This should not be funny.
But by God it is.
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Help a Pakistani friend
Hello everyone, I am returning to Tumblr because a dearest friend of mine and @dushman-e-jaan needs urgent help in order to escape an abusive situation she (and her family) is living through. We've decided to use our platforms (and also, in the case of Dushman-e-jaan, her Ko-fi user, as our friend doesn't have access to such a website due to her country of origin) to spread her request for help. We beg you to help or at least share her message:
Given my dire present circumstances, it’d be wise of me to ask for donations in regard to my future—and that of my mum and sister. I’m a woman from Pakistan, and I require urgent aid. The reason is my father: he’s unimaginably abusive (he nearly sold me off at the tender age of 10 to a fellow collogue in the military, something which I didn’t even know was wrong till much later in life as he’s seldom let me out of the house; I’ve spent nearly my entire life indoors, save for the time that I used to go out for receiving education; and he used to sexually abuse me as a child, along with the terrifying physical, emotional, and psychological abuse that he’s put me through); he’s cut off most of our finances, keeps us in a posh area for his own reputation, but gives us a pittance (95% of the house we live in is practically empty; and what is there is from my mother’s dowry); and to top it off, he’s sexually harassing us now. I spent my days locked in my room when he comes to the house (he comes and goes as he pleases, really; sometimes, he doesn’t come for weeks, and sometimes, he stays for few months straight); and my mum has seen him masturbating to my younger sister often. She’s in grave danger because of it. Last time, he called her to pick her up from a shop; it was night, and when she reached there, he ran after her (he’d covered his mouth with a cloth). My sister ran from him, weeping. It was when he gathered attention from others that he stopped and told my sister that he was joking; but I know better …
You might ask as to why I haven’t registered a complain, then … well, I live in Pakistan; and my father runs a madrassa (a religious school); and he used to serve as an officer in the army. His reputation is iron-clad, and there are many people who’d vouch for his character whilst me, my mum, and sister are the women “he puts up with”. He rejected good proposals that came for me and my sister. Every single one. Without ever asking us. (In Pakistan, it’s the parents that decide this, not the children, especially not women.) I’m in my thirties now (practically long past the expiration date for marriage in my country); and that’s exactly what my father wanted. Why? I can’t say. It’s just one of the many methods he’s used to abuse us. That brings me to the main point: I can’t stay in this country; I want out; and I want to get out fast with my family (my mum and sister; I’ve got a brother, too, but he’s a complete bum, and he’s made our lives even more miserable). My father is well-off, influential, and dangerous. We’re not safe here, and any attempt to sell the property (what little my mum has) is met with extreme antagonism from my father that I fear for her life at this point. (He already forged my mum’s signatures, sold her pension, and other furniture which was from her dowry; and he invested all of that in his own business venture; he owns a gas station, in which my mum has no share, whilst we struggle to make ends meet.) He’s isolated us from everyone. Last time when my mum stood up for me, he tied her dupatta around her neck and dragged her across the room (he told her that he’d create an example out of her; that was about a decade
I’ve got … so many of these incidents to share, but I can’t keep listing them without a reason. I require solid financial support. (I haven’t decided the amount, but 3000 ought to be fine? I don’t know) $ to be precise, so that I can apply for education in a better country, leave here, and make way for my mum and sister. I’m aware that it’s a lot to ask (maybe too much); but I don’t know how to put this any other way. The sooner we get out of here, the better. I’m disabled and the universities here are hostile to people like me. My sister struggles with her internship job. She can’t keep supporting me forever. My mum’s ill. I want to help them, too. Please, I implore you all to donate as much as you can afford to donate. Any amount would help. I need this—my family needs this! I thank you all for your compassion and generosity.
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Toby is upset.
Toby will talk about this. (Toby receive help making post by other alter.) User u/SpecialNeedsDevil
TW: abandonment, ableist language, sibling abuse, and lot hate words.
Please read link before post so understand what Toby talking about.
The word, the situation talk about in post make Toby very upset, very uncomfortable.
Toby does not blame mother for putting son in residential, but DOES despise her for using hurt and mean word to call son. She call him "potato" call him "THING" CALL HIM "MALIGNANT LUMP"!!! He is person too, maybe he not respond, communicate, or do much but he is person.
Would not call person on street "potato" or "thing", why call SON those words?!
She says she watched while older son HIT younger, and yell how much hates him. SHE WATCH HIM HIT!!
She say many many times how not love him, how not family, how never will be person. That CRUEL! CRUEL!!
There is big big difference between putting disabled in residential to help, to make quality life better, and doing out of HATE HATE and not seeing disabled person as human!
Comments also very very horrible. Comments talk how kids like son SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE!
Toby scared, Toby wish disabled get more respect.. wish not hate.
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i'm sorry for angie that i'm so pissed off about germany winning but zverev is an abuser and literally shouldn't even be playing. every time he plays, let alone plays or even WINS a final, i feel so much anger and frustration. it's like a constant reminder that the atp doesn't give a flying fuck about victims of domestic abuse, about zverev's victims. it's easy to talk about "wanting everyone to feel safe" and make empty promises but when a player involved in the atp tour, a prominent top 10 one at that, is IN FACT involved in more than one REAL case of domestic violence it's silence at best and outright support at worst. it's letting him play, it's fake "concern" and "investigations", it's all a loud statement of what they actually care about (money, saving face, never the victims). a constant, sickening reminder that powerful men will always walk away unscathed when women accuse them of abuse. there's never enough evidence, there's always too much at stake for the man. women are never believed. at this point, even after another woman has come forward more recently, and nothing's been said or done about it (oh wait, they gave him a fine), if you still support this man, if you still pretend it's not related to tennis, if you still, still can't stop rooting for him... you are a disgusting person.
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Lion’s Den: Part 5
The first hit of coffee that had touched your tongue had been equally tremendous and antagonizing as you held and lifted the hand-painted mug to your mouth. The coffee in the mug was probably the best-caffeinated brew you had ever tasted, and while it was revitalizing, you were also anguished to think that you would have to survive with cheap coffee and watered-down creamers when you had gone home.
Or found another place to live.
Still, as you had sipped on your coffee, enjoying the flavour, you had kept your eyes up and your studious gaze on the two alpha’s who had been busied with a matter of urgency that could not be stayed any longer than it already had. Their attention, which had been so fixated on finding out what you knew about Marcus, had been forcefully shifted to a heated conversation through the phone.
You had peered over the rim of your cup, steadily interested in the mannerisms of the alphas as they carried themselves through business. While watching Steve, you noted that he could pace but not in small or tight circles. Instead, he would walk the length of the kitchen or the living room before he turned and walked back.
He would pursue his lips or grit his teeth, and the clench of his jaw would make your heart flutter. In the moments when he wasn’t pacing, he would run his fingers through his hair and tousle the blonde locks that you had seen Bucky tugging earlier in passing
“Do you lack the capacity for using what tiny brain you have?” The insult that flies from his mouth is sparsely vulgar, and you know you’ve heard worse before, but it had made you laugh, and you almost choked on your coffee when you were supposed to be swallowing.
You had tried to stifle the sound of your coughing by choosing to hide your face into the sleeves of the sweater dress you were wearing after you had set the cup down on the table beside the couch. You had pressed the sleeves of the sweater dress to your cheeks, nearly purring at the softness as it was pressed against your cheek. Once the coughing, and after cough, had calmed down enough for you to return to silently watching the two alphas conduct themselves, you had sunk into the cushions and tucked your legs under you.
The conversation had quickly derailed the intent to question you about Marcus, and yet you still hadn’t been cleared to go. You still hadn’t been able to be released to your own devices, and you hadn’t known when it may have happened. You knew well enough that you couldn’t go back to your apartment, not with your sister and her jackass alpha, who had put his hands on you.
Were you expected to stay here? Would you be expected to stay here with them in their home? Were you expected to stay here while they ran their business? While they screwed each other’s brains out?
Tom had given you a warning, though it hadn’t been overtly disturbing when he said it. He had told you that they weren’t done with you by a long shot; they had said so themselves in few words. They hadn’t hurt you, and they had promised they wouldn’t kill you, so what would become of you? You were well aware that your scents were addictive to each other but had that meant that you were true mates?
“Sorry princess,” Steve appeared in front of you, his phone tucked away and his blue-green eyes cast on you, “business needed to be taken care of.”
Your attention had been taken by the approach of the second half of the pair, and you had quickly flit your gaze upon the manner of which Bucky had appeared and sat down a few inches from you. The heels of his hands were resting on the edge of the couch, and you had been previously mindlessly unaware of the presence of rings on his ringers, but now that you had noticed them, you couldn’t look away.
The platinum bands with engravings etched into the metal had been both strikingly beautiful and eerily frightening when you let yourself imagine the damage those rings could have done given the opportunity. If Bucky had chosen to, you imagined those rings could have been classified as a weapon themselves, and the pain inflicted by the power behind his fists and the rings combined was unnerving.
“Tell us about Marcus, sweetheart.” Steve’s voice had pulled your attention from Bucky, and you had reluctantly glanced at the other massive alpha looking to find answers.
“Marcus is a complete ass.” You had winced when you shifted, your stomach still sore and bruised from where he had attacked you. “He and my sister had only been together for just under a year.”
“Did he mention anything about what he did? About his job-“
“As a runner? That’s what you call it, right?” You looked from Steve to Bucky, briefly catching Bucky’s hand moving closer to you, his fingers brushing against the edge of your sweater dress.
“Close enough.” Bucky’s voice was quiet; both of them were as they spoke. “What did he tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me anything, but from what I had heard him tell my sister…” you nibbled on your bottom lip and then exhaled. “Look, he’s an ass, and he always had been an ass. I’m not the first person he stole money from, but a while ago, I heard him telling my sister about some ‘allocation of funds that he’s found. The idiot never cared to keep his voice down.”
“Did he say where he got the money?” Steve had leaned in and rested his elbows against his knees and folded his arms in front of him. His blue-green eyes were fixated and focused on you, his lips pursed as he awaited your answer. You had taken a pause, a moment before you answered to concentrate on their scents and the way they had seemed to radiate slowly like a fine mist, beckoning you in just as yours had done to them.
You had or felt like you had, sworn there was a gentle prodding, a gentle nudge by the two alphas scents as if they were a living organism that was trying to latch onto you.
“He said he had about seventy-five thousand,” you mumbled, distracted by their scents and the gentle brush of Bucky’s hand against your outer thigh, “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything-“
“The club is missing fifty thousand. Ten thousand a night is taken from the cash balancing.” Bucky explained, leaning in and brushing his shoulder against your own as he first glanced at you, and then Steve, their eyes meeting and a silent way of communicating passing between them.
“I mean..there’s twenty-five-“
“He’s been hitting more than one place a night and hiding under the radar.” Steve had spoken with finality before he studied you, and you felt the shift of his scent and caught the darkening of his eyes. His jaw had clenched, and his fingers had dug into his leg as he slowly rose and walked toward you. Steve had bent down and brushed his fingers over the bruises along your neck, tenderly stroking your flesh while in thought, his eyebrows furrowing the longer he looked at you.
“Steve-“ You had been cut off, your voice cracking and turning to incoherent stuttering when he leaned in and pressed his lips against your forehead, the soft brush of flesh meeting flesh bringing a rise to your heartbeat and a flourish of heat to the apex between your thighs.
“Thank you for telling us, doll. You need another few days of rest.” He had pulled away and righted himself, his fingers dropping from your bruises and his hand quickly slipping into his pocket.
“What are you going to do?” You followed him with your eyes, never looking away from his vast and broad back as he walked toward the door. “Bucky, what are you going to do?”
“Stay here,” he kissed your forehead as Steve had. However, he had also pushed your hair behind your ear and brushed his lips against the shell of your ear, his voice husky and hoarse, “and do what you’re told.”
The door had creaked agonizingly as it was pushed open. The noise would have been enough to wake up anyone who wasn’t shitfaced; however, when they stepped into the apartment and saw how many empty bottles of beer and cheap liquor were lying around, they had known that no slight noise would wake the bastard they were trying to find. They had been able to completely enter the apartment, pushing away the discarded glass bottles with the toes of their shoes. They took stock of the party Marcus had seemed to throw in the hours of your departure, and now, the steady lines of coke he had no doubt snorted paired with the alcohol he’d consumed would indeed have kept his knocked out. Although he wouldn’t be knocked out for long, he wouldn’t have been able to hide in the apartment that wasn’t his, with an omega he didn’t have the balls to mark.
“This way.” Bucky nudged Steve with his elbow and began leading him down the hall to the left, approaching your room that he and your sister had taken over. It had been a night, a single night since you had left, and yet your scent was already overtaken by the stench of piss and alcohol, shit-cum and whatever else the pathetic dastard had surrounded himself with.
“Piece of shit,” Steve growled under his breath, stopping a point in the wall that had been dented, his fingers touching the warped drywall, knowing well enough that it was the place Marcus had thrown you into. “There’s a rule-“
“I know.” Bucky reached into the waistband of his pants and felt for the leather-bound shaft of the knife he carried with him at all times and started to withdraw the weapon, holding it at his side as they approached the room the radiated the deplorable stench of their target.
“He’s passed out.” Steve reached for the handle and turned his fingers, gripping the brass doorknob tightly. “But he sure as hell won’t be for long.”
“Marcus,” Bucky sneered, a rich seam of disgust tearing through him when he hadn’t just noticed the state of the room, but the form of the omega sharing the bed with him, “is treating his omega like a fucking dog.”
Your sister hadn’t just appeared to be weary even while she had slept, but her alpha’s mistreatment of her had ended with a gnarly looking mark on her neck that was rough and painful, the edges puffy as if it had already been prone to infection. Your sister was lying on her side with her arms wrapped tightly around Marcus’, her lips touching his shoulder, and upon a second look, Bucky had realized that Marcus hadn’t just marked her with his bite, but with branding on her stomach.
“Sick fucking mongrel.” Steve hissed and stepped closer; his patience was lost entirely. “Wake up, call, fucker.”
Steve had driven the heel of his boot into Marcus’s side; the force behind his kick and the pain that followed had woken him up with a started shout. He had rolled onto his side and produced a weapon from under his pillow before he had finally recognized who was standing by the bed.
“Marcus-“ Your sister gasped airily and reached for him, depending on him to keep her safe; however, when he had brushed her aside and fixated his glare on the two of them, her need for protection had turned to a pitiful whine.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus lowered his weapon, his guard falling as he expected a meeting with his bosses, his high and his hangover making his usual dimwittedness worse.
“Heard you came into some money recently, fucker.” Steve reached forward and dragged him out of bed by the arm, tossing him to the floor and delivering another powerful blow. “Where’d you get the money?”
“Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything!” Your sister cried, her pleas falling on deaf ears as Marcus cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowed.
“That fucking bitch is lying!” He spat at Steve and Bucky, his jaw clenching as he started to crawl backward. “That fucking cunt-“
“Are you deaf, boy?” Bucky stalked toward him, the knife in his hand drawing Marcus’ attention. “Where the fuck is our money?!”
“I didn’t take your money!” He had fired back, not back down from the two alphas who could have or would have beaten the shit out of him. “I don’t have your fucking money because I didn’t take-“
Your sister cried again, her shrieking voice echoing off the walls as Marcus had taken another hit. His head slammed against the floor from the force of Bucky’s foot being driven into his face. The sound of crunching bones was muffled by screaming and cursing.
“Where the fuck is our money, Marcus?” Steve bent down to his eye level, grabbed the hair at the top of his head, and yanked him back to focus. “You tell us where our fucking money is-“
“I didn’t take your money.” Marcus groaned with blood gushing down his face as he stared Steve down. “I didn’t take-“
“You’re a piss poor liar.” Steve stood from where he had bent down and kept hold of Marcus’ hair, dragging him behind as Steve moved from the bedroom to the living room, dropping him onto the floor. “You have one more chance to tell me where my fucking money is.” Steve kicked his side with every word, willingly beating up the piece of shit who put his hands on you. “Tell. Me. Now.”
“Stop! You god damn bastard!” Your sister came hurrying from the bedroom, barefoot and partially naked, her eyes wide and her scent as distorted as he was. “He doesn’t have the money! Okay! He doesn’t have it!”
“Steve,” Bucky called his name and strolled from the bedroom with an envelope in his hand and a look that Steve had seen only a handful of times before in his life, “the bitch is right. The money’s gone, and so are half a dozen omegas.”
“So not only do you owe us money, but you’re fucking around with human trafficking?” Steve leaned down, nearly crouching over him with his hands on his shoulders, using his weight to hold him down. “You took ten thousand a night, and you hit a few other places. Now we could say that each cut would be worth ten thousand, but you’re not worth that much.”
“You fuckers! Leave him alone!” Your sister was thoughtful enough not to get in between the three of them physically, yet her desperation to save her alpha added a sickening tension to the room. “Please-!”
“How many, Buck?” Steve grabbed the knife when it was handed to him, using his teeth to remove the sheath and spitting it to his left.
“Take the bitch!” Your sister’s scream had stopped the first cut, the first stroke of the knife to his chest. “My sister! Take the bitch as collateral! She’s gotta be worth seventy-five thousand!”
“A fair deal,” Marcus grunted, using what pitiful strength he had to try and fight Steve off, “the bitch for the money.”
“She’s not a possession, and she’s not for sale.” Steve denied the claim; he rejected the offer as he touched the tip of the knife to his chest and had started to make the first cut when your sister screeched again.
“Marcus already did it! He already sold her!” Your sister cried, her hands tucked under her chin and her vision blurred by tears that had begun pooling. “He’s getting money-“
“You fucking bitch!” The chaos from Marcus screaming at his omega, his anger pointed at her, was not overshadowed by the revelation set loose. “You stupid bitch! Can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
“They’re gonna kill you, Marcus!”
He was hauled to his feet and slammed against the nearest wall; the knife that had started to cut his chest was pressed against his neck, blood pebbling under the sharp edge. He was helpless to move under the pressure of Steve’s grip, and even if the stress wasn’t so heady, the feel of the knife against his neck was enough to keep him still.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Steve cursed at him, the pressure of the knife drawing more blood as the young, stupid alpha pressed against the wall remained as still as possible.
“If you want your mate to be still able to talk,” Steve’s voice dripped with malice as he looked at your sister from the corner of his eyes, “you’re going to tell us who this stupid little shit is fucking around. With.”
“You can’t kill him! Please!” Bucky had looked at her, taken another glance and caught the red tint to her irises that had come from the use of alcohol and drugs, the use of substances that Marcus no doubt had her hooked on.
“You have three seconds to give me your answer, or your limp dick is dead.” Steve gave the only warning, the only time constraint he would allow before jerking the knife.
“Some guy in Boston! Or Jersey! He moves around-“ she rambled and ranted, still feeling the effects of the night before, her hands waving erratically.
“Lucky for you,” Steve drew the knife away and slammed his fist into Marcus’ face, the brute force of the strike warning a crack of a bone in return, “we got an answer.”
“You promise you won’t hurt him?” Her naïveté was irritating; Bucky had rolled his eyes and scoffed, hitting her once across the temple to knock her out.
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Read if you'd like too
⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ vent about abuse/assault
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I truly wish I was an only child,
all my sister's have done are fk me over and fuck me up mentally,
especially my lil sister she's turned into someone I can't stand to be around she's so manipulative I already can't trust anyone and they just make it sm worse.
But at least I know my mom has my back and will defend me,
She does things on purpose to trigger me and my mother.
She deflects and tries to make excuses for what she does wrong.
I know I should be more understanding and considerate about her mental health but it's tiring when she doesn't give 2 fucks about anyone else's I do not want to be the bigger or better person.
I will never accept or allow her being shitty to me or my mother that's never been me and it never will be.
She assaulted our grandpa hit him and tries to make me not tell my mom I've always told my mother anything that goes on so if it's serious I will tell her but apparently I'm the bad guy for that do I care honestly no.
She made the first move and hit him and bragged and laughed about inflicting pain on him and that she enjoyed it...
Now I wouldn't be so idk about that because I can be pretty violent too but not without reason.
We learned from a young age to never hit someone first to let them take the first hit on us then hit or whatever after...
But I guess it only stuck with me.
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Villain AU - Deadlock, Part 6
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||
Struggled with the beginning a bit, but now here we areeee.
Trigger warning: Panic attack (due to a fear of men :'] yeee)
It's been a while since she'd been asked to go after the Purple Dragons.
The request came from some rich guy that wanted to be the next big tech guru and see their company reach the highest heights - or something along those lines. It was no secret that the targeted criminal organization had plenty of tricks up their sleeves, especially when it cames to technological advancements and anything of the sorts.
Stealing from them was always a risky gamble, but it was one Vee was ready to take, especially for a good price.
It was deep into the Lower East Side, bordering the east river, that the woman made her way into a large warehouse. She knew the place would be empty, the Purple Dragons really keen on keeping a low profile about their stashes.
The more "normal" and "unbusy" it looked, the better it wouldn't get picked up by any sort of law enforcements.
Sure they had their usual security passwords, accesses and whatsnot, but that was a piece of cake to bypass when you knew what you were doing.
The lower floor was filled with rows of large stacked containers that Vee knew would be holding weapons, guns, drugs or any other illicit goods. She was mostly aiming for the upper floor which consisted mainly of modular rooms hugging the walls, all linked by a metal mezzanine.
Getting up there, she stealthily made her way towards the first room she found, wanting to start her searches there.
Entering and closing the door softly, she could never expect her next sight as she turned around to glance at the room's interior.
Two pairs of eyes were now staring at her, one blue and one green. It was two of those mutant turtles; the big one sporting a red do-rag and the other smaller and wearing an orange bandana.
Vee was completely frozen. What were they doing here?
"Hey, you're that girl from the Foot clan stronghold," started the red one.
"Yeah, so?" replied Vee in her flanged voice. She was ready to bail at any moment.
"We were startin' to wonder when you'd show your face again."
"Well, we can't see much of her face with those googles and mask," added the smaller one.
They were starting to get closer, the woman keeping her eyes on the nunchuck the orange terrapin was lazily swinging at his side.
"What do you guys want here?" she dared ask.
"We're here for nunya," said the orange clad one.
"... Nunya?"
They were now towering her, Vee feeling so small all of a sudden.
"Nunya business," he finished.
That got a quick laugh out of the two brothers, landing a quick fistbump between them.
The tall muscular one next rested his forearm against the closed door, Vee now trapped between them and the only exit.
"What about you, smooth criminal?"
Oh she was starting to hate this very much.
She could feel her anxiety rise, mostly from being cornered.
"Let me go," she simply said.
"We're just talking, sweetcheeks," added the orange terrapin.
"I said, let me go away!" her tone was now harsher.
The red clad turtle then forcefully rested his hand against her upper torso, blocking her even more against the door.
"We're not gonna ask again," he said, with a faint tint of menace. "There's no way we're lettin' you fail our mission once more. So ya better start talkin'."
Vee's heart was now beating fast out of fear.
She usually could deal with people getting in her way, but for those behemoths to stop her, she felt some old repressed fears crawl back into light...
Out of pure instinct, she did not hesitate to slap her right hand against the brute's face, letting her glove's claws scratch his scales.
He backed out in surprise, giving the woman enough room to turn around and rapidly open the door.
In her rush, she miscalculated her steps and faceplanted hard against the door frame first; knocking against the left side of her forehead and cracking the left lense of her googles.
Quickly regaining her senses, the woman was then able to properly exit, hearing some commotion behind her. Her flight response took over, not even trying to reach a staircase as she prefered to jump over the railing and fall straight down - finishing her fall with a roll. That unfortunately brought her cracked lense to fall off, Vee now losing accurate sight from that eye.
That didn't stop her still, prefering to rush inbetween the rows of containers, still hearing the two others call out to her.
It was after she made a sharp turn that she bumped into something else, this time falling backward.
Her good eye spotted a black backpack first, the new form then turning around and revealing itself to be Donatello.
The tall terrapin gasped, already reaching for Vee and getting her back up.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. His hand already got to her forehead. "You're bleeding, what happened?"
The human wriggled out of his hold. Fear could be read in her visible eye.
"Don't touch me," she said in slight panic. "I need to go."
"Vee, you got hurt, let me help at least."
Her sight locked on another presence at the end of the row they were in, behind Donatello, this time being the fourth turtle. His icy blue stare was burning her soul, his stance making him more akin to a big cat ready to pounce its prey at any moment...
She could feel Donnie's hands on her once more, trying to stabilize her and get an assessement of her state. But that only snapped Vee back to the current moment, looking back at the purple banded terrapin.
"Leave me alone!" her tone was now tainted with fear.
She was able to escape his hold once more, already turning heels and about to run away. She did spot the two others from earlier at the opposite end of the row, her breathing fastening again.
Franctically looking at both sides, she finally settled for some smoke bombs as she saw the red and orange ones approaching fast.
The thick layer offered her a chance to slip through two containers, unseen. In a renewed rush she got her grappling hook out, aiming for an opened window at the top of one of the building's walls.
Zipping through it, she was glad to find a ledge to walk onto. Her steps were fast as she only wanted to get as much distance between her and the terrapins.
Reaching the ground level she almost slipped in her rush, her breathing labored as she franctically seached for the most nearby subway entrance. Most of her senses were now scrambled - her eyesight in a tunnel vision, her hearing amplified tenfold.
It felt like a dream once she reached her goal. She didn't even bothered to pay for the entrance, jumping over the till. Her sole goal was to head home. Nothing more. Nothing less.
She could feel the stares on her, strangers looking over her like the freak she most probably seemed like at the moment. Sitting down, her right leg was bouncing franctically, her eyes lost on a specific point on the floor. Her chest was clenching her, making it difficult to breathe at each passing seconds.
Not now, she thought. Not NOW.
The trek home didn't feel real.
She didn't even mind showing herself in her gear. She climbed the stairs and it felt like a chore, her legs so stiff and heavy...
Reaching the door to her unit, her hands were shaking as she struggled to find the key and unlock the damn thing.
Once Vee finally stepped in, she fell against the door, closing it with a loud bang. Sitting on the floor, her emotions now could flow freely, removing her face mask in a hurry only so she could take in air more easily.
Breathing loudly, tears escaped her eyes effortlessly, her legs shaking once more.
"Fuck!" she sobbed.
She hated being cornered. She hated feeling small. She hated loud voices and strong, harsh movements against her.
In an instant, she relieved at those times men abused of their power on her. Loud voices that kept freezing her. A strength that would pin her and break her in every ways possible.
She didn't want to remember, yet that's all she could do...
A vibration in one of her bags grounded her, guessing that it was her phone.
She got the device out only to notice a notification for a new text message. Vee sighed, knowing it was Donnie.
They had finally exchanged phone numbers after that time he came by her place. ... Right now was not a good time.
D: Please tell me you're alright. You were bleeding pretty bad...
V: I'm safe. Stop.
That's all she could write.
She only turned her phone off next, a long sigh escaping her lips. The weight of her panic finally fell down on her, lazily removing her broken googles. Her features were now wet from her tears - overall feeling disgusting and sore.
The woman was able to make her way to the bathroom, first noticing her state in the mirror. A long streak of blood was now on the left side of her face, starting from her forehead. She did feel slightly light-headed, but didn't make a huge deal out of it, prefering to head into the shower instead.
The water running down her hair and skin felt like a cure. A balm that washed away any leftover fears. At once she was able to breathe, realizing that she was home. She was safe.
She took the time to review her failure, trying to figure out how she'd tell her client that she either needed more time, or that she's drop the case completely...
Right now her body and mind simply couldn't stand dropping by that warehouse again ... at least not in the near future.
Stepping out, she simpy wrapped her body and hair in towels, prefering to head afterward to her computer. There was a simple comfort whenever it came to mindlessly scrolling through the internet, somehow numbing her brain to any stressors.
It was however when she landed on her usual forum that Vee noticed a notification from one of her contacts.
FuttoGyangu...
FuttoGyangu: Requesting a status update about the agreed transaction.
A heavy sigh left Vee, feeling her hands shake a little once more.
She was clearly not in the mood to handle this, but her fingers flew across the keyboard on their own.
smooth_criminal: It'll take time. Can be a matter of days, weeks, months even. This is a delicate situation and I need to make sure I can do this without any issues.
smooth_criminal: This case remains my top priority, no matter what comes in my way.
It was true in a sense. Especially with the promised amount of money she'd receive, she simply couldn't fuck this up.
FuttoGyangu: My boss' patience has its limits. We will be keeping an eye on you. In hopes that this message will fasten your procedures.
Vee frowned lightly at the "keeping an eye on you" part.
"Great, are they also logged in my stuff?" she groaned.
She didn't have the heart to dig any deeper nor unplug her damn router again.
Simply turning her machine off, she opted to beeline for her bed, falling down naked onto her mattress and blankets and hoping that sleep would claim her fast instead...
***
Oh was she glad that she had the day off today.
She woke up close to noon, the sky awfully blue and the trafic roaring lively outside.
With a groan she reached for her cellphone on her nightstand, turning the device back on. It was with slight surprise that she noticed a string of texts waiting to be read:
D: I'm sorry for whatever happened last night.
D: Mikey and Raph told me they found you first and you clawed Raph! (nice btw, he needs to be bitchslapped more often)
D: I failed to recognize that you were panicking... I'm sorry I tried to restrain you.
D: ... Please let me know you're feeling alright. That was a nasty bruise on your forehead.
D: I'm sorry.
A small smile crept on Vee's lips, somehow amused yet touched by his concerns. Simply to amuse herself, she only replied:
V: Missing some more 'I'm sorry', then I'll forgive you.
Lazily getting out of bed next, she simply slipped on a pair of underwear and a hoodie, slipping her phone inside the front pocket and resolving herself to get something to eat.
Vee settled herself for some toasts, not even minding to get crumbs everywhere as she sat down on the couch.
She needed to figure out a way to accelerate getting her hands on the green ooze... yet some details about the substance kept itching her brain.
The woman felt her phone vibrate, surprisingly. Taking it out, she noticed a new message from Donatello.
D: sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry
That got a quick snort out of her, instantly writing back:
V: That's it! Congrats, you're more Canadian than me.
V:... I thought you'd be sleeping? Aren't you guys ever resting or something?
Maybe their mutant genes gave them unlimited energy?
D: I was starting to sleep. I just finished some freelance work. But I also wanted to know when you'd tell me you're okay.
Oh....
D: Can I call you? I'm too tired to type...
V: Just go to sleep.
D: Please
Vee sighed, finishing her small meal first.
V: Sure
It only took a brief moment before it rang, the human accepting the call with some hesitation.
"What's up, coconut," she greeted lazily.
She heard the faintest chuck on the other end of the line, which somehow brought a small smile on her features.
"I just wanted to hear your voice. I need to make sure you're feeling alright after that hit to your head."
Gosh, his voice had this je-ne-sais-quoi when he was tired...
"How did it happen, anyway?"
Vee faked a quick laugh: "I thought your brothers would've told you. It was really embarrassing.... I slammed my face against a doorframe."
"Oh-" he tried to retain some snickers. "Oh, I'm- I'm sorry. That must've- hmmrph- hurt."
"You can laugh, I don't care," reassured Vee. "It's really stupid. I can be quite clumsy at times."
He puffed, losing the hilarity: "No, no, accidents happen. I'm just glad it didn't get worse."
"I mean ... it did get worse last night, but not because of that," confessed the woman.
She instantly regretted letting that out, but at the same time it was absolutely not far from the truth.
She could feel Donnie's sympathy through the phone.
"... Wanna talk about it?"
Vee could feel some tears swell up in her eyes again, rapidly drying them with her sleeve.
God, she was still shook, it seems...
"I don't know," she answered in a weak tone. "I'm still processing a lot of emotions right now. ... Last night I felt some stuff I haven't dealt with in a long time."
She tried to lighten her voice, forcing a smile: "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this."
"Nonsense. ... I get it, my brothers and I can be quite intimidating. ... I just saw that fear in your eyes and I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea how to deal with that."
"It's no one's responsability for me to get my shit together," added Vee. "I just have to get over it and do better."
"There's no harm in asking for help when things go sour, Vee. Sometimes we can't overcome things on our own."
That somehow got to her, this warm feeling suddenly invading her body and senses.
"Stop it, you're too sweet. I'll get diabetes."
That got another quiet laughter from the turtle, improving Vee's mood.
"Although, you're a on thin line, mister. Your turtley gang prevented me from completing my job, so that sucks ass."
"What were you looking for?"
A sigh left her: "Schematics, technological advancements, files of any sorts that could help a rich loser bring his tech company to new heights. I was supposed to deliver that after going to the warehouse..."
A brief silence was experienced, the terrapin probably thinking.
"... Tell you what; I did get some files while I was there and maybe there could be something interesting. Since you first stole from me but then handed the data, I'd say I could reciprocate the generosity."
"Oh aren't you so kind," said Vee jokingly.
"I'm serious," added Donnie. "I wanna keep that trust, Vee. So if I can help you, then I'll do it."
She was frankly surprised by the proposition. That offer did feel like a good step in the right direction, her smile warm.
"Alright, monsieur Donatello. How about tomorrow night, at that music store's rooftop? I feel like this should become the spot for data brokering."
"I'll be there," he answered gently.
As they said their goodbyes and the call ended, Vee still had that smile on her features, somehow melting on her seat.
His words and tired tone were still bouncing in her brain, the reality of having someone actually care for her well-being feeling like an unexpected dream...
...
If she had to get close to him on a more personal level in order to get what she needed, then so be it.
She could play that game.
((Part 7))
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I was reading the novel and this time something caught my attention that I don't know why I had overlooked it before, and that is how Athy talks about her life in the orphanage. Athy says that the children in the orphanage knew things that the children should not know, that she had to fight for what she wanted and that when she left that place she felt a kind of freedom.
To me, that screams abuse.
It bothers me that the fandom so overlooked the fact that Athy was abused not only in her first life (neglect) but also in her second life and I'm sure it must have been hell. I wish the manhwa had put more emphasis on this because many fans overlook Athy's trauma when she is literally the character who suffered the most.
Yes, to me it's canon that Athy was heavily abused in her second life. Adding to what you said, I remember her mentioning having to literally fight for food (a bowl of rice), or how they got a single sad birthday celebration per month. That's also where her initial fixiations with candy, money and her genuine love for studying come from, as Athy herself admits, she never had those kinds of luxuries (she mentions having to eat expired food in a "haha funny" way, but if you think about it for two seconds, it's just tragic. Like, she died from overdosing on sleeping pills to deal with the cold). I know a thing or two about how orphanages operate from my field of work and acquaintances, and kids in those institutions suffer from abuse in all sorts of ways while being completely ignored by society. I'm not from Korea, but going by what Plutus wrote and reading about the subject, the situation seems to be similar or even worse.
If I want to get overanalytical, part of her depression while living alone could be a consequence of the treatment she received at the orphanage. It's super common for kids in those situations to end up with depression, PTSD, having issues forming emotional connections, facing prejudice, etc. It's also canon that she was verbally and physically abused at her workplace. Athy treats her death as an accident, but in my opinion it's implied that it was a suicide, perhaps not in an "active way", but her behavior was edging the line. Which is again, common for people with that background. I think this plot point is interesting, as to my knowledge suicide is a taboo subject in East Asia. Most manhwas don't have their FL reincarnate after that.
I get what you mean, that part of Athy's trauma is often overlooked, but it probably has to do with most people not reading the novel and with Athy herself not really acknowledging it. She mentions her life as Lee Jihye at the beginning of the story, and then very rarely brings it up. But if anything, that's pretty consistent with how Athy deals with her trauma and negative emotions, refusing to acknowledge they exist until their weight is too heavy for her to endure. I like this piece of characterization a lot, but it leaves us with many questions that are hard to answer when Athy herself doesn't remember or actively tries to forget the trauma from her past lives. You could draw some parallels with Lucas and Claude's respective ways of dealing with trauma, loss and trying to forget (but Athy's mindset is more healthy and not so self-destructive lol).
Also yes, to me Athy is the character that has suffered the most by far. Not like this is a competition, but *gestures at LP* and the fact that she was a working class woman in Korea while the other characters (sans Lucas and Diana, I guess) are and always have been rich aristocrats in pseudo-France says enough /hj.
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[TOUCH] make it angst make it angst
[TOUCH] The sender's touch is gentle as they explore a particularly sensitive scar on the receiver's skin.
Tw. Harm, child abuse mention.
Ajax was littered with scars. As long as he could remember his body was marred in some way even if only slightly; scrapped knees and elbows from various raucous activities, fingers cut from fishing hooks or serrated knives, and there was also the time his father once hit him so hard he lost his balance and opened his chin on a kitchen chair. Perhaps he hadn't meant too, perhaps he forgot just how young his son was and Ajax almost didn't blame him- who else could do the damage he did to others at his age? Breaking the neighbour's kid's leg? How inconsiderate can you be? But we were playing soldiers.
I wanted to win.
By the time his long months in the abyss had passed that scar on his chin had become one of many and by the time he had grown into the adult he was today it had practically faded. You may mistake it for a shaving accident perhaps (if he could grow a beard). Or a natural divot in his skin. Ajax, however, knew it was there. He wasn't angry at his father and his old school notions of parenting for it, he rarely gave that punishment amongst the many much thought beyond how he had lost his balance.
His balance got better after that day.
It was also safe to say it was far from feeling sensitive now. It was simply a memory from his childhood. A lesson his dad had taught him.
Lumine's gloved hand was gentle and warm , perhaps it was that gentleness that caused a chill down his spine. Gentle wasn't a gesture he was used too. Her petite fingers brushed the tissue just above his left hip and he briefly caught his breath, his muscles stiffening ever so much.
After all this time, was it really so delicate? How strange... of all scars to still feel. It was this one.
Instinctively Ajax grabbed her hand in the split second his mind had tried to process it all. The breath, the stiffening sinews, the memory. Panic. It was brief and not something he often felt. It unsettled him. He released her hand as fast as he had held it. But the uncomfortable feeling it left created a heaviness in his chest.
"That's enough show and tell, Girly." Ajax did his best to keep his voice normal with a smile, despite his heart racing. How had this started again? Oh right, something about his pain tolerance, how some other injury was nothing compared to this. He didn't realise how right he was until she touched him.
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Me: I’m not worried about any of team rwby dying bc they are the main characters so whatever happens to them is fine bc I know they won’t die
Volume 9 Chapter 8: would you bet your life on that?
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TW// IMPLIED PHYSICAL ABUSE
Ive never been hyperfixated on my own ocs before…….
This is genuinely so weird to me, ive never cared about developing new ocs, usually its a chore but god damn it Jari has taken over my life currently, so much so he has multiple playlists and pinterest boards, help.
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I'm so terrified I don't know what to do
My mother was kicked off of disability for getting "too much money"
She was on old age pension and disability. Every single cent went into bills, rent and food and medication for a household of 4.
Along with the money I get every 3 months, the money my siblings make off of their freelance careers. All of it went into living expenses.
But we STILL never had enough for a full 4 weeks of groceries, we scraped by on 2 - 3weeks of groceries. We STILL never had enough for our disability diets for mom and I so we ate the least.
And we dont have enough never had enough for all the medications we need like my vitamins and supplements for my deficiencies or the medicine for my stomach issues, or mom's thyroid medicine.
Never been able to afford asthma medicine or seizure medicine.
Even if it wasn't for her paying for us to live too. It STILL isn't enough to cover just her medications or food. Majority of it goes into bills and rent. Very little is left over for food or medicine which is why I and my siblings chip in to try to help.
But its still "Too much money"? Even when if she was alone she STILL couldn't live off of it? We live in the cheapest house in the area, thats including among other neighbouring towns. We eat UNDER the calorie limit we should be, we never throw a single bit of food out unless its unuseable. We eat like mice nibbling on everything we eat and trying to fill more space with water so we don't eat as much every meal.
So mom was kicked off, and we don't know what we're going to do. Theres no jobs in my town, we cant drive or afford a license much less a car. We cant pay for a daily bus pass for interviews we have no garuntee in passing and getting a job from, out of town and back.
We don't have the ability to save up to do so either and mom and I are disabled we can't work we physically are unable to. My eldest sibling has a screwed up knee, we all have PTSD bc the system failed us when I was younger and left my family stuck in an abusive situation to protect me from being r*ped when I was a m!nor bc its all we could do. We went through years of court cases, and s*xual and physical abuse until I was 14 when the monster died. Then years of stalking and attempted break ins, harassment, by the a**holes family until I was 19 with no one in my town helping not even law enforcement.
So we have PTSD, things like ambulances, sirens from cop cars, sirens from fire trucks cause us to have panic attacks. We struggle to be separated bc for survival we never could be. We have flashbacks out of our control. No amount of therapy fixes it. We can't afford therapy anymore either.
Yet its being decided we are "Able enough to work" and we make too much money by having just enough to barely scrape by or survive?
The system is so broken, cold hearted and cruel and it NEEDS to change it NEEDS to be fixed. Just because our disabilities are invisible like PTSD and Epilepsy or inconsistant where some days the pain isn't as bad as others or is sporradic like tourettes doesn't mean we aren't disabled.
and my older sibling and I still have dental work to get done. The only place in town that takes people with anxiety is going to charge around 2.5k to do both mine and my sibling's teeth. plus we have to get mom's top dentures fixed and my other sibling needs a tooth fixed. So thats even more. But my one sibling and I can't wait until free dental is in for us in 2025. The dental plan will take too long for us. Our teeth can't wait that long, their's has active decay and mine is in severe pain and worn down from bruxism from tourettes.
My whole family needs new glasses but we cant even afford an appointment to get a prescription for them much less afford a pair of glasses from any local shops.
What are we going to do? I feel helpless and scared.
I'm watching my whole family destroy themselves in depression over the news because they lost all hope in seconds because we CANT get back on disability and theres no hope in this town. Its so painful. All I can do now is try to act like everything is normal and keep myself distracted so I can stay the strong one for them. But im terrified. I'm really terrified. Its hard to even afford pads in my town its so expensive just for a bag of pads. When we have to buy more it means less food. What will I do now? I can't use any alternatives bc of medical reasons, pads are my only option among feminine products.
Even if no one can help us, can I please ask everyone regardless of your religion to keep us in your prayers? Just incase it might help. I like to keep hope and believe it would. And even if you aren't religious please send us your good thoughts and energy. I believe the universe will get it to us still anyways. Maybe im being a bit silly but right now I need anything to believe in to get through this. Yknow?
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What is YOUR Roman Empire?
»A little life« by Hanya Yanagihara
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Fuck you if you hit your kids.
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Stockholm syndrome
Tw: physical, verbal, emotional abuse
I feel like the term stockholm syndrome is often misunderstood or not represented well in media. Some similar terms to stockholm syndrome are battered wife syndrome and betrayal bonding.
In the book The Betrayal Bond breaking free of explotive relationships by Patrick J. Carnes. Betrayal bonds are defined as a self abandonment, when you go through a betrayal so painful a part of you dies. Yet you can only think about how to survive instead of grieve you abandon yourself unaware. Typically attempts to numbing come first so you can keep your highly addictive attachment. Similar to drug use. These attachments affect your judgements and actions when you try to better yourself it seems to go nowhere. In a frustrating spiral you are set to run in circles. When these tactics fail it’s time to face the truth. That realization may never come for some.
An exploitive relationship is the ground work for a betrayal bond. “These occur when a vicitim bonds with someone who is destructive to him or her. Thus the hostage becomes the champion of the hostage taker, the incest vicitim covers for the parents and the exploited employee fails to expose the wrongdoing of the boss.”
Often what I see in media is a small, sad, scared person visibly beaten as the vicitm in stockholm syndrome. Killing stalking is a great example. Where the victim is seen as voiceless, helpless and completely undone. In some aspects this is true but it isn’t the full picture I would argue. Typically whats more common is two strong people enter into a toxic relationship. The trauma from this relationship lays the ground work for a betrayal bond. The victim is still strong they (from my experience) instead recontextualize their own strength to specifically benefit their abuser. Often slowly over time eroding your own concept of self until what you define as “you” is nothing left but a tool.
“Loyalty to that which does not work, or worse, to a person who is toxic, exploitive or destructive to you, is a form of insanity”
Carnes details what a betrayal bond looks like:
When everyone around you has strong negative reactions, yet you continue covering up, defending or explaining the relationship
When there is a constant pattern of non-performance and yet you continue to believe false promises
When there are repetitive, destructive fights that nobody wins
When others are horrified by something that has happened to you and you are not
When you obsess over showing someone that he or she is wrong about you, your relationship or the person’s treatment of you
When you feel stuck because you know what the other person is doing is destructive but believe you cannot do anything about it
When you feel loyal to someone even though harbor secrets that are damaging to others
When you move closer to someone you know is destructive to you with the desire of converting them to a non-abuser
When someones talents, charisma or contributions cause you to overlook destructive, exploitive or degrading acts
When you cannot detach from someone even though you do not trust, like or care for the person
When you find yourself missing a relationship, even to the point of nostalgia and longing, that was so awful it almost destroyed you
When extraordinary demands are placed upon you to measure up as a way to cover up that you’ve been exploited
When you keep secret someone’s destructive behaviour toward you because of all the good they have done or importance of their position or career
When the history of your relationship is about contracts or promises that have been broken and that you are asked to overlook.
The important part, You will never mend the wound without dealing with the betrayal bond
“Like gravity, you may defy it for a while, but ultimately it will pull you back. You cannot walk away from it. Time will not heal it. Burying yourself in compulsive and addictive behaviours will bring no relief, just more pain. No amount of therapy, long-term or short-term, will help without confronting it.
Your ability to have a spiritual experience will be impaired. Any form of conversation or starting over only postpones the inevitable. And there is no credit for feeling sorry for yourself. You must acknowledge, understand and come to terms with the relationship”
These bonds are at an intensity I don’t think most people fully understand when hearing about stockholm sydrome. What frustrates me when I look at media is how when I see portrayls it never shows the “other” methods of handling stockholm sydrome. The common trope I see is the victim completely succumsbs to the madness and becomes complacent forever. This doesn’t always happen though. If I could guess I’d say this usually never happens.
The issue with this concept is that the victim has given aware their self. Something that is extremely painful and torturous in order to be the person the abuser wants them to be. This makes it sound like one action. In my experience every action was a choice between myself and being a tool. Which makes that portrayal of stockholm syndrome feel wildly inaccurate to me. It isn’t one action and then a whistful sleep in a trance like state.
It is a constant battle between uprooting your own rights morals and actions or fighting for them. In consequence being beaten, abused, killed, drugged, what have you. Every single action is seen as a possible act of defiance. There is no whistful sleep, there is no numbling that can muffle the pain forever. No amount of dissociation can hide what is actually happening. What’s scary is you know it’s happening the entire time. Because your the one making those choices. You watch yourself slowly degrade because you want to be safe.
There is a lot of truth in watching a part of you die with no time to grieve. Grieving would abmit the abandonment of the relationship has taken a toll that the abuse has actually effected you. Instead opting to please the abuser and never coming back to those emotions leaving them in a corner to fester.
It’s not a good idea. Typically what I see the most what I hear from other survivors is what comes next. What the typical end is. Is anger.
When you cant play the game for your abuser anymore. You suddenly want yourself back so strongly you don’t care what the cost is. When you learn enough about your abuser their threats become trivial. Because you learn how to negate them. I distinctly remeber the anger I felt when I “flipped” I woke up suddenly at 3am and looked over to my abuser sleeping at the other end of the bed. Often. I’d sleep at the end of the bed like a dog to stay away from them.
I felt a strong m-shift mixing with all those buried dead emotions bubble up and I realized this was a game I couldn’t win. I attacked him while he was asleep. He had to throw me into a wall to finally stop me. He was shocked. I had never fought that hard, I had never attacked him when he was sleeping, I had never done so many new things all at once it legitimately scared him and his control over me.
I remember passing out from the fight. I never ate I barely had enough energy to stay away and lay on a bed all day. I was starving comstantly. But I wanted that feeling forever. That freedom. That taste of independence. I no longer cared if it killed me. I wanted it. I didn’t care how.
It took a year of violently fighting back. Refusing actions, getting angry at manipulation, constantly putting up a fight for him to give up. Leave. I had done it. I had finally done it. I was free.
I think that catharsis stays with me. But when I read about stockholm syndrome they never portray the victim that leaves. They portray the one that stays. It’s upsetting and insulting. I want to see the victim who kills their abuser, the one that hunts them down and finishes what they started. As so many victims do. Whether thats emotionally or physically. I don’t blame them.
Still the book is right without confrontation things never get settled. The relationship will stay alive as long as its kept alive. Without facing it you are doomed to endlessly run from it. A terrifying prospect. All we can do is free ourselves no matter how long that takes.
Victims aren’t so weak often they’re far smarter than their abuser. Working with what’s available to make ends meet. I’d like to see that representation of the conplacent but planning. The kind until they snap. The silently leaving st the dead of night when they know they can’t be caught. I wish it was more commonly highlighted how intense and courageous these acts are. Escaping death is no easy feat.
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