#HE ABANDONED THEM. ABANDONED!!!!!!! LEFT THEM IN DEBT AND WITH THE ABUSIVE FUCKING ASSHOLE

[superbattrash]

Sometimes I see a take so bad that I have to physically put my phone down and do breathing exercises to make sure I do not become One Of Those People

Everybody is entitled to their own opinion, everybody is entitled to their own opinion, everybody is entitled to their own opinion eVEN WHEN IT IS SO FUCKING WRONG

[babybatscreationsv2]

Marvel | Starkerstrange

Tony is Stephen's boyfriend. Peter is Stephen's footstool. Stephen is a sadist with no one to stop him.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: romantacized non con, cigar burns, s*dism, public s*x, physical and s*xual violence, mafia au

AN: please read those warnings �� this fic is not consensual from Peter's perspective and that's the least troublesome thing happening here

Tony walked into the lounge, following the sound of soft jazz. Some of the boys were playing pool, sharing a bottle of whiskey. Stephen was in his chair, feet propped up on his favorite footstool. He gave Tony a small smile as he came in.

"There you are, dear. I was just missing you."

Tony put his hat and coat on the coat rack next to Stephen's. He crossed the rug and stepped around Stephen's footstool to sit in his lap. Stephen put a hand on Tony's chest and rubbed his skin through the material.

"I missed you, too," Tony said. He earned an approving smile. Stephen caught his chin and pulled him down for a kiss. He always kissed so slow, but so deep and claiming. It made him feel filthy like some whore he kept tied to his bed.

Stephen unhooked the buttons of his shirt. His hand slid over his chest. His fingers teased his nipples. Tony was hyper aware of the sounds of pool immediately behind him. Stephen liked it when they watched. He liked knowing they were jealous. Unable to ever have what they wanted. Tony could just imagine how slowly and painfully he would die as punishment for such a betrayal.

Tony moaned and whined as Stephen played with him. He'd never been one for having his nipples played with before Stephen, but he'd made him a slut for it. Of course, Stephen could make him a slut for anything. At it was, his nipples were hard and sensitive. He whimpered as he pinched and twisted. He could feel Stephen's lips against his curling up into a smirk as he got him to really whimper and cry. He didn't stop until their kisses tasted like tears. Stephen let go of his abused nipples and his swollen lips. He slapped his face for good measure. 

"There's my good boy. Go and get me a cigar."

"Yes, sir." Tony carefully slipped off his lap so he wouldn't bump the foot stool. He went to the cabinet and found Stephen's cigar box. He trimmed one and grabbed the lighter before returning to Stephen's lap, careful again of the footstool.

Stephen's footstool, of course, had a name: Peter Parker. Peter was practically a kid when Tony found him. He was living in some rodent infested apartment in Queens working three jobs to pay off his deceased aunt's debts. Tony brought him in, had him run some off jobs. Jobs that could make him as much in a hour as he was making in a week. He was a good associate until Stephen got ahold of him. Now he was whatever Stephen wanted him to be and the minute he stopped doing what he was told, he'd earn himself nothing but an extra hole in his face. Still had to be better than he came from, Tony figured.

Stephen didn't really smoke but he liked buying expensive things that other people couldn't afford and he liked the way Tony's mouth looked wrapped around a cigar. He put the cigar only in his mouth to light it. Then he held it in his fingers and let it burn down.

"How are my horses?" he asked.

Tony looked at his eyes that were never just one color. "Perfect. Didn't lose a dime today." Tony wasn't in charge of really anything down at the track, but he was still punished if the bets went sour.

Stephen smiled. "Good boy." He held out the cigar and flicked it. Peter hissed as hot ash landed on his bare ass, but he didn't move. He wasn't allowed to move when he played footstool, but he could scream and cry in pain all he liked. Stephen liked it when he cried.

He held the cigar out and Tony wrapped his lips around it. He took a slow drag and felt it burn in his lungs. He made a pretty O with his lips to let the smoke out. Stephen held the cigar letting it burn down some more.

"Peter, be my ash tray," he said. He lifted his feet off his back and set them on the floor. Peter crawled to sit beside the chair up on his knees. He was on Stephen's left, putting him behind where Tony sat sideways. Tony could tell he was tired. Stephen had probably spent an hour reading with his feet up just to be an asshole. Now he sat holding the cigar over Peter's lap.

With his free hand, Stephen groped Tony's chest. He brushed fingers over his sore nipples to smirk when he whined. Then he slid lower massaging Tony's balls through his pants. Tony bent and kissed, parting his legs as much as he could. It was dizzying to be so kissed and toyed with. He heard Peter's whine behind him as the cigar grew heavy with ash and the end dropped off. Peter was crying before long as much ash burned his skin. 

Stephen held it up to Tony's lips again. He pulled open Tony's pants and stuck his hand inside to stroke his cock. Tony moaned, eyes fluttering shut. He too the cigar away, flicking more ash onto Peter's skin. It was hideous how he screamed when Stephen pressed it to his skin to put it out. He had plenty of burns from putting out cigars.

Tony was still distracted by Stephen's hand playing with him so he didn't notice right away when his attention turned to Peter. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth and gagged him with them, starting a stream of spit down his chin and tears from his eyes. They were all shiny and red rimmed.

"Bitch position," Stephen said, withdrawing his fingers. "Here by my feet."

Silently, Peter got down and crawled around the chair again. He stuck his ass up and put one side of the face to the floor. Stephen put his foot down on the other, pressing his weight until Peter groaned. "Fuck him for me," he said.

Tony didn't expect he'd be allowed to go off looking for condoms or lube. He slipped from Stephens lap and pulled the suspenders off his shoulders and unbuttoned his pants. His cock was hard from Stephen's teasing. He spit twice and rubbed it around his cock. Then he held Peter's hip and pressed slowly in. He whimpered against the floor.

Tony tried not to go too fast, avoiding hurting him more than he had to. Stephen didn't seem to care. It amused him to watch his toys go. Tony stopped and added more spit whenever it felt dry. He started to get into a good rhythm, fucking into Peter's ass. He was tight and hot and Tony never got to top. He missed that delicious squeeze. Peter didn't sound very much like he was enjoying himself, but Peter wasn't Tony's priority at the moment. Stephen was the one to please.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself, dear," Stephen said.

He looked up at him, watching Stephen's cocky face as he fucked Peter's ass. "Yes, sir."

"Go until you're too tired and don't you cum. Understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"When you've had enough you can use the pool cue." He looked toward the table where the men were still playing. Peter was in for a night. If he hadn't told Tony before that he craved the attention, even when it hurt, he might feel bad. Maybe. Better Peter than him. Stephen was a wicked sadist.

He ground his shoe against the side of Peter's face. "You're not to cum either understand me, hole?"

"Yes, sir," Peter groaned.

Stephen lifted his foot, showing off the red and dirty imprint of his shoe. He spit on Peter's cheek before setting his foot back down against his head. He whimpered against the carpet. Maybe Tony was a bit of sadist too, because it thrilled him. He liked watched Peter's face rub into the carpet while he fucked him. He was going to have carpet burns on one side and Stephen's footprint on the other. All he wanted was to flip him over so he could slap him and choke him, but that was Stephen's job. Tony had to do what he was told.

So he kept going, fucking Peter's ass, listening to him whimper into the carpet, until he couldn't take anymore. He pulled out, pausing to admire the gape of Peter's ass. Stephen kicked his shoulder.

"Sit up," he barked.

Peter sat up on his knees, eyes turned down to the floor. Stephen picked up his chin with the toe of his shoe. "Look how flushed those cheeks are. Or is that carpet burn? You must love the abuse don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

Stephen put his shoe in Peter's face. "Lick," he ordered. Peter wasn’t shy about running his tongue up the sole of Stephen's shoe. Tony could imagine what that tasted like, but still had no pity for him. If anything the display had him aching to touch his cock, but he didn't dare. Peter ran his tongue over the shoe like it was a rolled in sugar until Stephen had enough and pushed him away.

Done with Peter now, he looked at Tony. "You know what to do."

"Yes, sir." Tony grabbed Peter by the arm and pulled him up. He marched him over to the pool table. The boys all abandoned their game, leaving space to bend him over. He was just tall enough to get his hips up, standing on his toes.

Someone handed him a cue.

Tony stood to the side so Stephen could watch. He spit, letting it run down Peter's crack before rubbing it into his swollen hole. Then he picked up the cue, holding it with two hands. He pushed the end against Peter's hole. It stretched him wide, leaving him whimpering against the table. Tony spit again to get it deeper.

"Help him out, boys," Stephen said.

There was some laugher among them as they all stepped up, spitting on and around Peter's hole, making a wet mess. Tony was able to work the cue in deeper, though Peter whined. He groaned as he pressed in too deep.

It took some work to pull the thing in and out with little lube and Peter's hole so tight. The boy drooled against the felt, whining and moaning as he was fucked.

"We should stuff up the other end, too," came a suggestion. Stephen said nothing, content to let his men play. Tony focused on doing what he was told.

One man grabbed Peter's chin and held him still while someone else picked up the 8-ball. They forced his mouth open around it and shoved it inside. Peter fought for a moment until someone grabbed him by the hair and barked at him to calm down.

The ball muffled his constant whimpering and left him sounding all the more helpless and pathetic. Having taken away their game, the boys needed something new to play with and became their victim without Stephen stepping in. Tony was shooed aside so someone else could take his place mercilessly pounding Peter's ass until tears ran down his cheeks.

When Stephen called his name he assumed he was in trouble, but instead the man called him back to his lap. He sat obediently while Stephen played with his needy cock. One the table, Peter made all sorts of noise, suffering while enjoying the attention in seemingly equal measure.

He suffered in his own way while Stephen played with him. A lazy hand stroked his cock while he teased his sensitive nipples. Before long he had forgotten about Peter, too busy laying limply in Stephen's arms while he lost himself to need.

A sharp sound drew his focus. Stephen's boys had grabbed another pool cue and were having a blast canning Peter's ass with it. He cried out with each strike to his pinking ass, 8-ball notably removed from his mouth.

"Hey, that looks fun," Stephen purred. He took his hands away and lightly pushed so Tony would slip off his lap. "Sit in my chair, keep edging."

"Yes, sir." He took Stephen's place as he stood. He watched him approach the pool table.

"Get him on his feet. I want him."

Someone pulled the cue from his ass fast enough to make him cry out. They pulled him from the table and he stood on wobbly legs.

"Hold his arms." A man on each side jumped to grab both of his arms so he was held in a T shape. "Perfect." Tony could just hear the grin in his voice. "Hold him tight."

He balled his fist and swung it into Peter's gut. He groaned and folded. The men holding him worked to keep him up. Stephen did give him a second to catch his breath before he punched him again in the ribs. Tony stroked his cock, too on edge to be anything but turned on by the display. He kept going, centering most of his hits to his stomach, but a few landed on his chest. Peter was crying again. Begging between sobs. When Stephen punched him in the face Tony nearly came. Then Stephen grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet. Tony looked at the fresh bruises and burns on his skin.

"Crawl over there to Tony and suck his dick. I want your ass up for everyone to see."

Peter nodded as best as he could. "Yes, sir," he rasped. 

Stephen dropped him and turned to watch him crawl. Tony bit his lip, already too close just thinking of a hot mouth on his cock. Peter crawled to him and sucked his cock into his mouth like a vacuum. Tony bit down on his finger. Peter didn't look the least bit sorry. Tony hoped he was enjoying his attention.

He was panting. Peter's mouth was so hot and wet. He was so close he could cry. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on. 

Peter whined, pulling off his cock while Stephen stuffed him from the other end. With a firm hand, Stephen shoved his head back down onto Tony's cock.

"I didn't tell you to stop, slut."

He rocked back and forth between as Stephen fucked him. Tony held on to the chair, trying not exploded and get himself into trouble. Which he noticed of course.

"Having fun, Tony?"

He meant to say yes, but instead he whined, "Please."

Stephen smirked. "Do you need to cum, sweetheart?"

"Please, Stephen."

"Go ahead," he purred, and Tony should have known it was a trap.

He came, Peter choking on his cum as it shot down his throat and filled his mouth. Stephen wasn't done, so Peter stayed put and Tony knew better than to try to crawl away. Peter's mouth reminded on his cock, still hot and wet and trying his best to lick and suck while his ass gets pounded. Tony grit his teeth, legs shaking with the overstimulation.

"Too good, dear? You're a mess. Look at you."

Tony looked up at Stephen, at the pleasure on his face. He couldn't possibly be enjoying himself more. Meanwhile Tony felt like he might actually die or like maybe he wanted to and that's possibly if he were brave enough to try to push Peter away. His eyes stung with tears when Stephen finally held the younger man still and let him dripping with his cum.

Peter curled up at Tony's feet, panting. Stephen looked down at him. "Your turn footstool." He lifted his foot and pressed it between Peter's legs, crushing his cock against his abdomen. Peter whimpered. He pushed against it, humping his shoe, rubbing his cock against it. His orgasm came embarrassingly quick, thought to his credit, Stephen had been torturing him for the better part of an hour now.

Peter slid down onto his belly to better reach and licked the cum from Stephen's shoe. Then he had finally had enough of his toys.

He looked at Tony. "Take the boy home and get some rest yourself. It's back to work tomorrow."

[batman-story-ideas]

I Question Your Authority!

CH 1- Birth of an Enigma.

Edward Nashton was thirteen when he decided to test out of highschool, after forging his father’s signature, and to sign up for online college. He refurbished old junk he dug out of Gotham’s Dump, mainly using them as parts for inventions Eddie would then sell to pay for his tuition, though he hid little caches of money in various hiding places. One should always have a contingency plan.

At fourteen, Eddie had managed to move mostly out of his father’s basement and into a rundown, abandoned building near the outskirts of the Bowery. From what he could tell it used to be either a bakery or a front for a villain's hideout. Oh well, it was his new hideout! Here he was mostly free from his abusive asshole father!

Keyword- Mostly.

Sadly to keep his freedom, Eddie had to come by twice a month with money for dear old dad or the man would report his ‘truancy’ and the fact that he ran away to the GCPD. It didn’t matter that he graduated from high school and already had multiple degrees, thanks to his online courses. Edward was still a minor and legally could not live on his own without a guardian of some kind. Which left the young genius scrounging for ways to make money in order to pay off his genetic donor, who liked to raise the price for his freedom now and then.

Edward Nashton was fifteen years old when his father tried to sell him to one of the villains of Gotham. Apparently dear old dad got into gambling and managed to fall into debt to the Penguin of all people. Eddie always knew that ignoramus would be the reason he died. But he didn’t think it would be like this! The ginger sneered at the henchmen holding him in place as his lovely, dear old man begged for Penguin to take Edward as collateral until Jeremiah could gather up the money.

Jeremiah Nashton was a coward and a cheat, this was true. But never had Eddie thought his own father, no matter how much of an abusive asshole he was, would sell his own flesh and blood to pay off his gambling addiction. Though...looking back, the teen should have honestly seen this coming. Especially when he was met with a bat to the back of the head when Eddie had come by to drop off the stack of cash for the drunk and with the following beating at the hands of said drunk before being dragged to the Iceberg Lounge.

He was dizzy from blood loss, pretty sure two of his ribs were broken and half his body beaten black and blue. But, as Eddie pretended to hang limply from the lackey’s hands, there were two things he was thankful to Jeremiah for. 1. His amazing pain tolerance. This wasn’t even the worst he had ever been beaten. And 2. That his dear old dad was an absolute imbecile. Because really who blatantly drags a bleeding person to the den of a known criminal when Gotham was the home of multiple birds and bats, who just loved busting stuff like this shitshow up.

CRASH!

Never had Eddie been so glad to hear the sound of breaking glass then he had been right now. Especially as it bought the young genius the time he needed to escape when the goons ran to fight the Bat. The teen may be rather tall and lanky for his age, but he was scrappy and had learned out to hold improvise when it came to escaping a beat down. (Which was why his father had surprise attacked him with a hit to the back of his head then faced Eddie head on. If he didn’t have time to improvise an escape, Eddie was down for the count until he could.)

Somehow, some fucking way, Edward found himself out of the Lounge and running for his life whilst everyone was distracted fighting Batman and his latest Robin. He was racing towards his little hideout outside the Bowery. Eddie knew he had to get there and pack quickly. He needed to find a new hideaway before the Bats or Birds came knocking on his door demanding answers as to why he was being sold to Penguin. Yeah, no fucking way was he getting put into the system or some fucked up protection detail.

By some miracle of a God he doesn’t believe in, Edward managed to get to his little lair and even if he was swaying and in tons of pain- he got to work. He got to work quickly downloading all his data onto multiple flash drives and ripping his little caches out of the walls and floorboards. Soon enough he had all the essentials he needed packed in a duffle bag, changed into a spare pair of clothes (one of his grandfather’s old suits) and had rigged the place to blow.

After one last look around, Edward picked up the old cane he had been gifted to him from his grandfather on his mother’s side. The old man had been a carnival game worker back in the day and had loved telling little Eddie all about his riddle show whilst showing off the odd question marked shaped cane. Remus Nygma had been a swindler and a con man, but he had been an honest man at the end of his life and had always dreamed of becoming a Private Detective, like Sherlock Holmes. A dream he had shared with his only grandchild along with his love of riddles and games. When Remus passed away shortly before his mother died, he had left Eddie his old cane, a book of riddles his grandfather had written and a note telling him to not give up on their dream.

With a press of the first button from the remote in his hand, Eddie unleashed a virus that would erase all information of one Edward Nashton from Gotham’s digital records and all information of his activities from the dark web. Fifteen year old Edward Nashton no longer existed in this world.

In his place was nineteen year old Eddie Nygma and he was determined to make his grandfather proud. He was going to become the Detective Remus had always dreamed about. Sure his plan was being set in motion sooner then Eddie had thought it would be. But, sometimes beggars couldn’t be choosers and it looked like his origin story was playing out sooner than he had hoped.

Turning, Eddie pushed the second button on his remote setting off the timer before tossing the remote over his shoulder as he casually strode out of his old hideout. Good thing he always had a contingency plan and a new hideout picked out already.

The teen was two blocks away hiding in an alley as one of the Bats swooped past overhead when an explosion was heard. The timer had finally ran out and set his lair ablaze. With a satisfied smirk, Eddie disappeared into the night whistling a cheery tune.

It was good to be free.

Look out Gotham, here comes your newest self-appointed Private Investigator- The Riddler!

[acrimcnies]

BASICS

Name: Naomi Choi

Gender: Cis Female

Pronouns: She / Her

Species: Werewolf

Age: 26 ( 28 October 1993 )

Occupation: Server at Buckshot Bar & Grill

PERSONALITY

Traits: ( + ) Independent, Perceptive, Risk-Taking, Decisive ; ( – ) Insouciant, Disruptive, Hedonistic, Self-Destructive

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

MBTI: ESTP-A ( The Entrepreneur )

Enneagram: Type 8 ( The Challenger )

HISTORY

TW: Attempted murder, child abuse

Imagine this: it’s the middle of January and there is a little girl by the lake.

Now imagine her screaming; she’s crying mommy, mommy, please, and mommy, why and mommy, I’ll be good—and then there’s water in her lungs and ice in her veins but she’s still screaming, screaming, screaming, only now there’s no sound.

Death is an abstract concept until it isn’t. Naomi splits her knuckles open on the ice with all the strength of a cornered animal taking its last stand. I don’t want to die, she thinks, and like a prayer answered, there are hands on her, dragging her back to the surface. Her mother’s face is the first thing she sees, eyes wild and lips trembling, murmuring Lord, forgive me over and over and over again as she holds her baby close.

Just because a decision is unmade doesn’t mean that the consequences are undone as well; the cold water had swallowed her whole and spat her back out incomplete. She spends half her childhood sitting by the frozen lake in the middle of winter, trying to see if she can reclaim what she’d lost. Eventually, she’ll learn that the water gives as much as it takes. It may have stolen the warmth from her when she was a child, but the cold stays with her, like an old friend she can’t seem to shake off.

She’s eight years old and she’s on her knees, hands clasped in prayer as she asks for the Lord’s forgiveness. I wished a boy I know would die, she confesses, but she doesn’t mention that she’d almost drowned him, that she’d wrapped her fingers around his ankle after he’d tried to undo the strap of her bathing suit and dragged him down to the depths of the community pool with her.

Maybe she is her mother’s daughter, after all. Maybe she should have been horrified at the realisation. Maybe everyone would be better off if she had died that day.

But Naomi has always been a wild thing, and she’s more than familiar with the first rule of the jungle: the weak get devoured. The world doesn’t care about girls like her; if she doesn’t stand up for herself then no one will. And if she cannot afford to be the damsel in distress, then she will just have to become the beast instead.

She doesn’t even really remember how it happened, just that one moment she had been stumbling through the woods half-drunk and in awe of the supermoon peeking out from between the barren branches, and the next she’d woken up in a strange house surrounded by strange people. Werewolf. She’s heard whispered tales of the old legends of the wolves in Blackrock, but she doesn’t believe any of what these people—this pack, they’d called themselves—tell her. Not until she turns into a fucking wolf, anyway.

Her bones break, flesh and muscle rearrange themselves into the shape of a large black wolf. This is Naomi as she has always been meant to be, all razor-sharp claws and snarling teeth. Finally, here is a body that can handle the enormity of her anger. There is something comforting about being reduced to the barest of instincts, freed from the too-human notions of shame and guilt, and being a werewolf is exactly what she needs. Until it isn’t.

Becoming a wolf is supposed to be an outlet for her anger, for the wild animal she’s kept buried inside of her for so many years, so that she doesn’t tear herself apart. But instead of relief, a new type of restlessness sinks into her bones, making her itch with the desire to to crawl out of her own skin. There is a darkness inside of her that she cannot run from, a hollow point in the center of her ribs that causes every emotion to bleed into anger.

It’s easier to give into her anger when she feels invincible. In some ways, it’s an exercise in control—letting people lay their hands on her and resisting the urge to tear their throats out. It starts with strangers, but when that isn’t enough, she stops leaving her anger at the door when she goes home. Her poison is insidious; she picks fights with the members of the pack, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction in her wake.

And then one day, she leaves.

She could say that she left for the sake of the pack, removing herself from the equation before she tore them apart from the inside out, but she’s never been that selfless. The truth is this: her pain has always felt bigger than everyone else’s, but everyone in the pack has their own cross to bear, and suddenly hers doesn’t matter so much anymore. It’s all she has, though. Who would she be without the pain and the anger? Being with the pack makes her feel suffocated and invisible all at once, and she only leaves because she’s tired of feeling like she’s losing herself.

It’s too bad she doesn’t find herself while she’s gone though. All she finds are some dead wolves and a few hunters, and by the time she makes it back to Blackrock, one of their own is dead.

She’s never really gotten along with the pack to begin with, but her vanishing act would have severed any threads of trust that had been forming anyway. It’s probably best if she leaves again, but something makes her stay—a long-repressed yearning for a home to belong to, perhaps.

Besides, she’s missed the lake.

CONNECTIONS

Established Connections

OAK: Shame is not an emotion Naomi is familiar with, but now she can’t quite look Diego in the eyes without feeling like she’s going to choke on the guilt. So she turns that shame into anger, walks into town with it wrapped around her tongue and her fists, in search of a fight. Maybe if she gets knocked around hard enough, she’ll be able to sleep under their roof without feeling haunted by the disappointment in his eyes. The truth is, no one’s really cared enough about her to be disappointed in her before. Naomi acts out in part because she believes that he will eventually give up on her too, like everyone else has—isn’t she doing them a favour by showing them that she’s not worth it?

PINE: When Naomi was younger, before she’d convinced herself that she didn’t care what the rest of the world thought about her, she used to pretend to be anyone but herself. She’d learned that it’s easy to hide behind a pretty face, that no one wants to believe that someone so endearing could be capable of anything bad. To most of the pack, Grey probably seems harmless, but she doesn’t trust that guileless facade for a second. She knows they’re capable of more than what they show, and she’s determined to sink her claws into them and drag their true self into the light. Her relentlessness probably stems from her desire to make up for abandoning the pack and not being there when they might have needed her. But in her quest to dig up the truth, they might just end up seeing through her instead.

HORNBEAM: Naomi believes that kindness always comes with strings attached. While she knows that she should be grateful for Mar stepping in to stop her from crashing and burning, she’s mostly too proud to admit that she needed her help, and she hates feeling like she owes the older woman a debt. There aren’t many places in Blackrock to hide. Mar can’t run from her forever. It starts with a small unprompted favour, but it’s nothing compared to what they did for her. So it goes on like that, favour after favour after favour until her debt is repaid. Except—shouldn’t they be even by now? Why doesn’t she feel relieved? Why does she keep looking for excuses to help Mar?

HEMLOCK: Once, she’d thought they were two sides of the same coin, that Connor was a kindred spirit, someone who understands what it’s like to be consumed by anger at a world that has never been kind to either of them. But while he’s tried to claw their way into the light, Naomi feels like she’s been running backwards. She’s desperate to feel like she’s not alone, to be seen and heard and understood, and her desire to prove that they are the same is a result of that. Except she goes about it by trying to drag Connor down to her level, and the more he resists, the angrier she gets, although that anger is largely directed inwards.

Wanted Connections

( OPEN / WEREWOLF ) — Naomi doesn’t have friends, but you were almost the exception. Almost, because just as it felt like the two of you were finally getting somewhere, she upped and left town without a word. Why didn’t she tell you she was leaving? Why hadn’t she taken you with her? Her departure may have left an open wound, but it’s her return that truly stings. Where do you go from here?

( OPEN / WEREWOLF ) — She’s quick with her fists, and quicker with her mouth. You’ve always known that mouth of hers will get the pack into trouble one day, and you’re determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. But Naomi is not so easily tamed, and you will have to take her apart entirely before you can mould her into becoming a good little werewolf. How far are you willing to go to break her?

( OPEN / HUMAN ) — Here are the facts. One: you once helped Naomi out. Two: she’d insisted on returning the favour, but you’d declined. Three: the asshole who’d been a thorn in your side ends up in the hospital after a vicious wolf attack. There’s no reason to think that the last fact has anything to do with the first two, but still, you wonder. Maybe you even start to look into it, but what will you do when you’re proven right? ( OPEN / HUMAN ) — You made the mistake of patching Naomi up once after a fight, and now she’s developed a habit of showing up at your door bloody and bruised. You’ve told her time and time that you’re not a doctor, but she never listens. Maybe it’s because you never turn her away, despite your complaints. But what else are you supposed to do? ( OPEN / ANY ) — You were a bitch to the manager at Buckshot once and now Naomi always gives you an extra side of fries for free with your meal. You hardly even know each other, but the enemy of her enemy is her friend, and if you catch her on a good day, she might even admit that you’re kinda, sorta, maybe not that bad. Her shifts are less boring when you’re around anyway, and if she’s noticed that you only ever seem to visit when she’s working—she pretends not to.

[practcritus]

Gabriel “Gabe” Howard - The Dirtbag

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Major: Law

Age: 24

Year in School: Sophomore

“Marriage” Partner: “The Siren”

Faceclaim: Jeremy Allen White

HISTORY

gabe (never, ever call him gabriel) is the eldest of six kids and essentially the parent of the other five. his mother left them shortly after giving birth to the youngest, and the subsequent meltdown from his father meant gabe didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. it was keep an eye on the kids or let them suffer. their father’s depression at his wife leaving spiralled him into a circle of alcohol misuse, gambling debt and various other vices that generally left him incapable of looking after kids, but gabe never bitched about it. he wasn’t stupid, he just had to get on with it. his siblings meant the world to him, and it was always them against most everyone else (with the exception of his cousin). TW WARNING: ABUSE. their father was a violent man (one of the reasons their mother abandoned them) and gabe took the brunt of it, sometimes deliberately antagonising the man if it looked like he was going to go after one of his younger siblings. where he wasn’t violent, he was always verbally and emotionally abusive, and it was gabe’s need for his father to love him and not blame him for his mother’s departure that ultimately led to him becoming as closed off as he is today. END TW.

gabe has been working multiple jobs to supplement what little of his father’s income is left to support his siblings, and the idea of going to college was a bit of a pipe dream. he’s racked up a frankly disturbing amount of debt to go to college to study law (which he doesn’t really want to do, but it pays well and he can support his siblings better, right?), and he’s still working two part time jobs while he’s studying. his real passion is art; he’s always been good with paper, pens and pencils, and the time to sit and study an object. about the only time he’s really happy is when he’s sketching, and although he loves it and could probably make a career out of painting or illustration, he just isn’t confident enough in the money. he can’t risk it. he’s too scared to allow himself that, so his passion is one of his most closely guarded secrets.

deep down, he’s actually a really caring and nice guy, but getting under those defenses is extremely difficult. he’s learned to be distrustful of most people and takes any kind of betrayal or deceit very personally, so he’s generally enough of an asshole to keep everyone else at bay and he accepts the loneliness that comes with it. does he want to find love and settle down with someone and hang out? yeah, but he doesn’t have time, and he’s far too cynical to believe it’ll happen. he’s also extremely scared of becoming like his father. he’s been smoking since he was about eleven, but he’s very averse to gambling, alcohol and drugs (doesn’t judge others, but he’s scared that he’ll get addicted to them). he’s still quite antagonistic with the people he is close to; sarcasm and cynicism are just defaults to him, but if he cares, he’ll be there for you through whatever is needed. he would quite literally kill for them.

his mother was deeply religious but he is not (what kind of god would put their children through this shit?). he’s a pretty decent cook and lives at home still, because he can’t leave his siblings there alone. you’ll often find him in the on campus coffee shop or the library, because people leave him the fuck alone there.

CONNECTIONS

“The Clueless” - Maybe it’s just in The Clueless’ nature, but he’s also really good friends with The Dirtbag. It’s almost the same as The Black Sheep where The Clueless sees the best in him and wants him to succeed. Vice versa, even if The Dirtbag won’t admit it. As much as the Dirtbag pushes The Clueless away, he just keeps coming back so he’s kind of accepted it at this point.

“The Minx” - These two are cousins and despite both of their difficult lives, having each other in them was a constant good thing. They grew up right around the corner from each other so they were always spending time together and no matter what was going on in their lives, they knew they could turn to each other. When it came to college it wasn’t even a question on if they would go together.

“The Siren” - He thinks it’s a sick joke, getting paired with her. The two couldn’t be more opposite and he hates everything she stands for. He knows he’s gotta stick with it because he has to graduate because he has to take care of his family but after seeing her name next to his, he almost was ready to drop out but he’s not going to let her ruin something he’s worked really hard for.

“The Addict” - Despite not letting anyone in, these two are pretty good friends. Whenever he needs to smoke or let off some steam, he knows the other is there for him. And vice versa. It’s almost bad though because neither one of them call each other out on the things they’re doing wrong and they both just let the other divulge in their guilty pleasures without consequences.

[witnessing-the-gay-patheon]

To Her Nearest and Dearest Friends

It’s time we talked. I know we’ve all been avoiding this conversation but it’s time we did. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I’m NOT okay. Really not okay. And I have no idea how to fix it. I know I said I could just pretend like she didn’t exist and be okay with what she did but I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t. I feel selfish telling you. I know how much she means to you and that’s the exact reason why I have to tell you. Because that’s how she got me. I never ever want someone to feel like I’m feeling right now. I just can’t let that happen. So I get you might stop reading or you might have already stopped but if not, here you go, everything she did.

               In simple terms she broke me. She took the pieces that others had torn to shreds and burned the remainder of what was left. She manipulated me and warped my brain until she had almost complete control. She beat me down, she convinced me I was nothing, she told me that it was only her that would ever truly like me because I was such a bad person. She constantly lied to me, relying my good nature to feed her and putting me in debt. (I admit I cannot completely blame her for this as she didn’t steal my money but I felt obligated at every turn to help because I had a job and she was ‘so so poor’). She constantly used her mental illness as an excuse to be an asshole to me and force me to do stuff I wasn’t comfortable with, e.g. write her essays, stay at her house all the time, not talk to anyone else. She made me feel guilty for even looking at other people. I couldn’t text other people without her being there to ask who I was talking to and why did I like them more than her? (not that this could ever be possible because she was ‘my favourite’).  She used my own mental illness against me. This is worst she ever did to me. I could take most of it but this part still leaves me sore. She knows everything about me and what happened during my rape. She probed and probed until I broke down in her room and told her everything. I’ve never told anyone the whole truth apart from her. She knows everything, I thought I trusted her with my greatest secret but she only used it as a way to hurt me more. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for opening up and to be honest it’s going to take a lot of trust and work for me to ever open up like that again. She knew what she was doing, she was far smarter and more manipulative than I could ever have dreamed of.

               After all, that I didn’t think that she could sink any lower but I guess I’m just the unluckiest person ever. It happened early October (my favourite month not). As she liked to do I received a snapchat off her (looking back it’s a snapchat and therefore I have no proof) that read drinking by myself come save me. Nothing abnormal for the time so I went as was norm at the time to go help her drunk ass and to stop her from hurting herself. She gave me a key so I let myself in and went to her room. She was lying on her bed with a bottle of wine watching Ru Pauls drag race reruns. As normal I asked her what was wrong and off she went on her normal spew about how she was so alone and how one of her fuck buddies had abandoned her tried to top himself and therefore wouldn’t be able to visit her at the weekend. I would have been more supportive if the reason she was upset was because someone she cared about had tried to kill themselves other than what she was upset about was that he couldn’t come fuck her at the weekend and therefore this made him a bad person. Anyway I tried not to focus on that because she was my friend, a very drunk unstable friend who I needed to help (thank you hero complex). But anyway she worked herself up into a state, I couldn’t stop her or talk her down I tried. I honestly did. I didn’t know what to do she was so mad and sad. She went for the door saying she was going to toilet to hurt herself and I knew I couldn’t let that happen so I grabbed her. She had a knife in her hand. I didn’t know what to do I just knew I had to stop her. I fully admit I put my hands on her first but not in a mean or hurtful way just to stop her from leaving to hurt herself, I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t want her to get hurt. I just wanted her to be safe. And then it happened. A personal low point of my life. She hit me. I remember the stinging feeling in my face. I remember trying not to cry while I watched her cry. She starting crying and said that it was an accident. She would never hurt someone on purpose. She said that she was a survivor of domestic violence so she wouldn’t ever hurt another person. I know now that that was a lie. But at the time I was so convinced that she was a friend, so convinced that she wouldn’t intentionally harm me that I let it slide. I hugged her, I told her it would all be okay. I put her back to bed and waited until she passed out and then I left. The next day she acted like nothing had happened. I don’t even know if she remembers and that hurt so much more. I cried myself to sleep that night, until I convinced myself that it didn’t happen that I was lying to myself just like always. Stupid me, the girl who imagines everything. The little attention seeker. But I couldn’t shake it, and she only got worse. She got so mad that I missed her birthday party that not even the £100+ presents I bought her or the dinner I bought her was enough. She was so mad she made her cat attack me. I have a scar where she prodded around on my tit saying it’s not that bad. Now every time I look down, there is a little reminder of her.  

               I would continue with the rest but you already know about the group chat and how I realised she was a cunt but that’s not important. That part of our fallout is the tiniest part and I can understand that if you only look at it from that point of view then you might see this argument as classic childish fallout. But this is so much more. She used, manipulated and threatened me. I regard her as an abuser and I can’t unthink of her as that way.

               So there you go, everything important. And just so you are aware, if you still want to be friends with her that’s fine. I absolutely am not going to stop you I would never do that. I just pray that you see the truth so you don’t end up like me. I know she’s claiming she remembers nothing and that makes this so much harder because I honestly don’t know if she’s just manipulating the situation again. I would never claim that someone’s mental health isn’t real (if you think I wouldn’t then you really don’t know me) but this seems to line up so conveniently that it seems implausible that there is any other solution.

               I’m sorry but this was the only way I can express myself, words often fail me. I’m sorry that you had to read this and I honestly didn’t ever want to have to do this. And the end of the day if you wanted to pretend you never read this that’s it fine by me. The ball is now in your court. I would still like to be your friend either way. However, for what is left of my sanity I would appreciate that if you don’t believe me not telling me that you don’t, because its literally my largest fear. I know that that is probably selfish, but I can’t I’m sorry. Know I would never intentionally hurt you.