#cw: verbal abuse

[residentfromnowhere]

| CLICKED | PART: 2

ModernAU!SanemiShinaguzawaXAFABReader

TW: Narcissism, Threats, Mentions of Manipulation, minor violence, Mentions of Verbal Abuse, mentions of Mental abuse and Angst

“What? What the fuck did you just say?”

With the initial shock now gone, you slowly straighten yourself and a calm feeling washes over you. “Let’s break up.” You say while continuing to keep eye contact with him. At first, he laughed. Thinking it was just a joke but when he looked back at you to see your once angered face turn into an almost icy look, he stopped laughing. All of these years of dating and he’s never seen you like this nor heard you speak like this. He’s used to you being docile and letting things like his shitty mood and horrible playboy behavior slide so imagine the shock he felt when he seen that you were serious.

The silence between you too was deafening but you couldn’t careless. It was as if you were going through the five stages of grief but instead skipped to the in between of depression and acceptance. You didn’t know wether to laugh or cry but knew you were done. Done with the lies, the gaslighting, the constant feeling of walking on eggshells, all of it. You were no longer able to react to him and his antics. So now, you’re doing what you should have done years ago, breaking it off.

“Stop fucking with me.” He says with a half serious half humored tone. “You don’t want to leave me.” When he looked to see if you had reacted, he was met with the same icy look as before which made him straighten himself up. “You can’t. You have no where to go and no one to go to. Unless you have money to pack up your shit and leave my place, you’re stuck with me.” He says with a shit faced smirk. It quickly faded though once you started to pickup your purse and stand up from your seat. He didn’t like this.

“Then I’ll leave.”

He froze. You? Leave him? What the fuck was going on? The indifference wasn’t something he was used to. He would never admit it but he loved getting reactions out of you. Whether its distress, anger, sadness or even hatred, it gave him a thrill. He never imagined you pulling the plug and completely checking out of the relationship. You were supposed to be the submissive type. The type that was just happy to be there and not speak up, not this. This was not a part of the plan. THIS was not how he was about to be dumped.

“Really? You’re leaving me over some stupid fucking joke?” He says as he slams his hands on the table, making several people turn around. You don’t know what came over you but you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you looked over your shoulder and sighed. Your facial expression made him shudder and angered him at the same time. It wasn’t one of sadness or anger, it was one of pity and regret and he couldn’t handle being pitied.

“I’ll find a ride home and by the time you get back, me and my stuff will be gone.” You say while leaving the table. “Like hell it will be, Y/N. sit back down and talk to me!” He says through gritted teeth as he suddenly grabs your arm and snatches you backwards, almost causing you to fall. “Who the fuck do you think you a-“

As if something came over you, you instinctively swung around and threw a punch. It must of landed because you suddenly felt your arm being freed. As your right fist connected to the left side of his jaw, a pop could be heard across the restaurant which made everyone gasp and stand up. His face started to twist as the realization hits him that you damn near knocked him out and that you were never weak, just unwilling to stoop to his violent level.

Before he could get up, you were gone and security stepped in to remove him. You quickly left and as he was being detained, you could hear him screeching in the background insults and “you will be back, you always come back!” over and over again. You don’t stop though, you just hurry and try to make it back before he does.

It’s been almost two hours since and you’re almost fully packed. Memories good and bad flood your mind as you pick up the remains bags of the floor. You do one last look around before You quickly grab your bags, and start heading out the back. Your phone has been ringing off the hook since you left and you weren’t planning on giving him the time of day. You were tired of it all and the last thing you needed was to be manipulated into staying once again. This was it. This was the last time.

As you walk out the door, you spot a picture frame with the first photo you both took together years prior. You shake any thoughts of staying out of your head and proceed to close the door behind you. This was your fresh start and the beginning to a new and amazing life. Little did you know that your absence will be the beginning of the end for Sanemi.

#Nowhere’s Library 📚 #Navis Drabbles #Kny Drabble #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #cw: violence #cw: narcissism #cw: abuse #cw: verbal abuse #kny angst #kny anime #sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi headcanons #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu sanemi #ModernAu!Sanemi #Demon Slayer #demon slayer fic #kny fic

[crimsonwing]

Finally getting home, Thomas was met with a familiar yet undesired sight. People coming from town to bother them was always a pain in the neck.

As the men left, he could hear them taunt his grandmother :

"Just remember we got an eye on you, bitch!" Finalmente llegando a casa, Thomas se topó con una imagen familiar y muy molesta. La gente que venía del pueblo a fastidiar siempre era un dolor de cabeza. Thomas pudo oír claramente a los hombres amenazar a su abuela mientras se retiraban. "Solo recuerda que te tenemos el ojo encima, perra."

#crimson wing #mermay #mermaids call #cw: verbal abuse

[kissmeau]

Sometimes I remember how hard Roman was on Autumn for the sake of Autumn's own improvement, self-protection, and safety, and I realize that Autumn is better off out of relationships because he might lose his temper and physically and verbally abuse their partner for the sake of them toughening up, or trying to get a message across.

Autumn's abuse wouldn't be a power game but a wake-up call. Unfortunately, the way he sees reality isn't shared by many, and if they disagree with him and put themselves in danger, he won't do nice-talking expecting the best. He knows he can't protect his loved one at all times, so he needs to make sure they're not willingly taking punches and have some sort of awareness that they don't deserve any form of mistreatment.

Autumn must be in relationships with people who have been around life like his and are ready to fight him back from the very beginning of a conversation. Basically, share the same level of toxicity and violence to keep the waters calm, creating that illusion of a healthy dynamic.

#❜ ─ Autumn ; headcanon ─ ❛ #cw: violence #cw: physical abuse #cw: verbal abuse

[questioningespecialy]

The descriptions of abuse on the private flight came in a cross-complaint Jolie filed in the couple’s dispute over a French home and winery they co-owned that is separate from their ongoing divorce, which she sought soon after. (...) A judge gave Pitt 50-50 custody of the children after a closed-door trial in which the allegations were aired. But an appeals court subsequently disqualified the private judge for not disclosing possible conflicts of interest after a motion from Jolie, nullifying the decision. The New York Times first reported the court filing. The filing says that on Sept. 14, 2016, Jolie, Pitt and their six children were traveling from the winery, Chateau Miraval, to Los Angeles. “Pitt’s aggressive behavior started even before the family got to the airport, with Pitt having a confrontation with one of the children. After the flight took off, Jolie approached Pitt and asked him what was wrong,” the filing says. “Pitt accused her of being too deferential to the children and verbally attacked her.” Later, it says, “He pulled her into the bathroom and began yelling at her. Pitt grabbed Jolie by the head and shook her, and then grabbed her shoulders and shook her again before pushing her into the bathroom wall.” One of the children, who were between 8 and 15 years old at the time, verbally defended Jolie, the countersuit says, and Pitt lashed out. “Pitt lunged at his own child and Jolie grabbed him from behind to stop him. To get Jolie off his back, Pitt threw himself backwards into the airplane’s seats injuring Jolie’s back and elbow,” the filing says. “The children rushed in and all bravely tried to protect each other. Before it was over, Pitt choked one of the children and struck another in the face.” The document says he subsequently poured beer on Jolie and poured beer and red wine on the children. (...) They had been romantic partners for a decade when they married in 2014. Jolie filed for divorce in 2016, and a judge declared them single in 2019, but the divorce case has not been finalized with custody and financial issues still in dispute.

—Andrew Dalton (with Anthony McCartney contributions) | published 3:06 AM UTC, October 5, 2022

#news #cw: verbal abuse #cw: child abuse #cw: physical abuse #domestic violence #abuse allegations #abuse #allegations #Brad Pitt #Angelina Jolie #celebrities #Andrew Dalton #Jolie details Brad Pitt abuse allegations in court filing #apnews.com #just now learning of this shit #Waving the Red Flag #The Apology.

[sparedareitspiecesasitflies]

Margaret painted her lips delicately ignoring Jewel like an unwanted house plant. 

“Come on Jewel.” Her voice was laced with sweetened candy.

It’s like they never split. Leaning on the past relationship like it wasn’t a trash fire. And the heap didn’t make them utterly bitter for months. 

 “My political career is important. And I couldn’t soil it being the only person who voted against your sentence.” She mused with a pout.

Pretending to be mournful. 

“Besides, they would have questioned me given our history. It’s a bad look, honey.” She stepped up from her vanity and prepared for her gig.

Walking over to Jewel in the corner with a lit cigarette. 

“Ya, know how killer this job is, everyone's at each others throats.” Her ex puts out the lit cigarette onto Jewel’s collar bone. 

And just started to hear the silent hissing. Jewel fist balled. And all she felt was rage at being ignored and treated so coldly. 

Margaret hummed. Amused at how long Jewel was keeping things together. 

“Guess that’s the difference between us then.” She smiles, throwing her cig into the trash.

“You boll in anger. Like a steaming pot really.” Margaret said, being as sharp as ever.

“I simmer slowly.” She added some twinge of spite in her eyes.

Jewel grabs her by the neck of her dress. Pressing her ever forward towards Jewel. So, she could yell.

“I Helped you with your career and your hobbies! Killed together. And I hid crimes for you.” Jewel wanted to scream. 

It felt like a waste of time. If she wasn’t even willing to even care for her. Even if they weren't together anymore. She thought her life at least mattered to Margaret. 

Margaret laughs. She laughs loudly. Not taking Jewel anger seriously. 

“People kill for me as a greeting, love. Step up your game.” She said with menace. 

Quick to dress herself around Jewel grasped. 

“It’s not like you were the only one to help me advise my work. Get in line if you want some sort of severance.” Margaret finishes with her giggle. 

Jewel drops her. Letting Margaret land on her feet. 

“And do you treat everyone this way?” Jewel huffed up in panic. 

Margaret tries her best not to laugh again. “No.”

“No, Honey. I don’t” She sounds almost giddy. 

“I do treat Jewel the unwanted brat.” Margaret watched as Jewel covered her ears.

“No, No you need to hear this.” She tries to grip Jewel’s wrist.

Fighting her strength to put distance between her hands and ears.

“Jewel, The little brat. That little rat who was abandoned by daddy.”

“Shut up-” Jewel croaked.

Regretting.

“You want to know why!” Margaret's facade drops to reveal rage.

Her pure anger is evident in her red eyes. 

“Because you ruin everything. You’ve ruined everything” She declares in fury.

“I was a politician until you burned it all to the ground.” 

“All because your little family didn’t love you.” Her lips quiver. 

“Now I work at dive bars. Hoping my music career takes off.” She huffs. 

“I’m glad we were able to sentence you before that pathetic state dissolved. And I am pissed that you didn’t die.” Margaret hissed.

 With the last biting words. Everything goes red. Barely heard is the sound of the scuffle. Before Jewel simply disappeared from the scene. When she is finally capable of pulling herself back.

#long post #drabble #cw: verbal abuse #lore :>

[norskheks]

random personal shit about my family and Christmas but it's too long for twitter:

My mom and I are White Christmas Lights people. My dad is Colored Christmas Lights people. He is also an asshole and doesn't care that much about Christmas (those 2 facts are unrelated to each other but both related to this story), whereas Christmas is my mom's and my favorite holiday and we both fucking adore it.

This year, my mom decided to buy a new artificial Christmas tree with lights that can change color. I anticipated a Lights War (like a thermostat war), but my mom thinks that after almost 40 years of white lights on the tree, she owes it to my dad to allow him to enjoy the colored lights on the tree.

Now, if my dad were a good husband, good dad, and(/or, even) a nice, gracious person who came to conflicts like this in the spirit of compromise and harmony, I would agree. As it were, he is none of those things. And she owes him nothing, and less.

Owes him! For almost 40 years of verbal abuse, denigrations and putdowns?! For 23 years of barely lifting a hand to help raise two children?! For almost 40 years of his housework contributions mainly being... some laundry, and mowing the lawn?? For almost 40 years of putting his dirty dishes next to the sink, not in the sink, not intending to do them later, but fully intending her to do them? For almost 40 years of bland cooking for his racist picky-eater ass because he refused to learn how to cook his own damn meals?!

But she owes some colored lights to him?! Nahhhhhh. White lights every year for the rest of her life is the fucking LEAST he owes her.

So tonight I came downstairs and the colored lights were on on the freshly-decorated (by mom, of course) tree. My parents went out to a concert and like 0.5 seconds after the door closed, I turned the lights to white, so I could properly see all the ornaments. (Side note: she does not seem to have hung the Schitt's Creek ornament she gifted me last year, so I'll have to remedy that as well.)

It looks like I am fighting the Lights War myself this year. So be it. I'm ready.

#cw: abuse #cw: verbal abuse #cw: sexism #personal #do not reblarg pls

[jade-island-lives]

The Nimbus Saga: The Long Winter: 9-7-22

This world was not made for him. This was a world where people relied on herbs and potions for ailments and injury. The food, while delicious, was not something his stomach, let alone his heart, was used to.

 Aither craved the foods of his home so strongly sometimes. He wanted to tuck into a hot bowl of black bean noodles cooked in scallion oil with a dash of chili oil. Dumplings filled with leeks and pork, bao buns filled with barbecued pork, fresh vegetables such as pea pods and lotus root cooked in a well-seasoned wok.

  And oh, how he missed mantou most of all. Plain or glazed, didn’t matter. The light, slightly sweet buns her welcome. He hated his mother but by god if she didn’t make good mantou. He went to the family gatherings just for them, just to stuff his pockets and bolt before his mother could catch him.

Of course, his mother knew his love for the buns. That’s why she made them. So he would come and so she could make an example of him. Even when he wasn’t considered her son, she needed to make an example out of him for the kids. As an example of who, or what, not to become.

But Aither loved them too much. Not because it was his mother’s mantou, but his grandmother’s. Whenever he ate it, he would be transported to a safer more innocent time of pinched cheeks and extra food under the nose of a watchful mother.

My Ko-Fi

#writing #writeblr #writing community #the nimbus saga #the long winter #hurt #comfort #cw: emotional manipulation #cw: child abuse #cw: verbal abuse

[kodasea]

I'll kill you

#kodasea #own art #own character #art #artists on tumblr #2021 art #cold case crew #cold case detective #phantom #lawrence #felicia #sequential art #An Office meme that got too much investment #cw rot #cw verbal abuse #cw blood

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Hey guys today I am writing a better scene than Vivziepop!

This is for a sort of rewrite thing I’m doing so a little bit of context, this is set mid-season after episode 4 (which I have also changed) and for the stuff with Angel’s leg at the start, he sprained it a few weeks ago and is still dealing with that. There was also all this as a bit of a prologue to this writing so read if you’d like. Warning for more threats and verbal abuse

This writing is a scene that includes abuse from Valentino in a way that doesn’t fetishize his actions with a weird music video or write him off to be funny when he’s off doing something else. I want to write him threatening, manipulative, and aggressive. So again warnings for verbal and physical abuse as well as manipulation and a bit of gore. I also wanted to tackle how Charlie behaves because in the show she is terrible at helping for some reason.

Hopefully this is a not awful read, but I’ve been wanting to get some of my rewrite stuff out really bad. Also I love getting feedback please lmk if you have anything to say about my stuff

#hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #angel dust #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin angel dust #hazbin angel #angel dust hazbin #anti vivziepop #hazbin rewrite #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel rework #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin #hazbin charlie #charlie hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #tw abuse #tw physical abuse #tw verbal abuse #tw valentino #cw valentino #val hazbin #hazbin val #hazbin valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #val hazbin hotel #valentino #tw blood

[thylaseraph]

JANUARY, 1995

It’s a shooting day and Dean’s ears are ringing with the pop of the .22 that’s growing heavy in his hands. At Bobby’s house he always has to wear earmuffs when he shoots; usually Dean complains because they look stupid, but right now his ears are so frozen he’s wishing he had a pair of his own.

He points the muzzle at the ground and shakes his head out, cupping a stiff hand to his cheek. There’s exactly zero blood flow happening in his face, and the cold makes each shot ring out so loudly he has to try not to flinch. And his socks are wet. Pretty miserable shit.

John’s on his way back from replacing the target, face grim.

“How’d I do?” Dean calls. Too loud, judging from the way his dad scowls.

“You’re blowing through ammo and you only got six on the page.”

Dean slumps. “Crap.”

“Yeah, it is. You need to get your shit together, I can tell your heart isn’t in this. You reload yet?”

Dean sniffles, even though he can’t feel his nose, either. “No.”

“No?”

“No, sir.”

“So get going. Show me you can do better.”

Dean’s fingers feel like ten useless icicles. He slides the chamber open and clink-clink-clinks ten bullets inside, then carefully closes the action. The Beretta is a testy bitch that jams constantly. Dad only trusts it for training and seems likely to chuck it soon.

He barely seems affected by the chill. Mostly he looks bored. “Go on and take a few steps forward. Ladies’ tee until you get ‘em all on the page, and then we’ll think about moving you back again.”

Dean’s skin crawls with embarrassment and he wants to protest—he could do better if it were warmer and if he weren’t so tired already—but obediently he moves closer to the target.

“Alright.”

He raises the gun and clicks the safety off. He’s probably more cautious with it than John cares, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

The target is a sheet of paper with orange circles pinned to a stump surrounded by casings. He lines the center up in his sight and then aims a little lower to compensate because the Beretta shoots high. God, if Dean could get his hands on that ivory-grip Colt, he’d die happy.

He empties her out, gets about nine bullets on the page. Four of them land tight in the center. The stray shot is only because he overcorrected his aim at first.

He turns back to his dad with a grin on his face, feeling pretty proud. There’s a pleasant buzz of warm feeling in his nose and eartips along with the ringing in his ears as he traipses back to the ammo box. “Not so crappy, huh?”

John shakes his head. “Dunno where you learned to be such a brag.”

“What am I supposed to be, humble? Pass.” He squats by the box, breathing on his numb hands before delicately picking up the bullets. “Hard pass.”

“Being humble is what keeps you alive. Nine out of ten only seems good on a target that doesn’t move. It isn’t your best—or it shouldn’t be.” John’s silence is as unforgiving as his voice. Dean watches his words sink through the winter air like smoke.“We stay here until you can actually hit what you’re aiming at.”

Through no fault of his own, Dean’s mouth is suddenly letting loose the complaint he’s been trying to hold in. “Come on, give me a break, Dad. It’s freezing, and I’m tired, and I’m about to have frostbite on my carpal tunnel. I feel like I can barely pull the damn trigger!”

His father’s boots crush against the frozen ground louder than a gun. He looks up quickly, stomach dropping. Dad and his rifle make a stark silhouette against the cold white sky above.

“You don’t ever speak to me like that again. You sound like your brother, like some insolent child, not a man I’d trust with my weapon. I know I taught you better than this. When lives depend on you, are you still gonna be making excuses? Are you gonna be whining about the weather when it’s your bad aim that gets somebody killed? Is it gonna be the trigger’s fault when you get yourself killed?”

“No, sir,” Dean replies, heart beating in his throat.

“You’re laughing, you’re fucking around, I can see you’re not taking this seriously. You still don’t understand the stakes. Think about Sam—you know whose fault it’ll be if you can’t take care of him or the lives you say you want to protect?”

“My fault, sir. Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Don’t be begging for respect when you haven’t earned it. The only reason we’re still out here is you. You being cold and tired right now is on you. This is all in your control. Your life is in your own hands, nobody else’s. Do you understand that?”

His eyes are so heavy.

Dean nods and looks down, unable to speak. He is so stupid.

The dry air is hurting his head; he won’t be surprised if they get back to the cabin and find Sam with a bloody nose. Kid’s got a fragile sinus. The sooner Dean makes this, the sooner they can get back. He loads fast.

“Sam told me that you went hunting,” John says, tone slipping back to conversational.

“Yeah,” Dean says, grateful as he slides the clip home. “Bobby showed us how to do animal calls.”

“Being able to hunt and eat what you’ve killed is important. For when you have to keep yourself fed, but for building character, too. A hunter should be able to hunt.”

“And fish,” Dean adds. “Hey, we should go again soon.”

John nods, the barest hint of warmth. “My point is, everything you need to survive should be in your power. Your gun is your second most important tool after grit. Even when you won’t know if you will survive, you have to know that you can survive.”

Dean nods, and after a few seconds of silence, he supplies, “Bobby makes good venison chili.” He doesn’t mention that Bobby specifically said John was not invited to any of his suppers.

“You get one?” John asks. “A deer?”

Dean stands slowly, thumbing the safety. He doesn’t click it off, yet, and he keeps it pointed at the ground. Like Bobby keeps cussing him out about. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Dean’s mouth is sour, the pit in his stomach is growing again, and somehow he’s sweating. John sounds like he knows the answer why.

Dean clicks the safety off and Dad doesn’t even look twice, just waits. Dean walks back to his spot and gets into position. Behind him, John sighs. He sounds so tired.

“If you can’t even kill a deer, how do you think you’re gonna be able to shoot things that look human?”

Dean aims at the target and tries to breathe. The freeze is in his lungs, now, January’s teeth seizing his insides so every inhale is sharp. The target wavers in his sight as he tries to keep his hands still. It’s just an orange circle. Just a tree stump. Just practice, so he’s fine.

He exhales slowly, finger curling around the trigger. He’s fine and he’s got this.

“I mean, what am I supposed to think, Deanna,” John says lowly, voice pinched with disappointment, “you tell me you want me to treat you like a man, but you can’t even—”

Dean fires, ten rounds in steady, thundering succession until the ringing in his ears drowns out the sound of the chamber clicking empty.

The target is in tatters. He thinks they all landed.

His chest is still tight, and raw, and like maybe something has shaken loose or broken free. With shaking hands, he zips up his jacket, and then he turns and walks to his father’s side.

“It’s Dean,” he says thinly. He clears his throat and adds, “Sir.”

John’s looking at him and Dean can’t make out what’s going on behind his eyes. After a moment he nods, and then jerks his head toward their gear. “Pack up.”

As Dean’s cleaning up—collecting fallen casings and discarded targets, and making sure every gun is unloaded and every safety is on because Sam always pokes around even when they tell him not to—John claps him on the shoulder. His voice is soft again.

“I’m just worried about you, I need you to know that. I want you to be able to take care of yourself and Sammy when I’m not around. This world is mean, and cold, and it’ll tear you apart. I can be hard on you kids…I push you too hard, I know it, and it still won’t be enough to keep you safe. And that kills me.”

John cups the back of his head. Dean meets his eyes and sees a world in there that he can’t begin to fathom. “You did good today, Dean, really good. I don’t want you to think I have any doubts—about how strong you are, and how brave. And I trust I can depend on you, son.”

Somewhere inside Dean, a knot loosens, like he’s finally been allowed to breathe a little. It’s good.

#repost from my old blog #trans dean winchester #transphobia #misgendering #deadnaming #parental abuse #verbal abuse #forced masculinzation emotional stunting meow meow meow #bound for the floor by local h released 1996 changing nothing in deans life but becoming a soundtrack #dean: i earned respect! john: if i push him hard enough he will kill so good :3 #ficlet #supernatural #trans dean #cw misgendering #tw misgendering #deadname #tw gun mention #tw gun use #mine

[marblebagcollective]

cprimetober day 4 - with friends like these . . . (verbal abuse , fighting , destruction of property)

went mainly with the verbal abuse aspect of this prompt . cdreams way of verbally abusing ctommy, esp during exile is like.... crazy to me bc its so subtle but so clearly there .!!!!!!. this was based off this clip.

#c!tommy #dsmp #cprimeboys #cprimetober #i meant to draw a like #little thing of cdream woth this but i forgot #anyways u guys get ctommy and cdream green text and a exile clip #dream smp #cdiscduo #c!discduo #exile arc #abuse cw #verbal abuse #ctommy #c!tommy hurt #dsmp tommy #exile ctommy #also just eo this is clear not saying cconnor abused ctommy here or whatver like yea its a kinda dick move but ey cconnor juet got there #this is considered verbal abuse to me from cdream bc he did thie A Lot and also the spefically bringing up ctubbo #like . he did Not have to do that. to further put ctommy down

[beanyboi173thegoober]

My latest post/reblog made me want to talk about something that Malevolent fans have probably all thought about, but I haven't seen it voiced yet.

While John and Arthur both have their individual character flaws, like John's insensitivity and Arthur's selfishness, they both, as a whole, are flawed in a way that makes me ache with a want to get them some goddamn therapy.

Arthur and John have a tendency to lash out on the other. Arthur himself has stated that he has said harmful things to John simply because he had no other outlet for his anger. John has abused Arthur's trust by weaponising Arthur's trauma against him. Both of these characters are toxic towards the other, switching from friendly to hostile with the flip of a switch.

Yet they cannot leave eachother. They can't have breaks to think and reflect on what they've said, they can't have privacy, they suffer through traumatic event after traumatic event, and neither can physically function without the other. They are forced to rely on eachother. They can't trust eachother, yet they have to. Any time they reveal something personal, it gets used against them. Any time they don't, the other gripes about it.

I have been a mediator for a very long time now, and I've actually began to study psychology. The research I've done, live study or written information, doesn't even compare to the dripping, deeply set knowledge of just how fucked up these two people are. They need eachother, and they hate eachother. They have a toxic codependency that disgusts me to think about.

Two people, forced together, forced to trust the other, no matter how much verbal abuse they may shoot back and forth, and forced to cooperate despite that abuse.

It's sickening, and yet the fictional narrative it's in is inciting, and so, we all must grin and bear it.

So yes, I will continue to call Arthur my baby girl, and John is my little silly, but deep down, I will know how fucked they act towards eachother, and I will despise it.

#malevolent podcast #malevolent #arthur lester malevolent #arthur malevolent #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #cw verbal abuse #cw toxic relationship #cw toxic friendship #cw codependency #grinding my teeth #in frustration

[ask-meowscarada]

( Previously, from @askthepaldeanpassenger )

Prince: “Evolving is actually really important with my family. It's almost, like, expected that you'll evolve one day. The sooner the better, too.” Maria: “It is... a complicated situation. The expectation is always present, but all of the cousins admire the older family members. They want to evolve and be like those in the generations before them, but... There is not really a choice being made in the matter.” Prince: “What about you, though? How did you come to evolve? Were you as cute as *me* before? Heehee!”

Finding the joy has quickly vanished from her face, Charade casts a gaze at Maria, giving the Umbreon a deliberate, knowing stare. She musters up a sad smile before turning her attention back on Prince, gently giving him a fond ruffle on the head.

Charade: “Your family is very important to you, isn't it? Here's a little story about me. When I was a kitten, my... family... was important to me, too. They wanted me to evolve so I could be a strong battler when I grew up. And I thought that's what I wanted! I thought I wanted to evolve and make the family proud.”

Charade: “Here's the thing: your family shouldn't make you feel pressured into doing what they want you to do. In my case, not evolving would have been... unacceptable. They were a terrible family for a lot of reasons, but that was one of them!”

Charade's expression turns to disgust, briefly enough that it was possible for Prince to miss it as just as quickly, a cunning smile appears beneath the Meowscarada's mask. As she speaks, her eyes flicker over to Maria several times.

Charade: “I did feel some regrets when I was a Floragato. But when I evolved into Meowscarada, it was because I wanted to. I haven't regretted my evolution at all since then! And, I found a family that loves me for who I am. Remember that, Prince! You're allowed to decide who your family really is.”

#(( her smile and optimism: gone )) #(( this ended up being slightly more plot heavy than intended )) #(( but i let this response sit for long enough LOL )) #(( i LOVE PRINCE SO MUCH AEEGHGHG )) #charade meowscarada #prince sprigatito #maria umbreon #replies #long post #ic #cw eye strain #cw verbal abuse #cw language #ScaredyCat

[annie-of-the-arts]

[begin id: a comic of the slimecicle bg3 gang, done in a simple, sketchy style with the sketch layer still visible. it goes as follows:

Xiv looks up and is shown from the side. They're saying "(caps) aaah (end caps) you guys it'll be fine, don't even worry about iit! completely fine with doing this by myself!!" They turn around and continue with "(caps) Plus! (end caps) It's like my papa always said!! It zooms out to Xiv holding their hands together, eyes shut as they say " "Do it yourself, you asking for help makes you look like a pathetic weakling, and you'll never be as powerful as papa!!" and if i still bothered him he'd usually-" Before being cut off by simplified doodles of Tal and Klip saying, in all caps "Xiv what." Rai is standing with a pursed lip between the two of them, equally shocked.

It cuts to Tal, Rai, and Klip in that order all with varying levels of concern on their face. Tal, with an alarmed smile, says "uh, xiv. buddy. not to alarm you but that isnt. good behavior. my mom the best women i know would never say that to me." Rai, a bit calmer but still suprised, says "yeah uh i never. really knew my own parents but thats? kinda really bad? like your dad seems real mean." Klip, tilting his head down a bit, says "Xiv, that's verbal abuse and your dad deserves to be deep fried in oil." [Additionally, on the sketch layer, you can see that there's handwritten text that reads "nat 20s all across the board."

Xiv pauses, completely suprised by the genuine responses of concern from their friends. They then begin shaking, tears in their eyes as they say "Ah. Uh. Well. Can I get a hug." and Tal responds "yeah cmere." /end description]

why do all of my xiv sketches end up with the most evil angst i could possibly do. anyway xiv getting support from their friends please and thank you

[reblogs > likes | if you like and don't reblog i will curse your bloodline. your bloodline will be cursed!! curses like step on lego]

#artists on tumblr #image described art #described art #accsesible art #slimecicle bg3 #bg3 slimecicle #hows everypony doing ^_^ #bg3 slimecicle fanart #slimecicle fanart #cw abuse #abuse cw #familial abuse cw #fatherly abuse cw #verbal abuse cw #<- all jic

[ardenwritesegos]

Starlight

Warning: Verbal abuse

Another day, another bout of chaos. Dark should know to expect nothing less from the Ipliers. All the more reason for a daily evaluation. If he didn’t, the mansion would likely burst into flames. Hell, it nearly did at one point. Damn Wilford and his ability to summon flame throwers at will. No matter. There were far more important things to dwell on. Or rather, far more important people. 

The being continued through the halls of the manor, entering room after room. The Googles were searching their online systems for useful information. Dr. Iplier was organizing yet another stack of files detailing the egos’ medical accidents. Everything seemed to be in order. At least, for the time being. 

The creature was soon finished with his inspection, moseying down the hall to his office. As they did, however, one of the doors opened. Someone exited from it in a rush. Eric Derekson. The shy Iplier held a stack of paper tightly in his arms, muttering something to himself. In his hurry, Eric practically rammed into Dark. The documents flew out of his hold, scattering in different directions. As Derekson looked up, the being could see the terror in his face.

“I’m-I’m sorry!” Eric stuttered quickly. 

“I was trying to memorize my script for today, and–” 

“Stop,” Dark interrupted, attempting to be as calm as possible.

Typically, the being would have no issue striking fear into the egos to keep them in line. This one, however, wasn’t like the others. 

Derekson did not contain the outward confidence or fearlessness of an Iplier. He was fragile as an egg, flinching at the slightest sound. The ego could barely speak without questioning every word. It was almost a saddening sight. Almost. “No harm has been done,” the being reassured Eric. The mist of their aura picked up Eric’s papers, handing the stack to Derekson. “You should find them in order,” Dark explained as the other checked his documents. The shy Iplier looked on in confusion, not seeming to expect the kindness. Dark couldn’t blame him. Not with the demon’s reputation in the manor. 

“Th-Thank you,” Eric said quietly, a bit calmer. 

“You’re welcome,” the creature responded. “Now, go. Derek is surely waiting for you.”

“Yeah...right,” Derekson ran along to his errand. Dark couldn’t help but notice an extra shakiness from Eric at the mention of his father. Something about that was all too familiar to the being.

My Starlight

They shook it off, returning to his room. It wasn’t their problem to solve.

[Meanwhile]

The creature sat at their desk, sorting another week’s worth of incidents from Dr. Iplier. As usual, it was a mountainous pile. However, Dark didn’t find it to be too much. He could get through papers like this rather quickly, after all. Before Dark could continue, he was interrupted by yelling that boomed from across the hall. The being knew all too well where it was coming from. They made their way across the hall, stopping midway at a door. On it was a poorly-constructed sign, reading Derekson Studio. Screaming continued from behind the door. Dark focused, until they could see the inside.

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this!” Derek boomed at the timid ego. 

“All ya gotta do is say some lines for stuff that practically sells itself,” he said matter-of-factly, as if it were that simple for everyone. 

“What dontcha understand?!”

“I-I-I,” Eric stuttered, shaking harder than a leaf. “M-Maybe I’m just not-just not cut out for this,” he began to fidget with the orange towel in his hand. Derekson always seemed to have that cloth near him. None of the others ever knew why, nor did they care enough to ask. “ If you asked my brothers, they-they’d say the same thing,” Eric added. “Merrick would–”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Derek interrupted, instantly silencing his son. “You think I wouldn’t rather have Merrick do this?!” he boomed. “But he ain’t here, so you’re the only option I got!” Eric cowered more with each word. “So just get up there and get it together!” At those words, Dark was sent into one of the soul’s memories. 

A little boy was with his father, practicing for a speech, his first as class president. Like Eric, the child struggled to get the words out. For every mistake, his dad forced him to start over. The father quickly became more aggravated with each stutter or lengthy pause. 

“Get it together, boy!” the parent barked. “How are you going to be a politician if you can’t speak to a crowd?!” the boy had previously voiced his desire to be a leader of some kind. He wanted to help people in any way he could. In his mind, politics seemed like the best way to do that. At the time, however, he felt as if he wasn’t cut out for it. 

“B-but, everyone will be staring at me,” the child stammered, hands restless in their folded position. 

“That’s the point!” the man’s voice could be heard throughout the house. Maybe even the neighborhood. Regardless, the boy knew nobody would say a word. The man of the house had to keep order, after all. “What about that do you not understand?!”

“I understand, but–” the child mumbled, on the verge of tears. 

“Then act like it and say the damned words!” the father swore.

With a shake of their head, Dark was brought back to reality. Noise like that could not be tolerated. It was a distraction that could lead the entire manor off-track. He opened the door, immediately silencing Derek. The man may have been too stubborn for his own good, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew very well that this being was not to be messed with. 

“Hello, Derekson,” Dark greeted the father with his usual cold indifference. 

“Uh…hello there, boss,” one could practically see the sweat dripping off the salesman. 

“What brings you here?” 

“You have caused a bit of noise, Derek,” the creature folded their arms behind their back. 

“S-so sorry, sir,” the father apologized. “I was just,uh, trying to motivate my son, here,” he put an arm on Eric’s shoulder, causing the boy to flinch.

“I highly doubt that shouting is adequate motivation,” they said, matter-of-factly. 

“Well actually, it works quite well for–”

“Could you leave the room for a moment?” Dark asked, interrupting Derek.

“What?” Derek responded, face freezing in confusion. 

“I would like to speak with Eric, alone,” the being ordered calmly, yet somehow also firmly.

“But sir, he doesn’t do good on his own,” Derek protested, clearly trying hard not to burst out in anger. 

“He will not be by himself, Derek,” Dark reassured, voice still emotionless. “Now, run along,” the creature ordered. “A new shipment was warped in for you.” 

“Uh…Yes sir,” the father said after several moments of hesitation. As the door clicked shut, Dark made their way towards the boy. He remained in front of the green screen, shaking like a leaf, sure that he was in trouble. The being stopped in front of him. 

“You are not in trouble, Eric,” the creature reassured, able to hear Derekson’s thoughts. 

“I’m-I’m not?” he asked, as if he wasn’t used to such a statement. Dark feels a tugging in his chest at that.

“Derek was the cause of that...noise, not you,” they sighed, careful with their choice of words. The boy was already overwhelmed. He didn’t need to magnify the situation.

“But…he did that because of me,” Eric looked down in shame, hands repeatedly wringing around his orange cloth. Dark could see tears starting to form in the boy’s eyes. “If I hadn’t m-messed up my lines, he would-wouldn’t have had to–”

“You didn’t make him do anything,” the being blurted out, no control over their words. They wanted to move away, but found their aura keeping them in place. While they couldn’t see the color of it, they could tell which one it was. Dammit! Fully under the blue soul’s control, the being put their arms around Derekson. The blue soul then pushed a calming aura into Eric. All at once, the boy’s tension disappeared. His muscles eased. The mental swarming in his head went silent, allowing him to, for once in his life, think clearly. Eric returned the hug, wrapping the creature in a nearly choking embrace. He looked up at Dark.

“Why…” Derekson paused, sniffling away the remains of his tears. “Why does he hate me?” The blue soul remembered asking that exact question. 

A young boy clings to his mother, crying his little eyes out. Father is not around, so he can do so without getting disciplined. 

“Mother, why does he hate me?!” the child choked out. 

“Because he is a fool, starlight,” the woman, the boy’s mother, replied softly. “Anyone would be well-off knowing you,” she rubbed soothing circles into the boy's back. 

“But…he says I cry too much,” the boy weakly argued.

“Because he has the emotions of a doll,” the mother scoffed. Her warm gaze remained directly on her son. “You, my dear, are a wonder.” 

“Because he has the empathy of a mannequin,” the being responded, answer still out of his control.  

“It’s-it’s not his fault, though,” Eric stumbled out. “I mean, everyone else died-”

“That is no excuse for a man to treat his child like that,” the blue soul interrupted. The blue in his aura grew brighter with every second of rage. “His only remaining child, no less…” the soul took a calming breath, trying again to keep his composure in front of the already overwhelmed boy. Eventually, his light was no longer blinding. Regardless, it remained lit like a halo; a comforting, guiding light. Eric couldn’t help but stare. In that gaze, the soul saw the innocence of his past. The kindness. The plea for someone to listen. 

The weakness. 

The soul’s control was ripped from him in an instant. Dark blinked hard, blue outline once again blending with red and gray. The creature quickly but gently removed their arms from Eric, moving them behind their back.

“I will speak to Derek about his…” Dark paused, searching for a careful word. 

“Behavior. Mistreatment of employees, related or otherwise, will not be tolerated in this manor,” The being walked towards the door, but stopped before turning the knob. 

“And Eric,” Dark turns slightly to look at Derekson. 

“Yeah?” Eric forced the word out of his mouth. This Dark was drastically different from the Dark of moments ago. 

“If you should need advice on public speech, I have prior experience that could be to your benefit,” Dark suggested. 

“But be sure to advise me beforehand.” 

“Really? Uh, thanks,” Eric wrung the fabric in his hand like he was getting water out. This time, however, it wasn’t completely out of nerves. With that, the creature exited, on his way to have a few choice words with Derek. 

#markiplier #markiplier fanfiction #darkiplier #eric derekson #father-son esque relationship #this is not me shipping them! #I will protect this parental relationship with my soul! #This was in my online documents for over a year #and I finally got the motivation to finish it #puppeteer with a pencil #cw verbal abuse

[nick-close]

Sometimes you need a good trauma vent au and for me that’s with Glenn, after prison where instead of wanting to kill his dad in revenge he just is so tired of how his life went to shit and decides to see if he can just. Be with his dad again and run scams like they used to because at least he’s with him, that’s all they used to have anyways- not like Glenn has anything else.

I like the idea Bill shit talked Christine to Glenn a LOT. She had to do the hard parts of parenting while he did all the fun stuff- took Glenn on random vacations- was also immature and kept the kid upstairs in his room while throwing a party with some friends- but overall it could be explained away as fun and chill ‘loosen up’ shit. Christine meanwhile was ‘always nagging’ (trying to be responsible) and ‘bleeding him dry’ (asking for financial support for their child.) In my heart I think Glenn was always kept under his thumb Yknow? And the fact he didn’t see his dad super often emphasized the appeal. He was a daddy’s boy who maybe didn’t start unpacking his trauma until his dad DIED. Only realized he might’ve sucked after talking to Morgan about it. I mean we see Glenn jump between aggressively hating his dad and thinking his dad was chill BEFORE prison- he had mixed opinions on that guy.

So something about falling back into that same thing of. Now he recognizes how fucked up his dad was. But he also knew his dad made him feel loved in a really fucked up way. And he kinda needed it Yknow? They both need to get out of a shitty situation- and Glenn can sometimes ignore how bad he feels because the authority and decisionmaking is out of his hands- he follows orders and gets praised for it. And really what else does he need? (Therapy)

Idk that’s my 6 am thoughts

#gonna tw this #grooming tw #grooming cw #<- nonsexual but I think it applies #abuse cw #abuse tw #Iimm gonna be careful and overtag #bill close #this isn’t canon but it’s my heart #<- also not really that but feels like a tag someone might have blocked if they don’t wanna see this #I can’t think of other tws #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads odyssey #dndads s1 #glenn close #I have a lot of aus for my boy #sorry I’m so mentally I’ll #and like I don’t think bill was physically abusing Glenn #or even verbally in the traditional sense #it’s more so abuse of power #and manipulation #ykwim? #idk sorry