by. "And call me Eddie."

"Why?"

"It's my name."

Steve awkwardly follows him to the kitchen, hovering a good distance from the two of them, watch how they move around each other with so much comfort and ease. It makes something in Steves chest ache.

"Oh, hey, you like football right?" Eddie asks, pointing to him.

"Uh, yeah, kinda. Not enough to have, like, a team." Steve shrugs.

Wayne turns around slowly, eyebrows raised. "You don't got a team?"

Talking football with Wayne is so easy that, until he's halfway through the dinner he cooked, Steve doesn't notice how fast the time is going. He can't bring himself to be bothered though. It's too nice.

Plus, Eddie is almost bouncing with joy at how well Steve and Wayne are getting along.

Someone starts banging on the door, loud and aggressive, as they make their way to the kitchen.

"Alright!" Wayne calls, rolling his eyes. "Hold your horses."

Steves stomach drops when the door opens and his father is on the other side. He smiles at Steve, sickly sweet and dangerously calm.

"Oh, thank God," he sighs. "Steve, your mother and I have been looking all over for you. When you didn't get home-"

Wayne blocks his way when he tries to step inside. "Who are you?"

"Robert Harrington," Steves dad sniffs, leaning back so he can physically look down at Wayne. "I'm here for my son."

"He ain't here."

Robert Harrington splutters, face tinting red with anger and frustration. He points to Steve, voice raising as he says, "he's right there! And he's coming with me."

Wayne turns, slow and casual. "Huh. That's odd. Don't see him."

"Steve," he snaps his fingers at Steve, like he's a dog. "Come on. We're going home."

Eddie shifts so he's standing slightly in front of him.

It's enough reassurance for him to finally snap back; "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Steven-"

"Get off my property," Wayne snaps.

His father glares at them, waiting, as though he expects them to back down. When he doesn't, he snarls; "this is kidnapping."

"He's 18," Eddie drawls.

Grumbling, he stomps off.

"Asshole," Wayne mutters. He shuts and locks the door, sliding on the chain too.

Steve has to sit down, with how much his legs are shaking.

"You alright?" Eddie asks, hesitantly sitting beside him.

"Yeah," Steve says. He's surprised to find he means it. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You can stay here, long as you need," Wayne offers. "You'll have to bunk with Eds though. Not a lot of room."

"Why can't he use the sofa when you're-"

"Nope," Wayne cuts him off. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes that has Steve squinting in suspicion. "And you'll need those cuts looking at. Eddie, why don't you go with him. Medkits in the bathroom."

Steve goes ahead when Eddie points the way to the bathroom.

Eddie tries to give Wayne a warning look but he's unbothered and, with Steves back turned, he gives Eddie an encouraging wink.

hey so protip if you have abusive parents and need to get around the house as quietly as possible, stay close to furniture and other heavy stuff because the floor is settled there and it’s less likely to creak

gabriela could tease him like this forever, this was one of her favorite ways to be with tyler. when the two of them were so in sync, they could communicate in a simple look. with a raised brow, her smirk stayed put. "i can't really tell you yet, but tell me everything and you won't regret it." the couple flirted pretty openly in front of their children, but they'd keep it dialed down to avoid glares and fake gags. to not have them home, meant that they could say what they pleased in the open. something gabi felt thankful for, since he had been gone for some time.

his tone shifted, it was expected but there was no getting used to her husband feeling crestfallen. tyler had told her all about his dad long ago, one night it just poured out of him. if there was anyone she held anger towards, it was his awful parents. the way he spoke caused her to drop making drinks, twirl on her heels and face him once more. placing a finger on his chin, gabi lifted his eyes to hers, making sure he would understand she meant it when she said her next words. "baby, there was nothing you could've done to help your situation with your father. he was an angry man and he took it out on his son. i wish i could change the way your first transition was, but maybe then you wouldn't help the wolves you do now, or be the amazing father that you are." giving him a soft kiss on his forehead, before resting her own on his, she let out a sigh. "our kids will never go through any of their transitions or changes alone. you already are doing the opposite of letting them down by being the man you are with them. tyler you have made it different for them already and they know that even when their hormones say another thing."

"really?" he hummed against her lips when she spoke of an idea , before pulling back to see her hazel hues . he was intrigued to say the least at her offer . a smirk rose , as his head tilted . " and all i have to do is talk ? . . what if i tell you everything ? what do i get then. " he teased his lovely wife , matching her seduction . gabriela told him that the kids weren't home which added a devilishly grin of his own , but then she mention his voice over the phone and the memories started rushing back . his wife always had the ability to see right through him , her gentle touch comforted him .

gabriela was tyler's sounding board so if he was going to tell anyone how he was feeling it was going to be her . " i was there . . i was there when the kid change and i could see the fear and his eyes . he was so afraid of the change . he was so afraid of the pain and it just got me thinking about what it was like for me , and how it's going to be like for our kids . " he sighed . " you know , i didn't have someone to talk me through my transition . " he confessed . " i remember that night , the fear and the sheer panic and grief of it all ." he shook his head . " and i didn't have a father because well mines was died . he was killed . " dark brows arched over cinnamon hues before he lowered his head . " not that my father could have helped because he didn't know what we were but i wished he did because maybe he wouldn't have beaten the crap out of me so much . . maybe he would have been proud of me instead of thinking of me as some colossal mistake . " it had pained tyler to go through the motions of it all . the lockwolf male sighed. " i just know that one day our kids are going to have to go through this and i don't want to let them down . i guess i just want it to be different for them that's all ." he confessed