#hinted past abuse

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Laura attending the 84 tournament and witnessing everything that happens, she’s proud of her boy for trying his best but she doesn’t quiet approved of him going after his opponents leg like that.

When she makes it to the parking lot and sees Johnny and his teacher arguing she speeds up, intent to butt in and tell the man off for what he’s been teaching her kid.

Then he’s grabbing Johnny in a chokehold and she sees red. She’s running up to them and getting the man over the head with her hand bag, suddenly seeing all those times men had done something similar to her and she won’t stand for her baby experiencing it as well.

[puhpandas]

just watched all the way through john fuhnaffs recent theory and like godd he really is cooking he truly is onto something but like. the idea that Cassies dad did all of thos important stuff and is connected to the mimic and built mxes and did all this shit is like. what do Gregory and vanessa even have to do with anything anymore at this point

[eddywoww]

Me: a Father’s Day fic would be fun

Also me: make steve suffer

[gufettogrigio]

Bastian contrario

Grimaud's cemetery is grim in the rain. Damon is the one who has had the forethought to bring an umbrella and wouldn't mind sharing but there's not much point. The wet gravel crunches under Jacques' sneakers a few feet in front of him, his steps almost a run. Damon has to bite his tongue. If they shouldn't be seen, why are they here?

Didier Pironi's tomb is unassumingly lined up in a row of others, him and his brother side by side. There's a few flowers, some in pots, some not. Jacques hasn't brought any.

He stands there, in his t-shirt and baggy jeans, stubborn under the rain, just a step away from the shelter of Damon's umbrella. 

"He had a lot of my father's things." - Jacques says  - "My dad never cared enough to have a journal, not enough patience, but he'd keep all of the train tickets, hotel receipts, the flyers and so on. All bunched up in folders. Pironi sorted them out for me in years and gave them to me."

"I didn't know you two talked."

There's a shrug. "He didn't want to. I am very stubborn." 

The rain doesn't let on. Damon considers it a victory that when Jacques decides to sit cross-legged on the gravel in front of the grave, he lets Damon sit by his side with the umbrella. He's soaked through, his bleached blond hair plastered to his forehead, his round glasses fogged up by the rain.

"Once, we were in Monaco, Jody and Pironi came over. I was at the table doing my homework and they came into the room and stayed there talking." 

He takes his glasses off. "I fucked up. I am not good at math."

Jacques says them but they are not his words. It doesn't make them a lie if you believe them. Damon hears what is not said: he has seen Jacques do math for the cars. He's good. A child of eight or nine should not be expected to be 'good'.

"Dad got mad and then got even madder because I knocked the pencil sharpenings over when I scrambled to try and fix the mistakes. He never…he never hit me. Not once. He would just walk out the room like I wasn't interesting anymore. I wasn't a very interesting child. Sometimes my mum wasn't a very interesting woman."

Jacques tilts his head, fingers gripping the tin frame of his glasses. He's never still. Damon knows the look on his face, PR proper. Lie,lie, lie. Keep the family secrets. How dare you do otherwise? But you forfeit your hand when you've killed yourself in a car and Jacques is here in sneakers and a t-shirt and all four wheels on the tarmac. 

"My first real memory of Pironi is him with pencil all over his hands from picking up the sharpenings, sitting next to me doing primary school math."

 He drops the glasses in the gravel and reaches out, the tips of his fingers grazing the headstone. "Didi knew who my father was. Didi saw what I saw. He loved my father anyway. He just wasn't blind. He always made me feel like I wasn't insane for thinking that my father was a horrible person. He also made me feel a lot less guilty for adoring him anyway. And if I win the Championship, I'll bring it to Didi first."

[doveotion]

Being self aware is literally hell I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

Mai speaking facts only victim azula is of her father but she made her own choices to abuse her friends and that is on her

[tempest-toss]

If it wasn't for Agent Sapphire, maybe I would've continued that cycle...

--Ten

[panics-side-blog]

New Cycle - Chapter 5 - 3AMstoryIdeas - Transformers - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

I seem to always forget to upload the link.

Also as a side note this chapter isn't as much of a wall text like the last one. I also edited the last one to be more easy on the eye. Plus first chapter is rewriten, it has now an addition of 1k words in it.

[a-book-of-creatures]

Tumblr being tumblr, this post is overly reductive for the sake of being funny, so a bit of context. It’s kind of depressing too.

Ken Rex McElroy was, according to Wikipedia, accused of “assault, child molestation, statutory rape, arson, animal cruelty, hog and cattle rustling, and burglary”, but never convicted. When he was shot by persons unknown, “there were 46 potential witnesses to the shooting, including Trena McElroy, who was in the truck with her husband when he was shot. Nobody called for an ambulance. Only Trena claimed to identify a gunman; every other witness was either unable to name an assailant or claimed not to have seen who fired the fatal shots. The DA declined to press charges, and an extensive federal investigation did not lead to any charges either. Missouri-based journalist Steve Booher described the attitude of some townspeople as "he needed killing."”

According to this article by Jakob Prater, “[t]he killing was covered by the news for weeks, and the reputation it developed killed the town. There used to be gas stations, a grocery store, even a high school but now all that remains is Good Time Charley’s, a great grill and bar that I recommend.”

The 2000 murder of Wendy Gillenwater isn’t unsolved. She was beaten to death by Greg Dragoo, her boyfriend. The body could only be identified by her ring.

The 2004 murder of Bobbie Joe Stinnett isn’t unsolved. She was strangled by Lisa Montgomery. Stinnett was eight months pregnant at the time and Montgomery cut the baby out of her. The baby survived.

Branson Perry (Bobbie Jo Stinnett’s cousin) disappeared in 2001. In 2003 “Jack Wayne Rogers, a 59-year-old Presbyterian minister and Boy Scout leader… was arrested on charges of first-degree assault and practicing medicine without a license after removing a trans woman's genitals in a makeshift gender reassignment surgery at a hotel in Columbia.” He was suspected of involvement in the case but this suspicion has since been dropped. Perry’s whereabouts remain unknown.

Prater’s article ends on a hopeful note.

In the case of Montgomery’s crime, they learned their lesson. The people of Skidmore did all the things they didn’t do before. They talked about what happened. They called the police, and the police got an amber alert. They did what they didn’t do for Gillenwater or Perry. They took the event seriously, and the baby was found.

Now, it seems they will let the proper authorities know, and they won’t just use it for gossip and rumors. They will no longer hold mysterious town meetings or whisper about when someone is in trouble or doing something they shouldn't.

Annual pumpkin-related festivals happen in lots of other places too. Happy October.

Does any horror story about small towns capture the vibe more horrifyingly than this paragraph on Wikipedia

This small farming community is known for its mob killing, its unsolved murders, its unsolved disappearances, and the annual pumpkin festival

[celestialmancer]

☀️.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[psilactis]

I'm so tired

[yawnderu]

For Simon, there's something oddly alluring about the way you crumble beneath his touch. The way his rough hands seem to leave an invisible trail of electricity on your smooth skin, quickly becoming addicted to the way your back arches, soft lips parted as your moaning rises to a crescendo, Simon's wide hips keeping you in place as every single inch of his thick, drooling cock slams in and out of you at an almost sloppy pace, too pussy-drunk to focus on anything other than the way your body feels so right in his hands, on the way you react to every single touch.

A deep, shaky breath makes its way out of your lips, hot air kissing Simon's skin, only adding to the heat rising to his cheeks from how perfect you look in that moment, the thin layer of sweat coating your body and your tits bouncing up and down with each thrust, keeping him entranced as his hips move purely out of muscle memory, too familiar with intimacy when it comes to you.

Simon leans down, planting open-mouthed kisses all over your bouncing chest, the feeling of the shaking fat nearly forcing his hips to stutter before he gets a hold of himself, wanting to be as close to you as possible, even if only for a few more minutes. His warm tongue sneaks past his lips, capturing one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking like a man starved, basking in the sound of deep, cropped breaths escaping through your teeth, always so reactive to every single thing he does.

Your arms encircle his behemoth frame, draping over his broad shoulders, feeling his muscles instinctively flex beneath your touch, never one to shy away from the effect intimacy has on him. The moment your head leans down, Simon gets the hint, his cracked lips crashing against yours as he keeps abusing your fucked-out cunt, swallowing every single one of your needy, whiny moans.

A shaky breath leaves his lips, already feeling his core tighten despite his best attempts at dragging it out, his tongue wrapping around yours in a battle for dominance that you instantly forfeit, the feeling of his bulbous tip slamming against the spongy entrance of your cervix not giving you much of a chance to think. Your eyes drift down below, fully focused on the ring of your juices wrapping around the base of Simon's cock, his dark, unkept happy trail glistening with your slick.

“Cum f'me, pretty.’’ Simon's hoarse voice whispers in your ear, ramming in and out of you at an almost unlawful pace, one of his hands reaching up to grasp your tit, using your own body as leverage to fuck into you harder, his lips coming back to yours like a magnet, wanting to feel every single inch of your perfect body beneath him, quivering in pure bliss.

Your walls wrap tighter around his cock, pulling him deeper —if it's even possible—, his mouth muffling the high-pitched, whinier moan leaving your lips the moment you cum around his dick, coating his veiny shaft with slick. He thrusts into you one last time, his muscles tightening up before relaxing as he comes undone, ropes of hot, thick cum shooting into your cervix.

His large body nearly collapses on top of you in the aftermath of his orgasm, though he's quick to catch himself, supporting his own weight with his arms. There's nothing but pure reverence in those half-lidded brown eyes, admiring you even when the energy drains out of him at a rapid pace, his thin, pink lips planting a soft kiss on your forehead before he slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, a string of his thick, white cum keeping you connected until he lies besides you, wrapping his burly arms around your exhausted frame, your face resting against his warm chest.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, non - con, sadism, hinted abuse

I'm thinking about the sweet sadistic type.

The way he pins you down and folds your body at whatever angle is convenient for him, completely disregarding those pained little yelps that tear your throat, or so you think. In reality he finds your broken gasps incredibly hot and would do anything to force more out of that cute little mouth despite your protests.

When you're so much smaller than him it's hard to see you as anything more than a defenseless plush toy - impossible to control the cute aggression that overtakes him at the sight of you when all he wants to do is pinch your cheeks and squeeze your thighs red, leaving fingerprints all over your body. He wants to bite your neck, to suck at your sweet spot for so long it stops being pleasurable and becomes unbearable instead - wants you to push at his chest and kick his legs just for the real helplessness to set in your brain.

When he takes you, he makes sure you're stretched, but never enough for it to be painless. Your captor finds sick satisfaction in the way your walls hug his cock all the way to your cervix, tight pussy throbbing in a pitiful attempt to adjust to his massive length - stretching you beyond your comfort. And when you finally cave in and give him those beautiful tears he loves so much, he's the first to caress your hot wet cheeks and kiss your puffy eyes. You're doing so well for me, sweet girl. Just bear with it for a bit longer. But it's never just a bit. He keeps rutting into you for hours, getting rougher and faster with each impending orgasm while you keep falling in and out of sleep, every time waking up to a sinister, lovesick gaze and a hand around your throat. Every time he's thrusting just a bit deeper, making your body jump and twist like it weights nothing.

He loves leaving bruises on you, although he would never admit it out loud. You look absolutely beautiful when you're bare before him, bashfully trying to hide the striking, undeniable proof that you're all his - the blue hickeys on your collarbone, the purple spots across your ass and thighs, the red marks all over your tits. It feels him with so much pride he always ends up pulling you in and kissing you with teeth, leaving a thin trail of blood down your chin. The things you do to me, baby. You really know how to set me on fire.

Still, he thinks you're the prettiest when you're crying. When he has just hit you and your cheek is burning, or when you hear your parents' names on the radio, and you let out those big, pearly tears, when you let your voice out after fighting your misery for so long. Shh, come here, babydoll. I know what will make you feel better. I'm going to give you lots of love until you forget about those pests from your past. Just try not to scream so much this time. You remember what happened last time, right? I would absolutely hate to see you hurt.

[onepureangel]

i finally was able to tell my partner abt my hypersexuality and my eating disorder ,, which felt nice to talk abt but i also feel kinda guilty ? and idk where thats coming from

[ask-team-grim]

TW: Implications of past abuse and mentions of violence.

Dravena trembled, her heart desperately pounding against her ribs. The fur the monarch had in a death grip pulled tighter against her chest with each shuddering breath. The monarch’s claws were so sharp. They could gut her in an instant.

It was just like before. Dravena opened her mouth, fumbling for a sentence or phrase that could pacify the threat, just like she witnessed her father do the same years ago.

No. She wasn’t a coward. She lifted her head up, her fangs bared in snarling defiance. Like hell she was backing down.

Dravena: I’ve seen ‘mons like you. ‘Mons that think they deserve every last thing from every last ‘mon in the world while contributing nothing like the leeches they are. ‘Mons that think that they can bite and claw and scar to force others to love them, to obey them, and then decide to throw their victims away like garbage when they’ve grown bored. ‘Mons that wring out every last bit of kindness from the scared and vulnerable, and beat them for more when there’s nothing left to give. Well guess what? It. Won’t. Work.

Dravena: How does it feel? You’re threatenin’ a random kid who just happened to wander into your stupid oversized room, and you can’t even make them beg for mercy! How pathetic.

Dravena: Who in their right mind would be grateful for you ridding the world of fairies when you’re so much worse than they could ever be?!‘Mons like you are worth less than the scum coating these walls. I ain’t your subject, and even if I was, I sure as hell ain’t gonna listen to vermin like you.

//Next part

@ask-team-grim

Dravena bumped her way down the long, stone-lined corridors. It certainly didn’t feel like any cave she had encountered. Yet it didn’t quite feel like any ‘mon-made structure that she ever visited either. It was far too foreboding for that.

Dravena jerked at the sharp thud of stones and a body hitting a wall up ahead. She raced towards the sound to see what was wrong. When she got there, she was horrified by what she heard. She felt the tell-tale sign of a fairy type’s aura twisting her stomach. But that wasn’t what alarmed her. Someone was terrorizing another ‘mon, threatening to rip the “fairy scum” apart!

Dravena pounced into the room. “Why’re you treating the fairy like that? Hurtin’ them when they didn’t do anything to ya?” The teen pulled her teeth back in a snarl. “Hell, I can’t even go within a few feet of any of them without their aura tearing mine to shreds. But that doesn’t mean ya can just slam around ‘mons that didn’t do anything wrong other than existin’!”

*It appears whatever force is holding the others doesn’t seem to affect you. However, you feel something or someone lift you from behind, bringing you closer to the Monarch. You can’t tell what it is. As much as you try to squirm and struggle, seems the other is far stronger than you. You feel someone forcefully grab the fluff on your chest and bring you forward.*

Monarch Destino: They are the reason everyone down here is starving! It is our history! Do they not educate children like yourself on how we ended up stuck in this hellhole?! It was the fairies! I say every single one of them should be made to suffer like we have. That's what I plan to do to them. You should be thankful I'm the monarch who is finally going to do something about them.

*Taking a small breath, Destino calms their temper. They sometimes had outbursts like this, especially towards the history of how their type ended up down here, along with the poison and ghost types.*

Monarch Destino: Interesting how you feel you can speak to your monarch in such a manner. I should end you right here and now for even thinking about questioning my actions. I’ve been the ruler of this kingdom for a year now. Surely my reputation should be known by someone as young as you. I don’t take kindly to those who wish to go against my authority.

*You feel the breath of someone on the back of your neck. You can assume it’s whoever is holding you from behind.*

Destino: I shall give you time to justify yourself, as you are one of my subjects. Failure to provide a reasonable explanation will end with you joining the rest of the corpses.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

*@ask-team-misfit - Leif, you notice, even with the excruciating pain you’re experiencing, the shape of a Pokémon behind the deino. The air shimmers and warps in that spot but you can make out that it’s a Zoroark. There appears to be a crown on their head. You can’t make out all of the details of this zoroark as their form is obscured by the warping air.*