#Child abuse

[furiousgoldfish]

In order to become stronger, my child shall have no human rights, no parental figures in their life, no warmth or approval, no rest, no point of view, no physical or emotional safety, no right to voice an opinion, no experiences of happiness or being loved. They will only do what they are told, and they shall be treated as shit for every moment of their life; this will make them better.

If someone asks, this kind of thing is what made me abusive! But it will make my child better. This is so smart and not at all evil and enabling me to abuse my child because I want to.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: The tiger was built to survive. The reason it’s able to reverse the damage done to Atsushi is because it’s all happened before.

And every time the tiger evolved to better protect him.

The tiger is bullet proof because Atsushi’s been shot before. Atsushi can survive a stab wound because he’s been left bleeding out in a cage.

He can swim despite never been taught because the Headmaster tried to drown him.

Atsushi’s can recover from losing his leg because a crazed doctor wanted to break him. He can survive so long without food because he was never properly fed.

If someone tried to poison him it simply wouldn’t work because the tiger would recognise the Headmasters injections.

Atsushi was left in a cage and his parents abandoned him on the streets. So after being kicked out Atsushi could brave the cold like it was nothing.

Fire burned him once and it would never burn him again.

Because the only one concerned with keeping Atsushi alive is the tiger. It learned after every incident, every murder attempt, every fight.

Gifted came along trying to kill him so the tiger create claws so sharpened they could cut through the very fabric of an ability.

All in the same of survival.

“This is not a punishment. If an imbecile like you seeks to survive in a world that abandoned you. You must learn to endure pain.” - Headmaster (chapter 39.)

It was a punishment make no mistake to force a child to nail his own foot. But perhaps there was some truth to that statement than Atsushi realised.

Someone else did too.

“There’s no need to make things easier for him. Every time that Jinko is pushed into a corner. He comes back as an even more bothersome enemy.”

[motherofplatypus]

Killed an 8 years old girl along 36 others of her family

This post has been compiled in Record of Genocide.

[oozebrain]

Laughter in the Dark

Chapter summary: You and Arthur come up with a scheme and it involves having dinner at his house.

Chapter warnings: angst, child abuse, verbal abuse, abusive parent (mother). Things start to get darker this chapter but there will be wholesome moments to come later. Minors dni.

Chapter 2

Arthur and his mom had been living across the way for a few weeks now, and while you rarely saw him in person, you had been chattering for hours every day at bedtime. In your room was a whiteboard, stained with streaks of color from countless uses. It was an amusing game between the two of you; you would write your statement and he would act out his response through gestures. It was a fun game of charades that had bonded you two quite close over the past weeks. You’d learned over time he liked insects, theater. taxidermy, painting, puzzles, and that he preferred to be called Art.

Something that Art was the most curious about was school. He was home schooled by his mother and it appeared he was taught very different subjects. In the brief times you saw him in person, he would enthusiastically listen as you talked about your day at school, always wanting to know more and more. He wanted to know everything, he’d even rummaged around inside your book bag. You allowed him to keep one of your Biology textbooks; he was so enamored with he’d asked to keep it, and naturally you obliged.

Today was a special day, a day you two had been planning for a week now. Your mother was gone out of town over the weekend to visit with a friend. She’d left you with twenty dollars, a list of numbers to call, and a pasta salad in the fridge. She wasn’t around, which meant she couldn’t tell you who you could hang out with or where you could be. It was the perfect day for it.

On cue, Art waved at you from his window and you reciprocated with an enthusiastic wave back. He eyed you carefully, miming a calendar in the air and pointing at the imaginary date. You nodded in understanding. Today was the day.

Once Art departs you turn as well and leave your room, scampering to the kitchen to collect the bowl of noodles. It’s from a box, full of preservatives, loaded with sodium, and absolutely delicious. It was sure to be a hit.

You exit the house and head across the lawn. You do not head up the stairs but instead wait on the sidewalk in front of the house. After a moment, Art emerges. His smile is broad and wide, showing off his teeth as he greets you from the door. His eyes light up and he quickly heads down the stairs to close the distance.

“Wow you seem taller, I’m jealous. Move over a little and block out the sun for me.” You smile up at him and he voicelessly giggles, suspending his arms in the air and hovering over you, shading you like a tree. He then lowers his arms and motions to the glass bowl in your hands.

“It’s ranch and bacon rotini salad.” You answer and he pats his stomach in response. He approves. You can tell he’s nervous; his hands are trembling. He is doing his best to still them and tucks them inside his pockets to hide his nervousness. You give him a small pat on his arm, reassuring him things would be okay.

He isn’t wearing his hat today and you see the various patterns in the side of his head. His hair is buzzed short but the bald patches are still pronounced, along with the lack of eyebrows. It was uncommon to see him without some type of covering to hide his alopecia, and it made you feel trusted he was starting to become more comfortable with you.

“You think she’ll actually let me in this time?” You ask him with raised eyebrows as the pair of you headed towards the house. He hesitated, his face uncertain before he shrugged and thudded his chest with his fist, indicating he would handle it.

His mother was already waiting behind the screen door, her arms folded before she opened it halfway. She stared down at you, her expression difficult to read. She looked almost startled to see you standing on the porch with her son. Perhaps she thought she’d gotten rid of you.

“Hi, um... Art invited me over for dinner, I brought some pasta salad.” You hold the bowl out to her. She accepts it with hesitation and sets it off on a side table. She wipes her hands on her apron before resting them in front of her. Her demeanor was forced and stiff as she spoke.

“I don’t think tonight is the best night for it. Arthur has a lot of chores he needs to catch up on.” 

Art frantically pointed at her, shaking his head ‘no’, eyebrows furrowed. He wordlessly huffed and made a miming motion of sweeping, scrubbing the floor, and penciling his homework. He’d done all his chores, and you could confirm this because you’d helped him with his homework last night. Art looked up at her, a wide smile suddenly appearing on his face. He batted his eyelashes at her and she couldn’t help but give a small chuckle. Her demeanor softened and she became pensive. 

You didn’t meet her gaze but could feel her staring at you while she thought. You were uncertain how his mother felt about you. She was particularly secretive about herself and her son, especially letting people inside her home. From the cracked door you can see inside, dark wood floors with an elegant green carpet. The living room furnished with a matching green sofa, a fireplace, and an elk’s head hanging over it. Affixed to the wall were several crucifixes that extended out of sight beyond the door.

She cleared her throat, indicating she noticed you snooping and you looked to her as you tried to hide your guilt. She pursed her lips before saying, “You can stay for dinner.”

Art clapped beside you, bouncing slightly in place with a wide, open mouth smile. He was elated. You held the same enthusiasm but under his mother’s scrutiny you felt apprehension. You had little time to think as Art was pulling on your sleeve and tugging you inside. He pushed past his mother and you awkwardly did the same, muttering a small apology as you passed.

You had never been inside Art’s home before and tried to keep your gawking private. There was a large collection of snowglobes from various cities on the mantle and pictures of Art and his mother. You noticed an absence of a father, and some pictures had been ripped or cut to remove a figure, but a masculine hand remained in frame. On the door frame leading into the bathroom, you noticed scratch marks too high to have been made by an animal. They were deep and jagged and looked like they had been made with human nails. This made you uncomfortable but you said nothing as you followed Art to the kitchen.

The kitchen held a myriad of smells. There was a crockpot going on the counter that smelled richly of beef and carrots, and from the oven you could smell bread. A lot of your meals were frozen or prepackaged, and the smell of home cooking made your stomach grumble. Art smiles at this and holds up a finger, indicating it would not be much longer until dinner was ready.

His mother wordlessly enters the kitchen and resumes her duties. She checks the oven then meanders over to the crockpot. She doesn’t say anything but you can feel her watching you and Art out of the corner of your eye. It’s awkward and disconcerting; Art can feel it too. He takes you back into the living room, just around the corner so you two can have some privacy.

Art looks at you, his expression a nervous grimace as he glances back to the kitchen then to you. He was worried this wouldn’t work, as were you. You’re both anxious to face the unknown, but it’s something that must be done. You muster your courage and offer him a reassuring smile. He returns it half heartedly before the same grimace rests on his features once more.

You hold out your hand, pinky extended. He stares at it a moment before wrapping his pinky around yours then looks to you, searching your face. It was a silent way to say ‘I’m with you’ and assure him he wasn’t facing this alone. He let out a wavering breath and his features softened.

‘You got this’ you mouth to him voicelessly and after a moment he nods in self assurance. He looks back to you, determination in his eyes. He nods again as he tries to psych himself up before walking back into the kitchen, his pinky losening from yours before he enters his mother’s sight.

She is arranging the plates on the table and looks to the two of you. With disinterest she says, “Dinner’s ready.”

Your plate is different, and you notice the portions are smaller, but you say nothing. You worry you are intruding but you weren’t really here to have dinner, you were here to support Art.

The three of you take your seats, her at the head of the table and you and Art on opposite sides of one another. Looking down at your plate you take in the sight of the spread before you. Roast beef, carrots, potatoes, and homemade sourdough to go along with it. Your pasta salad remained in the living room, but bringing it up seemed awkward. Regardless, what lay before you looked and smelled delicious, but you realized no one was eating yet.

His mother is watching you and you set your fork down. She then folds her hands in prayer and you do the same. Art folds his hands in his lap, looking down at the ground. You feel him gently kick your shin and you reciprocate by stepping on his foot. You remain this way, a means to silently reassure him of your presence as his mother said grace.

Once she was finished she placed a napkin in her lap. With a tight smile she glanced at you, “Eat up while it’s still hot.”

You begin eating. The roast is succulent and tender and you find yourself eating faster than normal. After several bites you look up to see Art has not changed position, he continues to stare at the floor and not touched his food. After a moment he finally looks up and stares at his mother until he has her attention.

“What is it, Arthur?” She asks, both curious and aggrivated. He muttered wordlessly before making the outline of a building with his hands. He made the same motion earlier of writing in a notebook, carried a pretend backpack, and held his plate like a lunch tray. Art stared at her with a deep yearning in his eyes for what he was excitedly miming. 

Nothing happened. The only sound was that of the clock ticking on the wall. You said nothing but kept looking between the mother and son as a stare down began between them. Art then wordlessly mouthed the word ‘school’, his fists clenched in determination.

“School? Sweetheart you’re already in school. You know you can’t go to regular school.” She gently stroked his cheek and he stared ahead, nostrils visibly flaring at her response. He slammed his fist on the table and pulled away from her, doing what he could to express how upset he was. You said nothing. You didn’t really know what to say, not yet.

“We’ve been over this before. I thought we were past this... Is that why you invited them over?” She looked to you questioningly, “Did you put him up to this?”

The absurdity of the question should be funny, but she’s serious. Her gaze is sharp and intense as it cuts through you. You push around the carrots on your plate for something to divert your attention. You can feel your heart begin to race. You knew confrontation was coming with this scheme but you didn’t expect to feel genuine fear.

“You put him up to this, didn’t you? You’ve been filling his head with all kinds of stories.”

“No ma’am...” You start, clearing your throat to still the nervous jitters, “I’m a student at the nearby middle school and they have an art program that I’m in that I think Art would love. I... I’m sure you’ve seen how talented he is…”

She sighs and rests her head in her hand in a ‘not this again’ gesture. Art had mentioned before how much his mother hated his desire to be an artist and his love for theatrics. She was waiting for him to outgrow it but he never did. If anything, his love for theater had increased over the years. She holds this pose for a dramatic moment before looking at Art with a tear in her eye, “Am I not good enough for you? Is that what this is about?”

He scooted away from her and eyed her warily, glancing over to you. He was saying something; he was trying to warn you. You grip your fork as she starts sniveling and dabs her eyes with a napkin, her mascara and eyeliner bleeding onto the white linen. You didn’t understand why she was crying, or what she was even upset about to begin with. You and Art exchange uncomfortable glances.

“So you just think you can use me for thirteen years and toss me to the side? Is that it?” She got close to his face, raising her voice, “Answer me Arthur! Is that what it is?!”

It was her turn to slam her fist down, and she did so hard that his water glass toppled over and spilled across the table. She ignored it, her gaze was entirely fixated on Art. He visibly gulped, his eyes wide as the gears in his head were turning. She looked furious, disgusted, betrayed. She didn’t look at him as her son, but as something else. Her reaction was... weird. Something about it made you deeply uncomfortable. It didn’t sit right.

“You’re going to leave me just like your father... You’re just like him... I’ve tried so hard and you’ve become just like him, so callous and cruel...” She gasped in a sob and turned away from him, pushing him roughly to distance herself further. With trembling hands, he rested his hand on her shoulder, awkwardly patting her. Though his motions were kind his eyes were distant. There was a look on his face you’d never seen someone have before and you didn’t know how to place it.

It was dreadful, apprehensive, resentful. It was an amalgamation of every wretched emotion you could think of. Simultaneously, his gaze was unfixed and blank as he stared straight ahead in silence, his motions mechanical. You understood this was a common practice and for a moment she was placated. Then in an instant she turned on you.

“I know this was all you! You’re the one who’s putting ideas in his head! YOU are the one trying to take him away from me! He’s known you three weeks and I’ve known him his entire life, and I will not stand by and have you take him away from me!”

You flounder. What are you supposed to say? What could you say to that? In a way, yes, that is what was going on, but Art needed some freedom. He couldn’t stay cooped up in the house with his mother, enduring her games until she finally died. That’s what you were afraid of for him. You sputter out, “I-I’m not I... I’m sorry I didn’t mean... that’s not what’s going on here!”

“Excuse me? Is that back talk I hear? Didn’t your mother teach you to have more respect than that?” She is exasperated, eyes wide with a manic rage. She raised her hand to backhand you and instinctively you cover your face, closing your eyes. You hear a visceral smack but no impact comes. Hesitantly, you lower your guard and peek from behind your hands. Art had stepped between the pair of you and took the hard smack to the face that was meant for you. He stabilizes and his mother is taken aback by his action, and seemingly as well as her own.

She stands there, jaw firm as she rests her hand on his shoulder. It isn’t a kind gesture, it is one of dominance and control. She is taller and stronger than him and she is asserting that in a silent, determined motion. You can tell by his stiff demeanor her grip is like a vice.

“So that’s how it is.” She scoffed and nodded, jaw clenched in anger as she exhaled hard through her nose, “Fine. You can ‘go to school’, you can do whatever you want. I give up. If that’s the way you want to play it then fine! But you’ll see that I’m right. All they’re going to do is laugh at you.”

She observed him in silence before looking over to you, “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Inwardly you agreed but you didn’t want to leave, you didn’t like the way she was holding his shoulder with her nails dug into his shirt. She was gripping so hard her hand was shaking, her whole body was, with some sort of outrage with seemingly no source. Then without warning she started crying again, as though she’d suddenly become aware of her terrible deeds.

Her grip went slack and she wrapped her arms around Art, shushing and cooing at him as she stroked the red place on his cheek where she had hit him, “Mommy’s so sorry, Arthur. You know I just want the best for you. You know how much I worry about you…”

She is rocking with him slightly as she tries to soothe him. She then looks to you over his shoulder and tearfully adds, “I’m sorry dear, please see yourself out and get home safe.”

With hesitation, you turn to leave, the sound of his mother’s hushed whispers and sobs trailing after and following you out the door. You stand on the porch a moment and listen to the crickets and katydids chirp and chatter. Though your and Art’s plan had ended successfully, the entire exchange left you feeling anxious and queasy. 

As you walk back to your house you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at the neighboring one. It was eerily silent and the lights had been turned out. You came to a stop and waited, observing the house as the streetlights came on. Art’s house had been swallowed in a darkness that even the bright, orange glow of the streetlights couldn’t penetrate.

Were they just sitting over there in darkness? Something wasn’t right. The house and interactions between he and his mother were strange, weird, and sort of creepy. There was something bad going on in that house, and now that Art would be joining you in school, you were going to find out.

[envythemouse]

I haven't seen a lot of healthy Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington fics lately (or well, ever since Eddie Munson entered the show) and it's kind of sad. It's a good ship.

Had a silly fic idea just now:

What if Steve and Billy are secretly friends and they have fake fights to give people the impression that's where their bruises come from so people don't suspect the actual abuse they get from their fathers?

Like, they'd practice their fake fights and lines and what angle people are gonna see to make it look real and stuff.

And then one day Max or Dustin finds out that they're together and they're really worried about Steve and confront him about it (maybe Max confronts Billy) and they have to come clean and tell the party it's all an act.

Imagine Billy accidentally really hits Steve and he kind of panics and almost has a breakdown over it even though it was a total accident.

[faramirsonofgondor]

[fnord888]

Child abuse is a big problem, so it's important that we don't let children communicate with adults except their parents and other official authority figures. Everyone knows the best way to prevent child abuse is to keep children isolated and ensure all their communications are controlled.

[theconcealedweapon]

When you're autistic, it's impossible to miss how much society normalizes child abuse.

I could dedicate my entire life to studying how to interact with people and I'd still never master the social skills that young children are expected to have on command.

Say the wrong thing? That's disrespectful and you're punished. And you don't even have to actually say anything wrong. Pretty much anything you say can be considered "giving lip" if your parent wants some excuse to punish you. But if you say nothing, then you get punished for ignoring. You also have to calculate your response to their mind game quickly because taking too long to respond is considered ignoring. Also, if you're being wrongly accused of something, saying nothing is considered a confession. And even if you somehow manage to say exactly what your parent wants in exactly the correct tone, they'll still punish you for "sarcasm" or "not really meaning it".

[teaboot]

Adult ProTip, from a security professional: If a kid tells you, "My parents are gonna kill me / kick my ass / kick me out" for something relatively minor, don't respond with shit like "Really? ;) that sounds a little extreme, don't you think sweetie?" because that shit really does happen.

Instead, respond as though whatever threat they are afraid of is fully valid, and offer whatever you can do to help- ask if they believe they are in danger of being hurt in any way, and work accordingly.

If they're overreacting, they'll usually realize and dial it back, self-correct and begin thinking a bit more rationally.

If they're not overreacting, and the danger is real, then they'll need a level-headed adult in their corner, not another condescending authority figure who doesn't believe them.

[self-loving-vampire]

Problem #1 regarding child abuse is that a lot of people seem to struggle to imagine normal, respectable-looking parents and other authority figures ever doing it despite the statistics so instead they do the stranger danger panic and completely overlook some of the greatest threats.

Problem #2 is that even when people understand, even if in an abstract way, that parents can be abusive they just... don't seem to actually register that as something that can apply to real life. It's just hypothetical to them and doesn't actually guide their ideas of how to prevent child abuse.

Problem #3 is that even after overcoming the above biases a lot of people have a very narrow image of what abusive parenting is where they imagine like... people doing violent things basically out of sadism and without provocation. They don't seem to think it's "real" abuse if the victim did something that "justifies" punitive violence, like disobeying the parents.

In fact, most people think parents have a right to do a whole lot of awful things to their children beyond just hitting them, like violating their privacy, controlling their access to information, and deciding what/when/if they eat, among other things.

[motherofplatypus]

This is how many bullets they shot on a fucking kid.

[lostmf]

[serial-unaliver]

I think one thing that's hard for people to grapple with is it's impossible to eliminate all abusive individuals from any given society. Of course certain systems encourage and make it easier to achieve, but there is no perfect world in which no one is abusive, so prevention of abuse shouldn't be punitive measures but rather creation of an environment in which abuse is hard to get away with--an environment more focused on community support than individualistic isolation of families. The fact that there are horrifying child torture cases that occurred in average suburban homes by neighbors who suspected nothing just because they haven't even talked to or acknowledged the people living right fucking next to them is crazy.

[sayruq]

“One of them put his boot on my mouth while stomping on my chest with his other boot,” Majd said. The military vehicle stopped at an Israeli military checkpoint located at the northern entrance to Azzoun. Majd was taken out of the vehicle, forced to stand still and a soldier repeatedly assaulted him with the stock of his rifle on the chest, head, and waist while directing insults at him. “I was begging him to stop hitting me but to no avail. He then wrapped his hands around my neck, pressed with all his strength, and said to me in Arabic, ‘I'll kill you by strangulation.’" Majd passed out and regained consciousness around 5 p.m. and found himself in a room, lying on the ground and surrounded by a soldier, a cat, and a military dog. “I felt really scared, mostly because the sounds made by the dog were terrifying. I started screaming out of fear because the cat scratched my face many times,” Majd told DCIP. “The soldier said in Arabic, 'I will let the dog eat you.' "Israeli forces continued torturing Majd until around 2 a.m, slamming his head against a wall several times, causing him to collapse and ask for water, but his request was rejected and they forced him to remain silent. Israeli forces transferred him to Emmanuel Police Station for interrogation at 3:30 a.m where his tie and blindfold were removed. The interrogator accused him of throwing stones at Israeli military vehicles and then allegedly subjected the boy to physical violence for two hours, forced him to sign an electronic screen with an electronic pen, and tied his hands and blindfolded again, according to documentation collected by DCIP.

Between January 1, 2016 and December 31, 2023, DCIP documented 838 cases where Palestinian children detained by the Israeli military were systematically tortured, handcuffed, blindfolded, strip searched, and denied access to food and water during the interrogation period. In nearly all cases documented by DCIP, Israeli authorities interrogated Palestinian child detainees without the presence of a lawyer or family member, and children were overwhelmingly denied a consultation with a lawyer prior to interrogation. Israeli forces use coercive tactics, including the use of informants, resulting in children unintentionally making incriminating statements or even false confessions.

[bunnieswithknives]

AU based off Nature except I kept thinking about it too hard. Dales not a good dad, but its such an easy problem for him to throw money at, and what do you do when a part is damaged? Well, you replace it.

Basically an AU where Dev gets to experience medical trauma and realizes much sooner how much his dad doesn't love him

[a-sip-of-milo]

It's always infuriated me hearing people say that children have it easy. It's only gotten worse as I've gotten older and have been able to reflect on my childhood and see the children around me grow up.

They do not have it easy. They don't get a say in most important things. They're seen is unintelligent, yet expected to understand things that full grown adults struggle with.

They've got a job, which is school, that is actually proven to not be working for a lot of them; myself included. They're expected to sit still and in silence for at least forty minutes at a time, and those with ADHD are treated as though they're immature and lazy because they often physically can't do it.

Far too many of them have abusive parents that lie through their teeth to make people think everything is fine, and of course, who would believe the child over the parent?

Aspects of abuse has been normalised. Parents are sympathised with when children open up about the things they've gone through, especially if they're not physical. They're told that their parents are only doing this because they love them, or that the child needs to start seeing things from their point of view. Meanwhile, adults can freely complain about their children on public forums and to friends and family and get away with it because "it's hard being a parent".

Fuck off and do better.

DNI Believers of narcissistic/borderline/anti-social/histrionic abuse.