#cw for an abusive relationship

[pricetagged]

butcher paper

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[i-suggest-afam]

The justification for opposing “family should not be automatically assumed to be the most important relationship in someone’s life” should not be “well, some people’s families traumatized them”.

I could talk about how a lot of people with familial trauma don’t recognize that sort of thing as traumatic at all (the “what do you mean this isn’t normal? are you seriously telling me this doesn’t happen to everyone?” reaction). I could talk about how trauma is seen as extremely competitive, and how so many people constantly compare themselves to others who are “more traumatized” and think “okay, those people have the right to value familial relationships less. but I certainly don’t. I didn’t have [insert thing] ever happen to me.”

But mostly I want to say that this doesn’t actually do anything to challenge the relationship hierarchy. All it does is add an asterisk to that hierarchy. “Everyone needs to value and appreciate their family*”

*Unless you’re one of the “tragic cases” we’ve approved as being exempt

The truth is that no one has an obligation to their family. No, not even if they were raised perfectly. You don’t owe your family for doing that. They chose to do that once they had a child. That was their choice that you don’t need to pay for with love. Putting familial relationships on a pedestal isn’t any more justified than putting romantic or sexual relationships on a pedestal.

It’s like if the justification against the amatonormative centering of romantic relationships was “some people are stuck in abusive relationships because they don’t know they are allowed to not have a relationship”. That would be a positive benefit of anti-amatonormativity. And those perspectives do need to be shared. But true breakdown of the centering of romantic relationships means that someone can be offered a relationship by a “perfect partner” and still be valid in turning that down if that’s not the kind of relationship they want in their life.

The same goes for the breakdown of “family first”.

[incognitopolls]

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[my-clematis]

Closure AU Headcanon

When Eurylochus returns to Ithaca, he talks to Odysseus in a very formal way. Not necessarily in a cold or curt way, but in a way where you'd never guess that they were once friends; basically, Eurylochus talks to Odysseus like they were only ever king and subject, rather than brothers. It's always "your majesty" or "my king" rather than the more friendly terms of "Ody," or even "Captain."

Odysseus would hate this, and I think he would push Eurylochus to drop the formalities and be more casual with him. The years they spent apart gave Odysseus plenty of time to reflect on everything that happened, and he hates how messed up things got between the two of them. He wants to repair their relationship and be close like they used to be, and for Eurylochus to be comfortable speaking his mind.

Now keep in mind, Eurylochus isn't trying to be passive aggressive when he does this. On the contrary, he thinks this is what will please Odysseus. He's trying to be "devout," like Odysseus told him to be in Luck Runs Out.

I think that while eventually Eurylochus does stop treating Odysseus like a stranger, it takes longer for him to fully reinternalize his autonomy in his relationship with Odysseus. His treatment by Zeus has given him a screwed up idea of what relationships should look like, and has instilled this desire to submit to those he sees as having authority over him. As his king and his former captain, Eurylochus feels like he has to place himself below Odysseus. He's also terrified of ever expressing doubt or discomfort, because he's internalized this idea that him acting on his doubt only brings pain and tragedy (e.g. the windbag).

I think this would be a big hurdle in Eurylochus and Odysseus becoming truly close again. Eurylochus hasn't moved on from the pain, but he buries his feelings and just pretends everything's alright in order to do what he thinks Odysseus wants; Odysseus wants things to be okay, so he'll pretend that they are. However, until Eurylochus confronts the bundle of mixed up feelings inside him, things can never truly be okay, and neither can Eurylochus.

On a happier note though! My headcanon is that Odysseus would eventually clue into the fact that Eurylochus is still acting like a servant, and there would be a genuine confrontation in which Eurylochus' true feelings come spilling out. It takes time, but their relationship improves from there and ends up much happy and healthier.

[foenixed]

Love is not inherently pure. Love can hurt, abusers can love their victims, abuse can be a manifestation of real love. Love is not just a fake excuse for hurting others, it can be a genuine reason. That doesn't make it okay because love does not exonerate you, it does not purify you, it does not redeem you, it does not mean you view the subject of your love as your equal or respect them in any capacity. Take love off its pedestal, otherwise you limit your ability to see abuse, you feed the voice that says "How could they be an abuser? They love me."

[seventeendeer]

this isn't at all meant to be condescending or finger-waggy because 100% we all have blind spots like this, but I'm really, really hoping that the people who never found Gaiman's approach to his own fandom concerning in any way will take this all as a learning moment.

he was an older, hyper-famous author engaging directly and frequently with an online audience of largely vulnerable young marginalized people. he presented himself as cultured and worldly, and made himself approachable as someone to go to for advice, encouragement and "wisdom." his manner of speech was extremely pathos-heavy and clearly intended to be comforting and encouraging in exactly the way his target demographic needed it to be to swallow every word. the way he spoke about stories and creativity was designed to make young creative hopefuls feel special and important, while sweeping real analytical techniques under the rug - in hindsight, likely so no one would think too critically about the disturbing amount of patriarchal abuse played for cheap shock value and voyerism in his own body of works.

Gaiman saw a target demographic that was desperate for an older creative role model to tell them they were worth something, and he exploited that pain to twist a narrative around himself where he was king and any critique leveled at him or his works were the enemy.

to be clear, he could have been innocent. he could totally have been just an out-of-touch old man saying nice things to people because he wanted to be kind and he thought he was a lot smarter than he really was. red flags are warning signs, not a surefire way to tell if someone is actually "secretly shitty."

but if you used to look up to him, PLEASE take this moment to revisit the ideas you absorbed from him. did you take his words to heart because they seemed to have objective merit? or did you take them to heart because it felt good to believe what he said? do you still hold these values? does knowing he was intentionally manipulating his online audience make you less certain? do you need more information from a different source before deciding one way or another?

again, I'm just really, really hoping people on here will take a moment to reevaluate the ideas and opinions he's injected into tumblr fandom culture, because his reach is immense and he has absolutely been manipulating popular perception of relevant topics to gain further influence and control the narrative around both his own and Pratchett's legacy. please, please take this moment to notice what he's been doing - and next time someone tries to pull the same shit, hopefully we'll be able to apply what we've learned from experience.

[dragonymango]

this was brought upon me seeing like 5 posts about them smoking today

[incognitopolls]

Psychiatric help could include medication, therapy, institutionalization, etc.

Hitting or hurting could include spanking, yanking arms or hair, etc.

–

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[fucxmetodeath]

sent this to a man but he didn’t had the reaction i hoped so i’ll just share it with you my friends!

boobies!!

[sleeplessdreamer14]

(cw: abuse (and humanized! bill))

if you recognize the reference congrats! have a cookie 🍪

[theflashjaygarrick]

Hate how one of the only analyses of Mia Dearden from a feminist perspective I can find (outside of awesome Tumblr meta) is one of those pop-'feminist' readings that some how ends up feeling more sexist then the actual source material.

Like in what world is Quiver arguing Mia is somehow responsible for being a human trafficking victim? Or that it's a 'scared straight' warning of what happens if you're not a 'good girl'? How is it not a story about recovering from abuse and reclaiming both your agency and your girlhood?

Why are you pulling the 'why didn't you leave' card on a teenage girl? Why are you ignoring her history of abuse and how that would impact the way she sees the world and interacts with older men? Or the way that Green Arrow was the first adult man in her life to say "you know, this isn't right. You're a child". The fact that she didn't know there was a safe place to go until he gives her the card to the youth centre (which is also not mentioned in the article btw). Also I know Madonna/Whore is a concept in feminist criticism but calling her a "literal and metaphorical whore" is far more disgusting and victim-blaming than the comic ever got.

Also sure she's reliant somewhat on Ollie (she's a kid, she shouldn't have to be fully self-reliant) but acting as if she's taught to be subservient to him is an odd take. She is consistently disagreeing and pushing boundaries. In fact her becoming Speedy is a situation where rejects his (and Roy and Dinah's) protective idea of what's best for her to become who she wants and needs to be. And does she get punished for exerting individual agency by the narrative? No. She becomes a superhero and a teen titan.

Also calling her having HIV her being punished by the narrative is also a strange reading when Winnick deliberately wrote her to show HIV doesn't mean your life is over or you're a bad person. Something which a lot of media still pushes.

You can obviously criticise the way Mia Dearden is written (particularly as an abuse and human trafficking survivor, something which I am not) but the way this went about that framed left me very annoyed.

[wormieapple]

please understand that i will never and can never condone John Winchester’s actions but some of y’all really don’t understand what “he did the best he could” means.

he neglected and at the very least emotionally abused his kids, and there’s a pretty good argument that he might’ve physically abused them as well. he isolated them, prevented them from forming any lasting relationships outside of immediate family, left them alone for days if not weeks on end with firearms and very little food. And that’s not even the half of it. and everything he did was a manifestation of grief and drive to protect his family. which does not in the slightest justify how he treated sam and dean, but it does lay out his morals and motives pretty clearly.

He loves his kids, he really does. and while struggling to deal with his own trauma he was doing everything he could in his mind to keep them safe. but that doesn’t make his best enough, not by a long shot. that doesn’t even make his best efforts good efforts. at the end of the day he abused his kids and royally fucked up their ability to cope with their own grief and trauma in ways that i cannot touch with a 10ft pole rn or i’ll be writing 57 essays right here and now.

and again i hate john just as much as the next person but he did not set out to abuse his kids. he didn’t have nefarious intentions when it came to how he raised his kids. he was a good person who turned into an abusive asshole due to grief, paranoia, and alcoholism. and it makes perfect sense that sam and dean still love him even if they recognize the damage he did to them. because they also know how hard their dad tried, and they’ve said as much several times. and i get it cause that’s how i grew up. my dad did everything he could despite his grief, despite his depression, despite working 14 hour days in poverty and homelessness, and he still neglected and emotionally abused me. not because he was a bad person, but because he had no tools to deal with everything he was going through. and his best wasn’t enough, his best failed me. and i still love my dad cause not every memory was bad, and he does truly love me and my siblings. And i’m lucky in a way that sam and dean never were because my dad recognized where he failed us, owned up to what he did and tries everyday to repair the damage he did.

I have closure, and that’s something sam and dean could never really have. but they do have the clusterfuck of emotions that is he tried his best and it wasn’t enough.

[stargirlanthem]

feels like sugar in me (i always crave and go back to abus1v3 relationships because i dont feel like i deserve any better and its the only way i ever feel loved) 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[tomialtooth]

Very interesting how in the duga ending Perseus is genuinely delighted that you're still alive and welcomes you back as his comrade with open arms and he's supposed to be the bad guy whereas the "good guys" of the game make it very clear in their treatment of you that they do not think of you as a person let alone their friend.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

some people say they want toxic killermare then get mad when other characters see it as toxic (which is what the shippers want anyway) and treat it as toxic (which is what the shippers want) and when other characters encourage them to break up or leave eachother (what people usually do when see they see a toxic relationship) and then start hating on the character for seeing the relationship they want to be toxic as toxic and treating it as toxic