#Emotional/Psychological Abuse

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lily of the Valley

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason Todd dies and comes back to life. As the League takes him in, he navigates his morality and family values over the years.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul, Ra's al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Immortal Jason Todd, League of Assassins Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Protective Talia al Ghul, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Jason Todd Needs a Hug, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Adopted Children, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Claustrophobia, Child Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Resurrected Jason Todd

Chapter One: Snowdrops

Jason sat in the library drinking cocoa to stay warm. He spent most of his time curled up under the vent by the encyclopedias. It was the second warmest spot in the library, but it was only a temporary solution to his seasonal heating problem. The library would be closed for the holidays, and the blizzard would be far worse. Not to mention that he'd have to leave once the morning librarian went out to lunch. She was the only person who would let him sit for that long. He finished his cocoa, and he picked out a book. "Hey, I know the rule is one cup per kid, but it's freezing out there, and it's a slow day," she smiled.

"Thanks. Hey, um, do you know if you're getting any new mystery or horror books soon?" Jason asked as he threw away his empty cup.

"Putting the labels for the new arrivals on as we speak. Once I put them in the system, you can have the first crack at them. Do you wanna wait here?" the morning librarian questioned. Jason nodded and stood on the tips of his toes.

The morning librarian always treated him with respect when he'd come in. "Do you know how long the library-. Barbara? Miss Barbara-."

"Just Barbara," Barbara replied.

"Just Barbara... Can I check out a few more books over the holidays?" Jason asked. It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to hear her answer to his actual question. Barbara nodded.

"You can take the whole stack if you wanna," Barbara replied. Jason smiled at her as she placed the stack on the counter. Jason picked through the newer books and stacked together the ones he wanted. Barbara checked them out and gave him a bag to keep his books in. "Try to stay warm, okay?"

"Thanks, Barbara," Jason whispered. She clicked her tongue as she gave him a thumb's up.

Jason hesitated on his way out the door, and as the cold wind and snow hit his face, he shuddered. He walked down the Gotham streets, shaking as the snow hit him and cars passed. The cocoa kept him warm for most of the walk, but the cups were small, and he finished it far too fast.

Jason almost made it home before a speeding truck splashed him with a puddle. After a moment of panic, he ensured the books weren't damaged, then he shivered and plodded on. The water soaked through his thin winter jacket and through his thinly-soled shoes.

The people downstairs complained about him coming in soaking wet. "Jason, you know better," the superintendent chastised him. Jason nodded and apologized despite it not being his fault.

"It w-w-won't hhhhappen again," Jason apologized as he walked toward the elevator. It was out of order, so he took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. One of the boards lifted up, and Jason nearly lost his footing, but he continued on until he got to his apartment.

Jason stripped off his cold, wet clothes and tried the stove, hoping it'd come on. He put in a service order for the superintendent to come to check the oven, but it was just one complaint to the hundreds of others in the building. Jason stood in his kitchen trying the stovetop before giving up and turning on the sink, but the pipes were frozen. He swallowed hard and changed into dry pajamas as he tried desperately to hold back his tears. "Nothing's working," Jason mumbled as he stumbled to bed and put his face in his hands. "Nothing's working..."

He wrapped himself in the blankets, and tears slid down his cheeks as he pulled a book from his pile and started to read. After nearly an hour, his fingers grew too stiff to turn the pages, so he lay down on his side and watched the window. He could hear the sound of the window cracking from where he lay. "I don't know what to do, Mom... It's all falling apart," Jason whimpered.

Shivering violently, he covered most of his face and tried to stop crying. The room seemed to get colder and colder until Jason no longer felt a chill at all. He sat up drowsily and pulled at his pajama shirt, trying to loosen the buttons. He tried to get up, but he couldn't stand. "Help," Jason mumbled over again for what felt like hours. He didn't hear the glass shatter, and he didn't hear the superintendent banging on the door. He shut his eyes and let the cold take his breath away.

The superintendent entered the apartment and picked Jason up in a panic, carrying him down to the boiler room. "Come on, kid. Wake up. I really can't have the police here, please-." He tried shaking Jason, but it only caused Jason to awaken for a few minutes. "Stay with me-."

"Hurts," Jason mumbled as he weakly tapped his chest. The superintendent rubbed Jason's back and tried to force him to stay awake. Jason's heart succumbed to the cold and unnecessary movement, and his superintendent wrapped him up in an old rug from storage and dumped his body a few blocks away in an alley. Because of the blizzard, no one found him until nightfall. A woman called it in while she threw out her trash and noticed his feet sticking out of the snow-covered rug.

The coroners came to collect Jason, and the police looked at the scene. "Damn... The kid can't be any older than ten. What do you think?" asked the first detective to their partner.

"Kid freezes to death in his bed, and the parents panic and dump the body. Let's canvas the building and see-."

"Nobody's going anywhere anytime soon. Not in this blizzard. What's the rush?" the second detective whispered.

"Don't be a dick. Let's figure this out," she whispered. They entered the apartment building together and started asking questions, but no one had answers. Both detectives realized that Jason -their Johnny Doe- would be quickly forgotten. They chalked it up to another victim of child neglect and Gotham winters.

[wangxianficrecs]

Ice Dust by raininyourblackeyes

Ice Dust

by raininyourblackeyes (@raininyourblackeyes)

M, WIP, 64k, Wangxian

Summary: When Wei Ying was thirteen, he debuted at the international scene and learned that figure skating was beauty in gravity defying strength. When Wei Ying fell in the warm-up at age of fifteen, the only thing he could think of was "What have I just done?" When Wei Ying was eighteen, he knew that the ice was just frozen water. When Wei Ying was twenty-two, for the first time in his life, he felt free. Or, a figure skating au spanning four seasons long journey of a boy who was told he'd never be able to skate again. Or, Wei Wuxian left the sport at fifteen and then came back, because of Lan Zhan. Simple as that. Kay's comments: The figure skating AU that has my heart in a tight grip featuring all of figure skating's ugliest sides and a messed up Jiang family and damn, Madam Yu was born for the role of messed up figure skating coach who ruins generations of kids. Heed the warnings with this story, but also give it a try, because it's really well-written and I live for Wangxian's relationship in this story. Excerpt: Later that evening, after Wuxian had managed to smuggle a snickers bar into the room without Madam Yu noticing, Lan Wangji returned with a bag for his skates and costume hanging heavily over his slumped shoulder. The only other sign that he had ever competed was evident in the way his hair stuck to his nape and a few bangs sticking out of their place. Other than that, Wangji looked ready to run a marathon. Good shape! Wei Ying practically jumped over the bed. “Lan Wangji! You got all the key points! Not even seniors do that!” He bounced over to the other boy with a grin trying to shove Luo/Lan’s paper protocol in other boy’s face, “You truly are amazing, Lan-ge!” Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed, mouth corners lowering for barely a moment. “Shameless.” He lowered his bag at the end of the bed, slamming the bathroom door behind him. There was really no reason for him to be in a bad mood, Wei Ying thought left standing in the middle of a room with his hands still raised. There was no reason for him to fight with his partner, all their levels were extremely high and the performance actually managed to impress even him! There was really no need to be that rude. The moment Lan Wangji opened the door again, Wuxian stopped with his sulking. “Wangji-ge, I truly meant it! You looked like you wouldn’t know fun if it stared into your face but you do skate so well.”

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern no powers, ice skating, eating disorders, emotional/psychological abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, physical abuse, not jiang cheng friendly, not yu ziyuan friendly, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, non-linear narrative, time skips

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[somefanficrecomendations]

acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

Author: ephhemeralite Fandom: Batman, White Collar

Summary: Despite all of the hassle Caffrey caused with his jailbreak, Peter doesn't find him overly remarkable in the beginning. Criminals, caught and kept, devolve into basic archetypes under the punishing weight of prison. Any interest they might provide him is lost, somewhere, behind those walls. Caffrey does not prove to be the exception to the rule, no matter how much some small part of Peter had hoped that he would be. (Peter Burke is doing as he always does: following the rules, catching criminals, and wrangling his resident art thief. Dick Grayson is doing his best not to lose himself to a long, awful mission. You know what they say about building Rome.)

Readers Notes: Anyone whose been in the Batfam space for any length of time has probably run across a Batfam/White Collar crossover fic. This is one of my top 5 favorite DC/WC fics. The way this author is so upfront about the issues between Peter and Neal in terms of power imbalance and the way Peter treats Neal is a refreshing sort of break to the way most fics tend to either skirt around the issue or ignore it outright. Additionally, the writing of this fic is amazing! The way the differences between Dick and Neal are emphasized and the way ephhemeralite writes Dick is just *chefs kiss*

Rating: General  Warning: N/A   Words: 13k         

Characters: Dick Grayson, Peter Burke

Additional tags: Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, POV Alternating, Character Study, Identity Porn, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Panic Attacks, Unreliable Narrator

[inquisimer]

why should I apologize for the monster I've become

@febuwhump day 2, solitary confinement! After she mouths off to Beraht, Nika gets her first real taste of Carta punishment.

read it on ao3 here

Female Brosca | Rated T | 1010 words | CW: psychological torture/abuse, self-harm, claustrophobia

-

It was never warm in Dust Town, but the Carta’s prison was particularly cold. Deep beneath the city proper, with cells carved into dirt that blocked any comfort from the Stone. Nika curled around the threadbare sack they’d given her to wear and shivered.

She’d never been alone before.

As far back as she could remember, Rica was there. If not Rica, then Mother’s scowling face. And more recently Leske, Jarvia, Beraht. Privacy was a privilege, and there was no privilege in Dust Town.

Nika sniffled—and immediately winced. Beraht’s thugs took their pound of flesh before they tossed her down here. Her nose was broken and bleeding profusely; her sides and arms blossoming red where purple bruises would follow. One of her teeth was gone and she tasted iron where she couldn’t stop probing the gap with her tongue.

Rica would come, as soon as she heard. Nothing Beraht could offer would make Rica leave her here. She just had to keep it together until Rica found out.

She looped her arms around her knobbly knees and waited.

-

Her head started to pound after a few…hours? It might have been longer. Or shorter. Inky blackness shrouded every inch of her vision and each breath she drew lasted an eternity for how her cracked ribs and blistered throat ached.

It must have been shorter, because Rica hadn’t come yet. It couldn’t have been that long, or Rica would have heard. Rica would rescue her.

Dirt stung the cuts on her hands as she dug them into the floor. Something bit into her fingertips and she hissed, drawing out a jagged piece of stone. She wrapped her hands around it and held it up to her lips. Prayers went unanswered when they came from a duster, or so the Shapers said. But it had to be a sign, this little chunk of stone, a little bit of hope where none should be found.

Maybe this time, the Ancestors were listening.

-

The Ancestors weren’t listening. Neither was the Stone. And Rica—

Nika bit back a sob. Rica wasn’t coming.

A full day must have passed by now, gauging by the protestations of her stomach. Not that she was ever full, but she knew all the variations of empty and her insides gnawed beyond the usual dull ache of hunger.

That meant Rica knew she was gone. Rica knew, and hadn’t pressed to find her, or free her. Nika choked down another sob, but it hiccuped out of her and then tears flowed freely down her cheeks, the salt stinging at wounds that were starting to heal wrong.

Perhaps they had forgotten her in here. They couldn’t mean to leave her here forever—why not just kill her, if they did? She pushed herself to her knees and shuffled along the dirt wall until her fingers brushed the wooden slats of the door.

“Hello?” she croaked. Her throat was dry and raspy, cracked worse than a Genlock’s arse. She pounded her fists against the door with all the meager strength she had left. “Hello? Is anyone out there? I’m in here, please! Let me out!”

Only the echo of her cries answered her.

She slumped forward. With her last remaining effort, she banged her forehead against the door.

Nothing. A face full of splinters was her only reward for trying.

-

At the start, Nika felt safer with her back to something solid. Now she huddled in the very center of the room, tunneled vision fixed where she knew the door to be. Unless they moved the door without her noticing. But she would have heard that. Probably.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In the corners of her eyes, she saw the edges of the room shift closer and she felt how they would encase her, how the dirt would pack around her arms, her shoulders, her neck. How it would replace the air under her nose and fill her mouth and throat—

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She clawed at the floor blindly. They were so far down, but maybe she could dig a little farther, enough to go over, to get out before the walls closed in on her. She scratched and gouged and scraped until her nails broke and bled. She begged the floor to soften, to give way, to let her escape before this cell became her tomb.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The cracked remnants of her nails left long, even lines down her arms. But the pain was good. The pain was sharp and real and it pushed the walls back into place. She raked her nails down the other arm and a fresh layer of blood joined the dirt caked underneath.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Please,” she whimpered, when there was no skin left to break. Her arms and legs and stomach bore a litany of scratches and still the darkness and silence persisted. Please, she thought, because with only her own mind for company there was no one else to beg. No one else to save her from the stifling emptiness below.

Breathe in. Breathe o—

She couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes snapped open and her battered hands clawed at her throat. She gasped at stale air but it went nowhere and her lungs seized and her heart pounded like quaking stone, galloping against her ribcage to escape the confines that would kill it.

“Please,” she begged, but there was no breath for her groveling and all that escaped was a pitiful, pathetic wheeze. Her vision narrowed to pinpricks, but she could still see the walls. All around her, moving closer.

Which would kill her first?

Did it even matter any more?

With that thought, the vice around her chest snapped wide open. Nika fell flat on her back as damp air flooded her lungs and she could do nothing but shudder and heave and pant. The walls still crept forward, but cold, calm acceptance replaced her panic, overtaking the residual dregs of fear.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

It didn’t matter any more.

[locke-writing]

War left a permanent scar on the earth; winter came to swallow up what was left.

Over the course of two-hundred years after the world is obliterated by mass nuclear detonations, earth gradually falls into a frozen hellscape as the heat of the planet evaporates, leaving what little remained of life to die out or turn to cannibalism to survive. Snow drifts climb to the top of Boston's toppling skyscrapers and the Commonwealth's population is dwindling fast. "Rosie" - a Nuka World escapee turned mute survivalist, finds himself in a life debt to John Hancock, ex-mayor of Goodneighbor. With nothing to lose, a gaping hole of grief, and the last shreds of his manic sanity, Hancock fights for the survival of his remaining people in the face of mass extinction.

[treemaidengeek]

on the road to exile (AO3 link)

....................................................

"You should not have tried to run, Er-ge," Jin Guangyao chided as he tenderly rubbed ointment into my wounds.

I stared at my hands. There was blood under the fingernails. I wasn't sure whose. Mine? The guards'?

Not Jin Guangyao's.

"Is my hospitality lacking? Have I not provided every comfort for you?"

It was a perverse relief, that blood. Something honest. Something real.

His gentle fingers moved lower, to the cut above my left hip. How many times had he clutched that same spot in the midst of passion? How many days had I woken with bruises, and smiled in secret remembrance when bending over brought a flare of soreness?

"Er-ge, please. Talk to me."

Now his touch brought a different sort of pain.

He sighed. "At least promise me you won't try again. You're hurt already, and without cultivation, you won't heal as fast as you're accustomed to healing."

Without cultivation.

That deep betrayal, the stripping of something so fundamental as my connection with my own core… it wasn't the worst thing about my lover kidnapping me while he attacked my brother. But it was certainly the most gnawingly visceral. I felt hollow. Weak. Alone.

Then again, I would probably feel all of those things even if he hadn't sealed my qi.

He touched my cheek. I flinched away. He touched me again, turned my face toward his.

"I mean it. Promise me. I can't let you get hurt again, Er-ge."

I finally met his eyes. "I've told you not to call me that. You've no right."

He bowed his head. "I understand why you're upset. I'm sorry."

"Then let me go."

He gazed up at me through his long lashes. "You know I can't, yet. Soon. I promise."

I turned from him, a bitter laugh clawing past my lips. He had promised so many things over the years.

"Did I make a joke?"

There was a tension in his voice now. His patience was wearing thin.

Fear spidered down my spine.

"I'm tired," I said quietly.

A knife's-edge pause hung between us.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmured. It was, almost, a question. Almost.

I closed my eyes. Lead settled in my belly, heavy and nauseating.

I thought about my own tent. About the guards there who watched my every move, who watched while I ate and slept.

For my protection, of course.

Some of them would resent my earlier escape attempt. I wasn't even certain how many I had injured. At least two, I knew. I had tried not to harm anyone, but…

I nodded. "I'll stay."

"Thank you." His hand tenderly cupped my cheek. "I'll take good care of you."

[yaymeeko]

Food that tastes like what mom used to make

Summary:

A lost soul in search of shelter finds herself wandering to a decaying lighthouse. A short story about the time when Mafuyu and Kanade started living together.

[luxshine]

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: RRR (2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alluri Sitarama Raju/Komaram Bheem Characters: Alluri Sitarama Raju, Komaram Bheem, Jenny (RRR 2022), Lacchu (RRR 2022), Ventakeswarulu (RRR 2022), Scott Buxton, Catherine Buxton, Malli (RRR 2022) Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/confort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

A child was stolen from their tribe, and taken to the British's Home. However, this is not the child you're thinking about. This happened 20 years before Malli was taken, and the Child was Alluri Rama Raju.

How did that little difference changed his life, and his fated meeting with Komuram Bheem? Well, read to find out!

[dragoneyes618]

Summary:  A drabble series about the horrifying fact that, in Descendants canon, Frollo had a child. Please mind the warnings: this fic is fairly dark.

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Relationship: Orym/Dorian Storm Characters: Orym (Critical Role), Dorian Storm, Cyrus Wyvernwind, Dorian Storm's Mother, Dorian Storm's Father Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon, Married Couple, Bad Parenting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Abusive Parents, Emotional Manipulation, Anxiety, Paranoia, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Love, Holding Hands, Bonding, Apologies, Regret, Conversations, Hair Braiding, Forehead Kisses, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: ← Previous Work Part 7 of Dorym Week 2023

Summary: Dorian expected returning to the Silken Squall to be a difficult experience. He was prepared for his parents to disapprove of his marriage and make that known, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Fic Preview “Are you sure I should join you?”

He paused fussing with his hair to turn on the stool, so he could see Orym's face as they spoke. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Your parents didn't seem… thrilled about me accompanying you.”

“That's an understatement.”

“Kind of my point.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lily of the Valley

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason Todd dies and comes back to life. As the League takes him in, he navigates his morality and family values over the years.

Chapters: 8/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul, Ra’s al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Immortal Jason Todd, League of Assassins Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Protective Talia al Ghul, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Jason Todd Needs a Hug, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Adopted Children, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Claustrophobia, Child Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Resurrected Jason Todd

Chapter Eight: Chamomile

Gotham's air smelled sour to Jason as he got off the plane with his bags. He only packed the necessities along with any weapons he might need. He checked into a hotel across from the embassy. His hotel was pricey, but its location was intentional. It had a perfect bird's eye view of the diplomat's courtyard.

Jason settled in quickly, setting up the surveillance equipment and ordering room service. He had no plans of leaving the room for a few days at least. Besides, it felt like forever since Jason had junk food, so Jason splurged. He enjoyed the autonomy of working in Gotham on his own mission. Someone knocked on the door and announced themselves as room service, and Jason took a curved blade and hid it in his waistband before answering the door. An older woman wheeled in his food and set the table. He tipped her generously and sent her on her way before gorging on a burger, fries, pizza, and a banana split.

Afterward, he lay down and took a nap. He dreamt of Talia and Damian well into the afternoon. He still hadn't adjusted to the timezone in Gotham. He hadn't adjusted to being in Gotham. Not quite yet. The bed wasn't as nice as the one he slept in at home, but he was so jet-lagged it didn't matter. Once he woke up, he spent the next four hours surveilling the embassy through the small camera he placed on the balcony and a pair of binoculars.

He knew the mission was mainly surveillance, but he worried it'd lead to violence. Ra's wouldn't have sent him if it wasn't dangerous. Eventually, he'd work his way into the embassy, perhaps as a staff member or as a new friend of the diplomat's son. He wasn't sure yet, but he knew the mission would take several weeks to complete if he did everything right. One mistake and several people would have to die. Jason didn't want that.

Every Saturday, the diplomat's son would meet with a group of men, and they'd drive back to his apartment building. Jason followed the young man a few times to memorize the route and find the exact apartment. By his third week in Gotham, he rented the apartment next to the man. The landlord didn't ask questions, especially not after the rate Jason offered to pay for his silence. Jason made sure to get the apartment next door to the man so he could hear his comings and goings. During that time, Jason slept on the floor of his apartment. He listened to the man for nearly two weeks through the wall before everything went wrong.

Jason lay on the floor of his apartment, sleeping when he awakened to a bloodcurdling scream. He could hear a woman's voice crying, and without thinking, he grabbed a weapon from his bag and went out on the balcony. The cold wind blew in Jason's face. He carefully jumped from his balcony to the man's and broke into the apartment. He closed his eyes and pulled his hat over his face to hide his identity. Talia trained him well enough to know he wouldn't need to see to fight as long as he kept his senses. He shattered the light fixtures with the weighted end of his kusarigama and stepped into a corner of the room. The man came out of the bedroom, and the heaviness of his footsteps clued Jason in right away. Without a word, Jason swung the sickle end of the weapon and listened to the man's cry as it wrapped around his leg, cutting into his flesh. Jason used the weapon to drag the man close to him and placed a hand around his throat.

The man gasped for air and begged for his life. He even offered Jason money. "Shut up," Jason whispered the words through clenched teeth. He turned to the bedroom, where he could hear the woman breathing, and stopped choking the man. "If you even look at another woman again, I will kill you... But not before I castrate you." Jason could hardly contain his rage. Only two things kept him from slaughtering that man in the darkness of that apartment. Killing him would only traumatize the woman in the room, and he would jeopardize his mission.

He figured he'd complete his mission and kill him later. "My eyes are covered, ma'am. It's okay now!" Jason yelled. She rushed out of the apartment, and Jason released the man before disappearing into the night with his weapon. He pulled his hat up, followed her to her apartment, and ensured the woman got in safely. She didn't go to the hospital, and he couldn't bear to leave her alone. "Miss?" Jason asked in his normal voice. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"I'm fine! Go away!" she wept.

"You don't have to let me in... I can sit outside the door. I just-. You looked hurt. What would my ma think if I turned a blind eye to somebody who needs help?" Jason whispered. He pressed his forehead to the door, and she opened the door slightly, leaving the chain latched.

"How would you know—?"

"You got blood in the hallway... And you looked scared when you passed me," Jason half-lied. He just wanted to help her. He wouldn't be able to sleep if he knew he'd ignored her. Maybe she reminded him of Catherine. No one helped her when she was hurt or hungry, or sick. Jason just wanted to be different. Jason stepped back so she could see him. He wasn't very big or menacing, so he hoped she'd feel at ease.

"What's a little boy like you doing out so late? Aren't your folks worried?" she questioned him. Jason shook his head.

"My folks are dead," Jason answered, "I only wanna help... Do you have a first aid kit?"

She shut the door and unlatched the chain. Once Jason was able to get a look at her in the light, he felt rage all over again. Her face was all busted up, and she couldn't stop shaking. She sat on the couch and pointed out her first aid kit to Jason. He opened the kit and sat on the couch next to her, cleaning her face and patching her up. "Does it look bad?" she asked. Jason shook his head. Another lie.

"Do you have a paper bag? Like a grocery bag or something to put your clothes in?" Jason questioned. She nodded and told him where the bags would be. He got up once more and handed her the bag.

She didn't move. "I should thank you... I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"No need," Jason whispered, "What's your name?"

"Gloria. My name's Gloria," she whispered.

Jason smiled at her. "Gloria... That's real pretty," Jason whispered, "Well, I guess I'm done here... I hope they get the creep that hurt you."

She grabbed his wrist, and he froze. "Please, at least let me pay you—."

"No thanks, Gloria," Jason interrupted, "But if you need the company... I'll stay until you fall asleep." Gloria nodded. Jason didn't need any training to know Gloria was terrified. He'd seen it before. He spent several nights as a child curled up at the foot of Catherine's bed, hoping that she'd sleep through the night. It made his stomach sick to think that man could go unpunished.

"I feel like somebody's looking out for me," Gloria confessed, "Weird enough, I really think I've got a guardian angel or something."

Gloria lay on the couch and Jason draped a blanket over her. He didn't say anything else. He turned the tv on low and waited until she fell asleep to leave just as he promised. He couldn't help but shed a tear on his way back to the hotel room.

[miles-prentiss]

Where is my mind

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Childhood Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Substance Abuse, Schizophrenia, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Dreams, Panic Attacks, Short One Shot, One Shot, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy

Words: 414

I walk down the long hallway the walls a saturated marron colour

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

"Hello!" I call out unaware of my surroundings.

I reach the end of the hall, I am met with a off white door, I open the door with hesitation not knowing what is awaiting my arrival.

The door open revealing a living room which seem familiar .

"Hello?" I call out once more.

... no reply .

I begin the gather what Is surrounding me, soft yellow wall, a dark green couch, a muted red carpet, off white lace curtains.

I turn around to see a man who was once standing behind me.

I stand in confusion not knowing who the man infront of me.

"What do you not know your own father?" He asked as if he was informing me on who exactly he was.

I couldn't believe it.

"I thought- you're in prison!?" I enquired.

"What do you not miss your pa?" I ignored his statement and walked away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He demanded grabing my shoulder and spinning me around to face him.

I flinched and his grip on my shoulder is getting tighter. He takes his free hand and wraps it tightly around my neck ,blocking my oxygen supply.

"Pleaae..." I let out a pathetic whimper.

"Ahhh!" I sit up walking myself up from my slumber in a cold sweat.

"Why?...why now?"

The past is catching up with me fast than I thought, I hang my head in defeat not wanting to deal with this at the moment.

I turn to my alarm clock which reads '3:12AM' 'the devils hour'.

I get out of bed and walk over to my bathroom. I flick on the light, illuminating the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror, my dark curls framing my face, dark circles for eyes, the pale yellow-ish tone on my skin.

I turn to look at the shelf bellow the mirror which is filled with numerous boxes of pills

I look back up to the mirror to see Him behind me, his hand wrapped firmly around my neck, I turn around only for him not to be there.

I Fall back against the sink, knees coming up to my chest, hand falling into my arms, tears rolling down my face, slight ringing in my ear

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." I repeat over and over knowing how I failed being my mother's perfect little girl

"Where is my mind?"

[fic-ive-read]

Link To The Fic

[queen-of-weird-girlboy-nation]

So like, I think that Jupiter wanted to kill jason as a child.

Eliminate the threat, this little child, before he grows up to eventually dethrone him. But Jason was needed for the quest, so he just settled with physical and psychological abuse instead :)

And when the quest was over, Jason was free to kill anyway, and I think Jason knew it.

He thought he could outrun it, he'd go to Camp Half Blood and attend like normal school. He wouldn't be a threat.

Bur he was from his birth and he died. He knew he was going to die.

[rottenbutrecovering]

Mayhaps this is too hot of a take for this blog, BUT I'm tired of people being like "narcissistic abuse is an important label to me because it's the only thing that describes the form of abuse I was subjected to" Then they describe their abuse and it's emotional abuse. Like we have a term for it. We have for like decades. I've yet to see any definition of "narcissist abuse" that does not also define emotional abuse and/or psychological abuse.

MY abuse fits the descriptions I've seen of "narcissist abuse", and that's because I was emotionally abused.

I do not understand why suddenly emotional abuse and psychological abuse have just seemingly dropped out of people's lexicon. (Well. I have my theory why. But that's a long post for another day).

[furiousgoldfish]

Abuse can sometimes feel like a slow, torturous deterioration of your sanity. You can't name what was done to you, you can't point out what anyone has done to hurt you, you can't prove to yourself that you're being abused. You instead feel like you might be going crazy. Like everything they're saying about you might be true and you can't get a hold of your senses or figure out what is going on.

And when it keeps getting worse, you hang onto every little thing trying to analyze if you're having the correct perception of it, trying to figure out if what you're feeling about it is rational or true. You don't know what's going on anymore but you know something is wrong deep inside of you and it's harder and harder to exist, to experience anything. Your every experience becomes a mass of uncertainty, doubt, questions, endless analysis, and you still don't know what is right, what you're allowed to say, think, believe. You cannot state the facts, because you're not sure what they are. You're blind in a fog, unable to stop whatever is going on, unsure if you're being hurt, or if you're imagining it in your head.

There doesn't seem to be any way out. If you could only stop imagining it, stop going insane, but no matter how hard you try, your emotions go out of control, you feel like you're going to explode, you end up feeling helpless and ashamed. It feels like a descent into madness, you can't stop feeling like you've embarrassed yourself, done something wrong, had the wrong reaction to every event, ashamed of how others must see you as pathetic and crazy. It makes you want to hide from everyone forever, but the doubt and inability to see reality still follow you and drive you insane. You end up wishing you didn't exist because you can't even do that right.

This is what gaslighting does to you, and why it can be damaging and painful just to exist next to the people who have done that to you. Even if they don't do anything else to you, just being continuously gaslit about what did happen can make you feel like you're losing your mind, because you're trying to force yourself to emotionally experience a fictional reality that is super-imposed over the actual truth of what had happened. Your emotions are the result of the events that did happen, so they cannot change to correspond to the abuser's imagined, revised and fictional version. However, if you fail to force this process, the abusers will humiliate, degrade and psychologically attack your sanity, pressuring you to keep trying to change how you emotionally react to reality. No person can change that.