#abuse references

[wolves-on-caffeine]

Creativity Twins idea, Human AU

AU where Roman and Remus were twins who got adopted by different parents. Roman never knew he was a twin, or even that he was adopted, but Remus knew both facts from a very young age. Roman has great parents but Remus.... Well, not so much. The strict catholic upbringing combined with his adoptive parents’ own toxic worldviews and actions made for an... upbringing, to say the least.

They only meet when Roman moves town and is looking for a roommate. He finds one in, conveniently, Remus’ best friend, and finally, their paths converge.

[amlovelies]

Do you ever just get so sad and angry seeing things that would have been life changing when you were a kid? Like if I had seen this at 9 maybe my whole life would have been different maybe I wouldn’t have so much self hatred? Like rationally I know that it helps even now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s too late and I’m too broken

[thoughtsfromthegalaxy]

Names Are Weird

And no, I don’t mean in the silly way people often joke about- “Haha we make silly noises with our faces to let other people know we’re talking to them!!”

I don’t mean how people can swap first names and nicknames and cisgender people have it up their arses about chosen names trans people use yet have an easy time calling Todd from grade 8 “Buddy” for four years and counting.

What I mean is how hard it is to be floating in the hatred for your family name and yet it’s not accepted to shed that unless you’re famous or marrying or have some kind of special permission that makes it socially acceptable.

What I mean is having such an abusive and toxic background, but you have to stay connected to it by a name that latches onto you more like manacles.

What I mean is being genuinely confused that people around you never think twice about their surnames and you feel so anxious about asking that you swallow your questions and your wandering tongue before it throws you into the spotlight.

What I mean is being asked “What do you mean you don’t have a last name?” And being told “You can’t not have a surname, you have a family somewhere and their name is yours.”

Names are weird. Adopting one for yourself at all takes a level of courage that is so uncommon in today’s society.

[wordsintostories]

Arika

Being home is similar to being lock in a room with a Westboro Baptist. Annoying, illogical, and overall an experience you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. My half drunk father threw a plate across the room, I dove into the bathroom as fast as I could manage. Blaring my music. I can't stand yelling. It spikes my anxiety until I'm basically unable to breath. That's why I live in my music. Because I can't deal with how other people act sometimes. A few tears fell, so I focused on tomorrow. I'd be seeing Red again. That would be a blessing for two reason. One; I don't have to deal with my family and two; I get to spend the day with a beautiful girl. Seems like a better way to spend your weekend than to sit at home writing songs that are too badly made to sing. My brother came in eventually, he shot me a glare. "Why the hell aren't you eating." He said. His eyes burning with pure, unfiltered anger. I shrug, "Maybe I just don't wanna be judged for how slow I eat. Or how little. Or how I'm so fat and I shouldn't eat to fast. You assholes seem to judge everything I do. So why bother?" I wasn't yelling. Not even talking loudly. I spoke in a calm knowing tone. It always happened. He knew it just as well as I did. So he couldn't exactly object now could he? Suddenly, I woke up in my room. I looked to the clock. Two hours later. My head hurt like hell and I tried to figure out what happened. A vague image of my brothers fist, my own blood, and my mothers screams followed by my fathers laugh. I raise my fingers to my head, no blood, but clearly some gauges we happened to have around the house. I sigh and look over, a plate of mac & cheese. I roll my eyes, eat half, chug water until I feel physically sick, and toss the rest in the trash. Walking out my room i quickly noticed things wrong. My father was passed out on the couch, like normal. My brother was watching tv in the corner, seemed normal enough. But my mother was nowhere to be found. I quickly set my dish in the sink and leave. I didn't wanna ask. Not now. My bed let out a softly call for me. So I obliged, lied down, and passed out. Another day. Another wound. Another shitstorm. And now mom was gone, the one person who stopped my brother and father from killing me at this point. Goodie-fucking-gumdrops.

[forestlyprince]

So my step-dad is an utter piece of shit (not on Rick’s level, but you know he gives it his best shot), and while he and my mom are finally separating he still comes over to see my little brother and I hate it. Because I am expected to come say hi to him (or he gets pissed which is a very not-good) and then the entire time I’m downstairs he will treat me like shit and make comments and vague threats and like, please stop. I am tired of not feeling safe in my own house; I have been in extraordinarily unsafe environments from the time I was born and up and it’s finally starting to look like there’s a light at the end of this tunnel and I hate him coming over and reminding me that it’s still so far away. Like that’s not fair.