#And sees a therapist who helps him as an abuse survivor

[tamsinbeybey-she-no-porcupine]

Rewatching the light in the hall

because the amount of time I think about Joe Pritchard is embarrasing really

[hollowtakami]

.*~+everybody’s changing and i don’t feel the same

content: reader + keigo have ptsd/c-ptsd, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, heavily implied trauma, hurt comfort

a/n: my symptoms have flared up a lot following a string of events, and im struggling to cope, so, yk. bird man make life easier:)) also yes the title is a lyric from everybody’s changing by keane. my comfort song atm lol

For anyone else who really struggles with CPTSD like myself, Keigo understands.

He doesn’t hate you for struggling with controlling your emotions, for all the nightmares. Keigo works through the nihilism that eats away at you, he’s gonna make sure that nobody ever hurts you again, especially not them.

For every person you struggle to trust, Keigo’s love is worth five of them.

Keigo’s hands hold you through every dissociative episode, every suicidal thought. He vowed to guide you through the darkest alleys of memory lane, and he intends to keep that promise.

If you struggle with touch, Keigo will help you set boundaries. He’ll tell you if it’s okay to touch, he’ll tell you where he’s going to and how. If you’re not comfortable with any physical contact, he understands.

Keigo was the one who helped you see a therapist. He took you to every appointment, was there if you needed him to be.

If your symptoms flare up suddenly, he will never judge you. As a survivor of domestic and child abuse himself, he completely understands. He sees parts of himself in you, and he wants to save you.

In a way he couldn’t save himself, he thinks.

Helping you helped him. You are birds of a feather, and Keigo would do anything in his power to make sure you feel safe in this world.

All he wants is for his baby bird to be okay with waking up to another day.

[to-hypnos-we-dream]

Interpreting Trauma Nightmares

tw for sa mention/traumatic themes

When it comes to Hypnos worship, horrific nightmares may be ignored due to their negative connotation. It's always good to remember that despite how horrible they may be, and trust me I know horrible, they can be the gateway of self-reflection on something we may be ignoring, neglecting, or scared of. If you are a sexual abuse survivor and you get a nightmare repeating the abuse, it can make your faith waiver in the sense of "Is this truly what Hypnos wants me to see?". Hypnos is the healer, Hypnos wants what is best for His devotees, it is however valid to feel anger or even hatred after dreaming something awful. In all deities, there is balance, and it may not always be positive or light especially from a chthonic deity like Hypnos.

These nightmares may be the push that signals you are ignoring something or still in need for healing. Maybe Hypnos is trying to tell you that you are still clinging to the memory, maybe He is trying to tell you that He is there for you even at your worse; maybe you prefer see these from a more scientific perspective and see them as a simple trauma response; these interpretations/ideas are up to you.

But know that Hypnos does not hate you, Hypnos is not punishing you, you've done nothing wrong to deserve these nightmares. You never deserved the abuse or the nightmares that came with it. It doesn't matter if you maybe forgot a prayer, maybe you haven't mentioned Him in years, maybe you even forgot about Him,

these dreams are not punishment.

Now how may you interpret these dreams? There are many ways you can go about this.

Write down every detail you remember, color, animals, plants, settings, words, sounds, everything.

You may use the following as a mix or try them in steps, up to you

1.Your own interpretation/connection

write down how you interpret every detail about personal symbolism. Maybe you saw a dog, but you happen to have your own dog, maybe that is important.

2.Use dream bibles to find general/cultural interpretation

some online dream bibles

3.Use Tarot to ask Hypnos about individual interpretation or use Tarot spreads for interpretation. Examples you can use are:

4.Speak to a therapist

personally therapy never worked for me, but maybe for you if possible you can discuss these dreams to a licensed individual who can help

5.Prayer/Meditation

If it works for you it works. Try guided meditations to speak to Hypnos on the subject. Use other forms of divination to speak to Hypnos. Maybe pray for guidance, pray for another dream where He may help guide you through

---

There are many ways you can go about this. However if its too much, it is okay to instead focus on helping your own mental health and make sure these triggering dreams don't hurt you. That too is devotion to Hypnos, and He will love you with it. As a reminder, you may always contact us about any sort of dreams. You may talk about trauma to us. We however are not professionals, but we will give the guidance that we can. We are here to help one another, Hypnos bless us.

[sketch-owl]

All about the Mad Hatter post!

Hello fellow Tumblr users, if you’ve stumbled across this wall of text congrats! You love and enjoy Batman content just as much as I do. This is a dedicated lore dump all about our favorite goofy lad Jervis as he exists in my Batman AU.

If this is the first one you’re reading, here’s a bit of backstory: This AU has existed in my brain for many years, though in true writer fashion I haven’t properly written it all out. Though eventually I intend to make this into a work of fiction with chapters and everything. For now though I have managed to write out all of our major characters’ backstories.

Before delving right in you should know that this story has dark themes that take place within the story and content that can be triggering, so if you are sensitive to those please read with caution or skip this one altogether. Mental health takes first place over silly Batman characters.

⚠️Trigger warning for:

Child abuse

Child trafficking

Death

Murder

Jervis Tetch aka the Mad Hatter was an only child who grew up in London with his mother and father who were in an unhappy marriage. Jervis’s father was physically abusive towards his mother, and his mother, who felt socially pressured into not believing in divorce, drowned her pain with alcohol. Though emotionally absent, she would try her best to protect her son and give him a normal childhood. His father grew resentful of how his wife would ‘baby’ their son and give him so much of her attention. When Jervis was a toddler, his father sold him off to a family friend that was willing to take him. This family friend came and picked up Jervis in the middle of the night with his mother oblivious to what was happening. The friend then turned around and sold him at a higher price to child traffickers. For years Jervis was passed around, his body used as a plaything, and he was powerless to do anything about it. Until one day an opportunity presented itself. A phone left unattended. He dialed the police and begged them for help, sputtering out every detail of where he was so they could find him. He was caught by one of the traffickers, and the line was cut off. They needed to move their operation, but before that they were going to make sure Jervis would never pull something like this again.

They beat him within an inch of his life. His body was broken, and his mind wanted to slip away into the blissful nothingness. He could be free of pain, free from his hell. But a part of him burned with hate. Hate for people, hate for the feeling of being powerless. That fire burned, and it burned bright and hot. In a shock wave, everyone inside the building, traffickers and children included, burned from the inside out. The police arrived at the scene, and no one was left alive. All except one. One lone survivor, a boy no older than 8. After conducting an investigation, the police later concluded that there was a gas leak inside the building, and when one of the traffickers lit a cigarette the entire building went up in flames. Despite there being no evidence of a gas leak, this was the only logical explanation.

Jervis was taken to hospital, and while recovering the police asked him about what happened, to which Jervis didn’t recall. He received counseling from a therapist, and from there the police tracked down his parents. After being told that their son had been found inside a child trafficking organization, the police questioned his father on why he never reported his son missing. His father told the police that he had no idea that his son was kidnapped, as the last he saw him Jervis was spending the night at a friend’s house. The police took the name of the family friend that Jervis was given to, and they were arrested for child trafficking.

The doctors told Jervis of the good news, that he would soon be able to return home to his father. But Jervis was less than thrilled. He wanted his mom, not his dad.

Considering his hesitation to see his family, the doctors pushed for CPS to do regular check-ins at his residence after he returned home, and he continued with counseling. Things had not changed since Jervis had left. Only now his dad was more careful in his abuse, as they now had eyes on them.

That fire that Jervis had felt moments before everything went dark remained. He stifled it, ignored it, moved on like nothing had happened to him. He began school, and his teachers noted that Jervis would sometimes have moments where he would shut down. He showed promise with his work, being a fast learner. But oftentimes he wouldn’t be interested in the work, and would refuse participation.

Essentially his teachers were the only ones pushing for him to actually do the work in class. He was smart enough to pick up new information the first time and retain it without practice, but lacked the motivation or drive to complete assignments. Some of his papers would be half-way done or entirely blank. The teachers reached out to his parents multiple times to let them know what was going on and possible solutions, but they went ignored. By next semester Jervis was pulled from elementary school, his parents saying they wished to home school him from then on.

It didn’t take long thereafter before Jervis hit a breaking point. Since being pulled from public school Jervis had not received any schooling from either parent. One night his mother had drunk herself into a stupor, and instead of falling asleep at the kitchen table like usual, she decided to take her bottled anger out on her son. With a slurred hiss she blamed Jervis for how her husband treated her, how having him was a mistake, how it would have been better if he was never born. The candle flame that burned lowly in Jervis’s chest grew to a blaze. The anger that he felt that day returned. He was abandoned by them. Given away like he was nothing. He suffered because of them. He was violated because of them. He almost died because of them. All this time he believed that it was his fault that his parents didn’t love him. That he had done something wrong to make his father hate him and give him away. But in this moment it clicked in his mind. As though it were instinct, he bore that scorching fire through the head of the woman that stood above him. Her demeanor changed in an instant. Her face relaxed, her eyes glazed over. She turned, grabbing her husband’s hunting rifle off of the mantle, and fired it through her mouth.

Jervis’s head rang, overwhelmed by a blinding pain. He squeezed his eyes shut. For a couple of seconds it felt like his brain was going to explode. When he opened his eyes again, his mother’s corpse laid before him, her brains painting the floor and wall of the house. When his father came home from work, Jervis seized control of his mind as well, made him bury his wife under the shed in the backyard, made him dig his own grave, and then shoot himself.

Jervis stood in his empty home, mind blank yet racing at the same time. He possessed powers that allowed him to control the minds of others. He didn’t know when or how he got them, all he knew was that he was never going to be helpless and vulnerable again.

Though he couldn’t hide in the house forever, surviving off of whatever food was left in the pantry. CPS was still visiting, with his father’s car still in the driveway. Also people were going to notice when his father didn’t show up to work. He went a couple blocks down the road, knocking on a neighbor’s door. The owner of the house answered. She just so happened to be a parent herself, and she opened her door out of concern for the seemingly lost child. Wordlessly Jervis took hold of her mind, and entered the house.

It is here where Jervis began to experiment with his new abilities. He could control multiple people at once if he strained himself, including the other children that lived in the house. He reached into their minds without their knowledge, challenging the stretch of his influence. He grasped onto their memories, ripping and tearing at them with curiosity. He lived with the family for several months, eating their food and sleeping on their living room couch, and all the while their minds were manipulated into ignoring his presence.

The more he pushed his limits, the more his sanity suffered. His moments of dissociation turned into breakdowns, or lapses in his own memory. He would lose long periods of time where he didn’t recall what he did or how long it had been. He both loved and hated the power he had. It was the key to his freedom, his survival, but in turn it was driving him mad.

During one of these episodes of lost time, Jervis came back to consciousness to find that the house was empty. It was unusual for this part of the day, the kids would normally be home from school and their mother would be cooking dinner. His concerns for them grew as the hours passed. In the back of his mind he knew that he wouldn’t be seeing them again. What he had done to them, what he had made them do, he couldn’t remember. That was the part that disturbed him the most. His body was acting without his mind’s command, doing things without his knowing. Even with powers, he was powerless to stop himself.

He moved onto the next house, and then the next, taking control of the minds of the residents and living in their home like a parasite. He brushed off his moments of lost time as a tiny side effect, focusing entirely on just surviving. He wasn’t going crazy, no. He’s just overwhelmed by it all, he’s just not used to the power yet.

Meanwhile, the police were still searching for Jervis as the prime suspect in his parents’ murder. They followed the trail of bodies that he left in his wake, and were quickly catching up to him. There was a close call where an officer showed up to the family’s door that he was currently staying with. Jervis wasn’t directly puppeting them, so unbeknownst to him they allowed the officer to come inside the house while they spoke. Jervis had narrowly avoided being seen, and while that doesn’t seem like a big deal considering he could wipe the officer’s memory, that power only worked within a limited distance. Once the officer was far enough away, he would gain back his memories. Simply killing him wouldn’t be enough either. People care more about the lives of law enforcement than they do about normal civilians.

All it would take is to be seen one time by an officer, and sooner or later his spree would come to an end. His freedom would be stripped from him, and for what he has done, they would execute him. Like a mad dog they would bar him inside of a cage, and then put him down. No matter how well he covered his tracks, they would still follow him. He needed to go farther away to a place where they would not follow. Somewhere where it would be impossible to find him. A big, crime ridden city like Gotham would do nicely.

He had the husband of the family quit his old job and find a new one within Gotham. They then moved overseas, the expenses drying up their savings. In order to afford living costs, they crammed into a small 2 bedroom apartment in West Gotham. More specifically they were in Burnley, a town most known for being one of the poorest and sketchiest neighborhoods to live in. A majority of Gotham’s lower class end up here. Rent is cheap, police are scarce, and the jobs provided by the criminal underground keep its people off the streets.

The family that Jervis was with didn’t last much longer after that. When he came back into himself, he left the apartment to move on to the next home to inhabit. But he quickly found that doing so in this part of the city wasn’t as simple as it was in London. People were kind, caring, and opened their doors to him. But not here. It took him a great deal of effort to finally find somewhere safe enough to hide. An old hat shop that has seen better days, the only person inside being the owner who was an old man dressed in expensive looking clothing tailored to him.

Jervis went to take hold of the man’s mind, to forcibly take all control that he had over his own body away from him. But his power bounced right off of him, having no effect. That was odd. This has never happened before. Jervis tried again, straining his mind to overpower the man’s. Nothing still. The man then spoke up, welcoming him into the hat shop, and pointing out that it was rude of him to sneak it. He might be blind, but he wasn’t deaf. Upon a closer look, the man’s eyes were glazed over with a white film. A blind hat maker.

For the first time in years, Jervis made conversation. The man introduced himself, Jervis did the same. The man could tell from his voice that Jervis was young, to which the man appreciated his presumed interest in fashion. Jervis lied and agreed that he was. But he was more so curious to hear about how a blind man could sew. The man explains that he doesn’t, at least not anymore. He received the news of his going eyesight a couple years back after going to the doctor to get them checked. There was nothing they could do to prevent it, as it happens to everyone eventually when they grow old. For some it happens sooner than others. He loves his shop, loves the craft, and he was devastated. But he didn’t want to let it go. So he spent every day making as many hats and accessories as he could so that he would be able to sell them after he could no longer make them. His main source of income though came mainly from custom work. But now that he can’t make hats anymore, his business has rapidly declined. Jervis was his first visitor that he’s had in a while.

As the man spun his tale, Jervis had a look around the shop. Lovely, one of a kind hats were set up and displayed, along with a couple of outfits that looked to be hand made by him as well. The man wore his own work. In the back office of the store looked to be where he would sew, with a wall dedicated to fabrics and an old, dusty sewing machine on top of a table covered in various small decorations. Jervis asked if he could hire someone else to keep making hats. The man chuckled, saying that if one such person knew how to do what he did, they too would own and run their own store. They wouldn’t be working under someone. Jervis then asked if he considered having an assistant then and teaching them how to sew. The man says that he’s thought about taking on an apprentice, but the people that pass through his store have never shown interest. Except for him that is.

Jervis then visited the shop the next day. And then the next. The two of them would talk for hours. The man would offer to show Jervis something new. How to use the sewing machine, how to sew by hand, how to make clothing. Without words Jervis became the man’s apprentice. Creating something with his own hands had given Jervis a spark, and having someone to teach gave the man comfort.

When the man asked Jervis about his own life, he didn’t make mention of being homeless. He knew that if he did, the man would offer up his own home for Jervis to stay, even without being mind controlled into it. If he were to move in, sooner or later whether he wanted to or not, the man would eventually meet a gruesome end at Jervis’s hand. He didn’t want that. Before, the atrocities that he would commit were inconsequential. It didn’t matter if a mother, a father, and their children died because all he was using them for was to hide from the world. This time was different though. He cared for the man, though he would never admit it. He wanted to hear the stories that the man would tell from his own life. He wanted to make the man’s life easier by helping him get around the shop, by cleaning, by being his eyes.

Eventually Jervis had crafted a hat of his very own. A traditional tall top hat with an odd choice of colors and patterns. The size was a bit big on Jervis too, which made him look even smaller than he already was. But he proudly showed it to the man. He listened to Jervis describe what it looked like as he felt along it. Of course it had little imperfections being Jervis’s first, but that didn’t matter to the man. He encouraged Jervis to put together an outfit next, and to wear it with pride. No one in the world would have what he had. He would be one of a kind.

Later that evening, Jervis left the shop wearing his hat. That day was the last time he would see the old man. The following morning when Jervis returned, he found the shop’s front windows and glass door were shattered and the displays knocked over. His heart leapt into his throat as he sprinted for the door. Ducking through the broken frame, he called the man’s name. Usually he was here to open the store before this time. His eyes darted around as he stepped over hats and mannequins, until they landed on a hand lying on the ground, peeking out from behind the counter.

He rushed towards him, but time seemed to slow to a halt. This couldn’t be happening, surely. This was all in his head. He finally lost it, and this was something his diseased mind made up. He rounded the counter. The man was there, laying in his own blood on the ground, unmoving. His knees gave out as he fell to the floor, hat tumbling off his head and landing in the man’s blood. He wanted to believe that this was a dream that he was going to wake up from. He wanted to believe that he wouldn’t do this, that his own mind would betray him like this. But as he crawled the rest of the way over to his body, pants and hands getting stained with his blood, he knew that there was no point in denying it. This was real, and it was all his fault.

Jervis didn’t know what else to do other than apologize, over and over again, even though the man couldn’t hear him. This was sick. He felt sick. His brain writhed and pounded in his skull, and his eyes stung as he looked at the corpse before him through tears. The man was on his back facing up, and was holding his chest. Jervis moved his hand, and underneath was a hole from which the blood escaped from. A bullet wound, it looked like. That was odd. Jervis didn’t own a gun, and he didn’t recall the man having one either.

Shakily he stood, looking around the shop again. The place was a wreck, but he found bullet holes in the back wall as well as a few stray ones on the floor. He went out of the store, walking down to the next building, then the next. Several bullet holes adorned the wall, and more broken glass. Sprawled out on the sidewalk were a few bodies, having been shot multiple times. Looking them over, they all wore the same winter jacket with a silhouette of a bird printed on the back. This wasn’t him. Someone else came down this street, carelessly firing away. A spark flickered behind Jervis’s eyes. A heat rose in his chest. Whoever did this, they were going to pay.

A bit of research later and Jervis finds that the logo on the back of the men's jackets belong to a very well-known crime lord within the city who goes by the name of Penguin. Gangs fighting gangs in a war for territory. It didn't matter who was caught in the crossfire so long as one of them came out on top. He needed whoever ran this gang to die, along with everyone associated with it. He wanted this gang to be erased. And what better way to start than to find the Penguin?

Before leaving the old hat shop behind, Jervis went through the old man’s things. Useful things such as the money out of the safe and the man’s red coat that was hanging up on the rack. While looking around for the key to the safe he has found some papers stashed away. The papers look to be blue prints for something, but Jervis can’t figure out what they’re for. He decides to revisit them later.

Jervis found that while he was controlling a person, he could forcibly extract information from their memories. It was taxing for him to do, and he needed to strain the limits of his powers to do it, but it could be done. Weaker willed minds were easier, like the thugs that thoughtlessly followed their leader. None of them knew which rival gang had made the assault, but they did know where the Penguin was. He would use the crime lord’s own men against him.

While traveling from South Gotham to East Gotham, Jervis stewed over his plan. He would bypass the Penguin’s defenses by controlling every guard he saw, manipulating their minds into ignoring his existence. Then when he gets to Penguin, he would infiltrate his mind and forcibly take the information from his skull. He would find who was responsible, and then wipe them from the face of this Earth.

And for the most part this plan worked. He arrived at a classy and upscale looking building that was a couple stories tall. For Gotham’s standards in terms of architecture, the place stuck out like a rich thumb. He waltzed through the front doors, shooting daggers at any security that littered the halls and making them turn the other way. He rode the elevator up to the top floor, Penguin’s mind controlled goons trailing behind him. At the end of the hall was a glass door with gold accents, an obvious sign that this was his office, with even more guards standing in front of it. With ease, he made the men unlock and open the door for him. Stepping inside, he was met with the man of the hour. Seated at his desk on the far side of the room was a heavy set man dressed nicely in a black and white business attire, a pair of small spectacles sitting low on his crooked and curved nose. The Penguin was leaned back in his chair, elbow resting lazily on the desk’s surface with a pistol in his gloved hand, pointed towards Jervis standing in the doorway.

Jervis tried to seize control of Penguin’s mind, immediately trying to force his body to bend to his will and drop the pistol. But he felt the connection fell short. A wall of red appeared out in front of him, circling around Penguin like a force field. Before Jervis could think, a bang went off. Instinctively he ducked, falling to the polished floor. His hat fell next to him, a new bullet hole adorning it. Jervis held out his hands, squeaking out a plea for him to stop. Penguin chuckled, saying that he had some balls on him to walk so confidently into the king of Gotham’s place of business and think he could kill him so easily. He didn’t know what sort of trick he was pulling to puppet his men, but that was never going to work on him. He’s been in this game for too long, and he could see Jervis coming the moment he stepped foot on his property. But it was a fair shot, he’d give him that. Penguin then aimed his pistol down at the boy’s head, though before he pulled the trigger Jervis blurted out that his mentor was killed in a hit and run by one of his rivals and he was only hoping to find out who. He was never out to kill him, just whoever was responsible.

Penguin paused for a moment, staring down at Jervis. He then laughed, his belly bouncing with his shoulders. What a foolish way to die, he said to Jervis. Petty revenge? That was what he was going to waste himself on? Penguin placed his gun back into his cane, the handle becoming the cane’s handle. He said that Jervis reminded him of himself when he was young and trying to make his mark on the city. And if he could impart a word of advice, revenge would never heal him. He’s been down that road before, and it only resulted in more pain. But he also understood that Jervis would probably never be satisfied until he learned that lesson on his own. He would give up the name as a freebie, but if he ever saw Jervis’s mug around his property again he was dead, and he wouldn’t be given a warning shot.

After looking through the rival gangs he had in South Gotham, there was only one that was competing for territory in the same area that the hat shop was in. A mob leader by the name of Black Mask.

Seeing as his last plan didn’t go as well as he’d thought, Jervis devised another plan that he put more thought into this time around. This plan went a lot smoother. Using the information that Penguin gave him, he went back to South Gotham and to a couple different addresses that Penguin recalled to be hot spots for Black Mask gang members. This process took awhile, not only because Jervis didn’t know his way around the city and was relying on public transportation, but also Black Mask members all wore the same skull mask as their leader. But eventually he found the right place. One man stood out from the rest. The color that surrounded him was a green color while everyone else’s was a shade of blue. His aura, the energy from his mind, gave him away.

In one fell swoop Jervis seized control over Black Mask as well as a handful of his goons, and with them he completely obliterated them. It was all over within a matter of minutes, the gang members opening fire on their own. Bullet casings and corpses covered the floor. The only people left standing were three men. As he held them in place he debated on how he should kill them. Having them shoot themselves was the obvious option, but he thought about having them fight each other instead and seeing who wins. Then another thought crossed his mind. Penguin telling him that revenge would bring him nothing but more pain. What nonsense. He got what he wanted, and he felt amazing. Strong. Powerful. He looked at the three men before him, standing mindlessly waiting for his commands. He decided then that in absence of their old leader, he would assume the role as their new leader. It felt so good being on top. Being on top was safe. Being on top meant he was untouchable. And this would only be the beginning of his reign.

Though straining his powers like that left him depleted. He took a moment to sit down and rest, thinking of what to do next. Absentmindedly he took out the blueprint he found hidden in the old man’s shop. Though he doesn’t get very far into it, partly due to exhaustion and partly due to his world quickly getting corrupted by weird hallucinations, making it hard to focus without being interrupted.

The next morning he still didn’t feel much better, and was still seeing things. Occasionally he would hear sounds like someone speaking from behind him, when really there is no one there besides the gang members going about their business. He decides to go across the street to grab something to wake him up. A little shop with no name on it, but the front window had lots of whimsical looking bottles, jarred herbs and bagged grounds. He spotted a bag of tea leaves in the mix. Perfect, and the shop wasn’t too far away to where he would lose his grip on the gang. He went inside.

Upon entering the shop, the interior appeared to expand before him into a much larger space compared to the outside. Jervis chalked this strange illusion up to one of his hallucinations. The place was decorated with all sorts of greenery and plant life, even the very ground seemed alive as he walked on it. Walls lined with tall shelves were stocked full of an assortment of books, trinkets, oddities, incense, and plants. Every inch of space in the already spacious shop was used, and looked to be organized as well as it could be. Though no shop owner was to be found. Jervis called out, but no answer. Odd, the door was unlocked. He went over to the bag of tea leaves in the window and picked it up. While looking at its contents, something else caught his eye. It was eyes. A jar full to be exact, placed on a nearby table. He didn’t get to look closer before he was startled by a voice behind him. Turning, half expecting it to be nothing, he saw there was a beautiful young woman with long, flowing red hair and fair skin. She was wearing a nice looking dress with an apron over it. She was looking at him expectantly. He blinked. She repeated herself, asking if she could help him find anything.

Jervis stammered out a response. He held out the bag of tea leaves and said he was looking to purchase them. The woman made no move to take them, but did raise an eyebrow as she looked at him up and down. She asked if he was sure that he wanted those leaves in particular. Jervis looked confused. It was just tea wasn’t it? The woman smiled. She introduced herself by the name Ivy, and this was her Shop of Many Things where she sells everything from spells to remedies. What he held was not just tea leaves, but love potion leaves. Just add hot water, and the tea will make almost anyone fall in love with the first person they see. Jervis laughed. Magic leaves that made a love potion tea? That was quite the sale’s pitch. No, he wasn’t looking to fall in love. He just needed something for his headache. Ivy nodded in agreement, and turned to the shelves. After a bit of rummaging, she returned with a different bag and handed it to him. This blend would be just the thing for his psych fatigue. Jervis gave her back the love leaf bag, looking at the new one. They looked like regular crushed dried leaves, nothing special or magic about them. He was willing to try anything at this point, so he paid for it and went on his way.

Going back to the building across the street where he was currently staying, he heated up some water in the microwave that was there and dropped a generous amount of the leaves into the cup. For a moment, as soon as the blend started to mix with the water, the color seemed to shift and glow a bright blue. But it vanished as soon as it appeared, settling into a more brownish red. Jervis passed this off as being another trick of his mind. He poured the tea through a coffee filter to collect the leaves, and then took a long sip. A couple of seconds later, his headache had disappeared. Relief washed over him. The fog that was clouding his mind had lifted, and he could think a bit clearer. It was almost like magic. He sat down with his tea and looked around the empty room, lost in thought. He could see that the illusions were still there, but were in the edges of his vision and less noticeable. The gang members that he was passively controlling were sitting idly throughout the building, quietly reading or watching tv. He didn’t feel safe in this place. He felt vulnerable, like anyone at any moment could come in and kill him. He needed to move to another location and lay low for a while. People in the underworld were going to notice that a crime lord is missing.

And notice they did. Black Mask was a man who utilized power and fear to dominate other organizations in his territory. He controlled everything, from trading to manufacturing to planned crime. The sudden drop in activity created a mad dash to claim everything that previously belonged to Black Mask, including his known hideouts. Jervis tries to move locations and take Black Mask’s men and supplies with him, but the hideout gets swarmed by several armed groups and a full turf war breaks out.

Jervis lost control over Black Mask’s men while trying to get himself out, and they turned on him in an instant. He gets injured, but the chaos happening around them provides him with the opportunity to squirm away.

He’s angry with himself for being weak and easily losing control over the only protection that he had. He would not allow something like this to happen again. He would find a new home on North Gotham island, in a district named Amusement Mile. The entire northern side of the island has a huge amusement park that has been abandoned for several years, along with scrap yards and construction equipment.

After scoping out the place, he finds that there is actually another amusement park built directly below the one on the surface. The underground amusement park looks to be even more old and worn down, appearing to be the first park built on the island before it was shut down. Whoever built the new park didn’t bother to get rid of the old one, and simply built it over top of it.

After thoroughly investigating the underground park, he finds the remnants of someone who once lived there in one of the attractions. It was a train ride, and one part of the ride went through a series of tunnels decorated with flora and animatronic creatures. The robots have since broken down and dry rotted. Jervis absolutely loved it. The place reminded him of a story book called Alice in Wonderland.

Whoever squatted here had left behind a mattress that they slept on, food, books, and a lot of useless junk. Among the piles of trash Jervis found some assorted parts. Circuit boards, computer chips, nuts and bolts, and the like. He was suddenly reminded of the blueprint that he carried with him.

This is the part where there’s a time skip, and now we got an adult Mad Hatter who has gotten even more unhinged. With some of the parts that he found in the trash pile, he used the blueprint to create a mask. The mask is fitted with a special receiver device on the inside, and if he made it correctly, it would be able to respond to psychic energy. This way he didn’t need to stay close to the people he controlled, and he didn’t need to worry about losing his hold on them. This would be a permanent solution.

His overall goal is to be in a position where no one can touch him. To be a powerful force where he needn’t answer to anyone, but rather everyone answer to him. But to achieve his goal, he needs to get rid of the people in power who are the biggest threats to him in the city. Two-Face, Penguin, and the Batman.

Two-Face is right below Penguin in terms of underworld hierarchy. He invaded Bane’s gang after Bane lost his mind to the Venom drug that he was medically addicted to, and needed to survive. Two-Face offered for Bane’s men to join him, and killed the ones who refused. Essentially, Two-Face has the muscle and Penguin has the money. The only reason Two-Face isn’t the one on top is because Penguin controls the markets, and thus he is able to get better armor and weapons for his men.

Jervis manages to assume control over Two-Face, and shortly thereafter his army of grunts. He planned to immediately go for Penguin next, but hit a massive roadblock: Scarecrow.

Scarecrow’s fear toxin affects a person’s mind to a dangerously destructive degree. So much so that even with a mind control device strapped to their face, the toxin disrupts the connection that Jervis has to them. It took only 1 encounter with the spooky man, but he effectively dispatched Jervis’s army that he got to have for 00.5 seconds.

Imagining a scene after this where Jervis runs away, and only a couple people are left alive still under the effects of the toxin. Two-Face included. Scarecrow goes over to him. He’s terrified, in his own personal hell that only he can see. His hand is clenched tightly around something. It was his lucky coin, the same one that he used to decide the fates of many. He was using it now, this time to ground himself in reality. Scarecrow plucked the coin out of the man’s fidgeting fingers. Two-Face would say to his victims that the coin would make the decision of life or death, not him. He called himself a firm believer in everything being completely random. That we have no control over what happens to us. Though interestingly, Scarecrow points out, Two-Face has never used the coin on himself. It seems the rules have only applied to those that he has control over. But that’s obviously not the case, because life is entirely random right? So let’s have the coin make the choice.

Despite losing all of his puppets once again, Jervis still succeeded in his main goal which was to be rid of Two-Face. But now he had another obstacle in his way. He’s heard talk and read articles about a masked figure in a straw hat floating around South Gotham and terrorizing communities, but nothing beyond that. Nothing about him being this big of a threat.

Jervis came into his persona as the Mad Hatter after reintroducing himself to the crime lords, who were involved in a dispute with each other. The lords were all trying to one up each other by any means they could come up with to gain the upper hand on them, and in walks a small, scrawny guy in a top hat proclaiming that he had the answers to their predicament. He greeted them by the name The Hatter, and freely gave each one of the lords private information about their enemy. Information that no one else would know or have beside the person themself. The lords took this information and destroyed each other with it. Family members were murdered in cold blood, bank accounts were stolen and depleted, homes were burnt to the ground, powerful allies were turned against them. No one had come out on top. No one except the Hatter. Ruined and defeated, the Hatter took over their minds and added them to his growing collection of guests at his table.

On one hand, the Hatter wanted to be the one on top. He wanted to be in control of the city itself as the puppet master behind the screen, its systems for him to shape as he chooses. He wanted to create a world that he could shape in his image. He would create a world where he would be safe, utterly and completely. An unstoppable, untouchable force. But on the other hand, he was still losing himself. He often forgets his own plans for his goal and loses track of time. He sustains his sanity on a special blend of tea provided to him by Ivy, but after buying up her stock of it whenever she makes more, she had told him that she couldn’t keep making it. The tea itself isn’t just something she can keep whipping up, she needed ingredients that were very difficult to find.

Hatter asked if she could keep making it so long as she had the ingredients to do so. Ivy agreed, and gave him a list of a few of the items she needed. He read through the list. One of the items listed was an organic and healthy human brain. Hatter looked at Ivy like she was joking. She was not.

Hatter keeps his guests at his table, having a continuous tea party until he needs more tea to be made.

[unreliablesnake]

Hold it together when the world’s on fire (Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader)

Summary: After Soap dies during a mission, Ghost suffers from survivor’s guilt and depression. You’re there by his side both during and between missions, but sometimes you wonder if you’re enough to help him through this.

Note: Based on “Hold it together” and “World’s on fire” by Mike Shinoda. Soap, I’m so sorry. You were loved by all of us. Alex is a part of the team. Unedited story because I'm too lazy after work. What do you think?

Warnings: major character death (obviously), drug abuse, reader has a sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and parents.

Neither of you handled Soap's funeral well.

You took Simon's hand the moment he returned to stand by your side, squeezing it tightly when he looked down at you for a moment. He had fallen apart after Soap died, and he hadn't been himself ever since. But you were there by his side, and so was the rest of the team.

His eyes were shining from a few stray teardrops, something you never thought you would see on a man like him. Maybe watching as they buried the casket made it real, made him understand that he truly lost one of his brothers. Because that's what Soap was–his brother.

It should've been me. I shouldn't have sent him there. I fucked up, it's on me. If I went there myself he would still be alive.

Price had said it was probably the survivor's guilt speaking when he said these things. It shocked you at first, not understanding how he could say something like this, and making you wonder if he truly believed what he told you. You'd been together for almost two years now, but you'd never seen him be this low.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, putting a hand on his arm while you sat in the backseat of a car with him.

Price was driving, taking Gaz, Simon and you back to the hotel you were staying in. Laswell and Alex were closely behind, probably talking about work as usual on the way there.

You waited for Simon's answer, but he was just staring ahead without saying a word. In the rearview mirror your gaze met Gaz's, and he flashed a supportive smile at you when he noticed the worried look on your face.

Back in the hotel Price asked the two of you to follow him to somewhere less crowded, then told Simon it wouldn't be wise to let him back on the field just yet. "You need some time to get your head on straight," he said. "I'll send you the contact info of a therapist who specializes in these cases."

"I'm fine," he told him darkly.

But the captain wasn't stupid. "You're clearly not."

When your boyfriend took a deep breath, ready to speak up again, you placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "He's right, Simon, you need time. Be happy that you'll have the whole bed to yourself when I'm gone," you added with a small laugh, hoping this could cheer him up a little.

"Oh, no, you're staying home with him," Price informed you. "You'll make sure he's okay."

It was an order. There was no need for you to try and resist, so you just nodded. Simon suddenly took your hand, but he didn't look at you. He didn't even look at his superior, instead his gaze turned to his shoes.

Two days later the trip from Scotland to England passed mostly in silence. Simon still didn't feel like talking, the only sounds leaving his lips were quiet yeses and nos, maybe mixed with an occasional I don't know.

"I'll take a shower then hit the bed," he said when you entered your apartment in the evening.

After driving for four hours, it wasn't surprising to hear him say that. You didn't question if he was tired or depressed. Probably both, deep down you knew that, but you were clever enough not to push him. "He'll come out of his shell and talk to you when he's ready," Laswell had assured you when you said goodbye.

Later in the night you woke up, instinctively knowing Simon wasn't sleeping well. Another nightmare. You could tell that from the rapid way his chest was heaving, how he was tossing and turning, and how he mumbled a few words in his sleep, as if he was hurrying someone to move.

Maybe he was talking to Soap. Again.

But it didn't seem to be a severe one, there was no need to wake him up just yet. So you let out a sigh then leaned over to put a hand on his cheek and give him a very soft kiss. Sometimes it helped to calm him down, it was worth a try this time too.

Simon stopped moving around and from what you could tell, his breathing also slowed down. Good. You laid back down to get back to sleep yourself, but soon you felt his arm wrap around your waist as he pulled you close to him.

"Thank you," he whispered into the nape of your neck, probably still half asleep.

••••••••

The weekend arrived soon, and you were invited by your sister to your nephew's sixth birthday party. Simon liked that kid, so you convinced him to jump in, give him his present, and say hi. "We don't have to stay long," you told him kindly before leaving the apartment.

"Maybe being among people will avert my thoughts for a while," he said, surprising you with this answer. Seeing the look on your face, he was quick to add his therapist was the one to suggest this.

There were a bunch of noisy kids at the party, with their parents standing in smaller groups, talking to each other. You didn't know most of them, so you and Simon flocked with your family in the living room, while the rest of the guests were outside with the children.

Your family knew about Soap's death. Well, they knew a friend of yours had died, so they were extra nice with Simon that day. Every time someone new arrived, they asked you two how you were holding up. He didn't really know what to say apart from a short fine.

When it was time for the cake, everybody gathered outside around a table and watched as the kids went crazy from the sugar rush. Some guy came over to your small group that included your sister, your brother-in-law, and your parents, and a guy you didn't know who brought up his three kids and some weird joke they brought back home after a sleepover.

"What has two legs and bleeds?" Simon suddenly asked, surprising you by speaking up for the first time that day. Your family glanced over at him with a concerned look, and you were just about to stop him when he said, "Half a dog."

No one laughed.

"Who the fuck says such a joke on a kid's birthday party?" asked the unknown guy, sounding offended by the joke.

Simon casually looked around, then he turned back to the man and spoke in the most uninterested voice you'd ever heard from him. "I don't see any kids nearby," he stated.

"Simon!" you warned him, only to earn a raised eyebrow from your boyfriend.

After a few seconds of silently staring at each other–you waiting for an apology, him waiting for an explanation as to why his joke was inappropriate–he eventually raised his hands and told you he would wait in the car.

Letting out a sigh, you turned to your sister with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, he hasn't been himself lately. It would be for the best if we left now. Thank you for everything," you said quickly, then rushed out of the garden as fast as you could.

His dark sense of humor was lovely, but it definitely didn't belong to a six year old kid's birthday party. It was painful to see him be so out of place, especially since he had a good relationship with your nephew. But today there was no sign of it, he barely interacted with the boy.

Once you were sitting in the passenger seat of the car, you turned to him and asked, "Are you okay?"

"It was just a stupid joke," he muttered under his breath.

You wanted to tell him that the guy had been right about this not being the time and place for this particular joke, but in the end you remained silent. Deep down you knew he knew it was a small mistake, although you also knew that he wouldn't admit that, not even to you.

Instead of giving him a lecture, you just leaned over to pull him into a tight hug, stroking his back with your hand. "It's okay," you told him. "I'm sure they understand."

••••••••

"Hey, John," you said into the phone as you walked down an aisle in the grocery store.

"How's Simon?" asked the captain, sounding just as concerned as he had been ever since Soap's death. You came to a halt and remained silent which obviously caught his attention. "That bad?"

You let out a sigh and picked up a cereal to take a closer look at it. "No, I just tried to figure out what to say. I mean, he's better than he was two weeks ago, but he still zones out sometimes, he barely sleeps, like two or three hours tops. And even then he often has nightmares."

"And how's therapy going?"

"He's there two times a week. It's helping, he sometimes does or says things he heard there. But he still blames himself, and he still says every now then that it should have been him who died that day," you added with a groan. It was hard to hear it, and it was just as hard to talk about it.

Price remained silent on the other end of the line, either trying to process what he just heard or thinking about how to continue. Maybe it was both, you weren't sure. "When do you think he can come back?" he asked.

That was a good question. "Honestly, he would go back right away if he could. He says it would take his mind off of everything, but I'm not sure," you admitted.

"Yeah, he didn't sound convincing to me either," he replied with a sigh. "I talked to Alex, he's okay with keeping an eye on him on the field, and you could join his group to be there, but–"

"Would that be a good idea? Wouldn't he be afraid of losing me too?" you asked, interrupting him.

In the beginning you worked with Simon, but once you got together and the team found out, John insisted on separating the two of you. He wasn't sure if Simon could give you strict orders on the field, if he wouldn't favor you over Soap–which was something he definitely didn't need on his team.

"That's true," Price admitted. "But you know more about how to comfort him now than any of us. Maybe you could help him focus."

As you put two bottles of soda into your shopping cart, you thought about his suggestion. It could work, you and Alex being there by his side to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. But what if you get separated on the field? You can't be glued together all the time.

So you took a deep breath and began to walk again. "We can give it a shot. I'll talk to him when I get home and see if he'd still like to go back to work," you said.

"All right. Send me a text with his answer," Price asked you. "Take care, we'll talk later."

You said goodbye and ended the call, putting the device into the pocket of your jacket. A quiet voice in the back of your mind kept telling you it was a bad idea, that maybe it would only put Simon in danger. He still wasn't himself, he probably wouldn't be able to give out proper orders just yet.

When you got home, the apartment was empty and eerily quiet. He was probably still in the gym, the only place where he could be alone according to him. Then you remembered something from the past. You suddenly began to laugh at the memory of all of those stupid little competitions Soap had started with Simon in the gym, both of them eager to prove they were faster, stronger, and had better stamina than the other.

To pass the time, you sat down on the couch and opened a streaming service on the TV to see if there was anything to watch until he got home. But you were just flipping through the titles, one less exciting than the other–your mind was way too worried about Simon to even think about entertainment.

Then you finally heard the lock turn and he finally entered the apartment, throwing his duffel bag near the living room door before walking over to the couch. "What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes momentarily turning to the screen. "You're not watching anything?"

"No. But I have a feeling I won't watch anything in the end," you told him with a short laugh, your eyes moving up from his crotch to his masked face.

There was a strange look in his eyes, one you hadn't seen in a while now. He looked excited and energized, not like someone who just returned from a two-hour workout session. There was also a hint of desire, although you weren't quite sure about that.

You hadn't had sex with him since the incident, but you knew that despite desperately wanting every piece of him, you had to be patient. He would come around eventually, but he had bigger problems than satisfying your needs right now.

"Good," he said, drawing a questioning hum out of you.

But Simon remained silent, he only took off his mask that landed on the couch next to you, then leaned down to scoop you up. With your hands automatically moving to the back of his neck, you took a closer look at him. You were right, that look in his eyes definitely mirrored his desire.

But his pupils weren't right, they were dilated. It could be because of the dim lights of the living room, but you were afraid it meant something else, something more dangerous. Could he be stupid enough to use drugs with his brother's history?

He lowered your body onto the bed before gently kicking your legs wider apart to get into position between them. His hands were resting next to your head, and he slowly leaned down to give you a soft kiss, one that became deeper, hungrier, and more feral as the seconds passed.

"Simon," you tried weakly as his lips moved on to your neck.

"Shhh," he tried to silence you.

But you didn't want to stay quiet, you wanted to ask him if he was high. So you reached out to seal his mouth with your hand, causing him to let out a deep growl. He opened his mouth and tried to bite you gently, but you gave him a warning look that made him stop.

You curled the fingers of your other hand around his muscular shoulder, stroking the rough skin with your thumb as you looked him in the eye. "Give me an honest answer, Simon. Are you high?" you asked him seriously.

Instead of replying, he reached up to peel your fingers off of himself then intertwined his fingers with yours and pressed them against the bed above your head. "I missed you so fucking much, sweetheart," he murmured against your lips.

"Answer my question."

He raised his head to look you in the eye and let out a sigh. "Do we really have to do this?" You raised an eyebrow at him, getting fed up with his bullshit. The more he avoided the answer, the more suspicious you were. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly he let go of you and sat down on the other side of the bed, his head buried in his hands. "Simon, drugs won't solve your problem," you said the obvious as you sat up as well and buried your fingers in his hair. "Listen, I talked to John today and we were discussing whether or not you should go back to work."

His eyes found your face, eagerly waiting for you to continue. You weren't mad at him, you were just sad that he made the wrong choice. You thought he was getting better, that he had learned how to handle his grief by now, but apparently you were wrong.

"Was this your first time?" you asked him quietly, and he nodded in response. "Can it stay this way? Can you resist the urge to use this shit again?"

"If it means I can go back, then yes," came his response.

You let out a sigh and took his hand in yours. "Alex and I will work with you when you return," you began to explain. "John asked him to keep an eye on you until you get used to being back on the field. But after tonight…"

Your voice faded and he knew what it meant. "I already told you, it was a one-time thing," he assured you quietly, leaning over to rest his forehead against yours. "I saw what drugs did to Tommy, I won't make the same mistake, I promise. I just… I was in the gym and remembered something and I just needed something to take my mind off of everything, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm," you hummed before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Listen, I'll buy some drug tests and you'll do one every day for the next… Let's say ten days. If you're always clean, I'll tell John that you're ready to return."

Simon let out a sigh, but he nodded eventually. When you flashed a sweet smile at him, his hand moved under your shirt, long fingers moving up your spine that made you arch your back a little. "I'm so fucking hard, baby, why don't we do something about it, huh?" he asked as he kissed your neck.

"You should get some sleep," you told him, although your voice came out as a whisper.

"It's been so long, I'm sure you've been missing me. I should fuck your sweet, beautiful brains out before sleeping," he mumbled against your skin, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Every cell in your body was craving him, but the fact he was high on some shit told you it was the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson. You take drugs? Fine, no sex for you. So you pushed him away and cleared your throat as you gave him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but not tonight."

"Are you punishing me for being high for once in my entire fucking life?" he asked, sounding angry.

You nodded. "I prefer it when you're clean," you said, then climbed out of bed and returned to the living room.

••••••••

Three weeks later you could finally join the team again, but everybody seemed to be walking on eggshells around Simon. He noticed and he hated it, but decided not to say anything. He only mentioned it to you, telling you how frustrating he found this treatment.

"It's good to see you again, Ghost," Alex said with a wide smile when the two of you walked over to him for the first time.

Simon nodded and shook his hand. "So you'll be my babysitter, huh?"

"Yeah, it seems like it. But whatever you say goes. I'll only step in if something's wrong with the order in that situation," he assured him.

You gulped, carefully examining Simon's eyes through his plastic skull mask. When you looked over at Alex, you noticed he was doing the same, cautiously watching the lieutenant and trying to decide his movements.

Before he could say anything, Gaz showed up, telling you Price's briefing was about to begin. You followed him, and inside you and Simon sat down next to each other.

You soon saw him rapidly tapping his feet out of the corner of your eye, so you reached out and placed a hand on his knee to calm him down. He glanced over at you, then put his hand on top of yours, his fingers carefully leaving with your own.

After an hour or so everybody left the room, but the two of you stayed behind, silently agreeing to have a quick chat. You looked around, making sure there was truly no one left there, and then pulled up his mask to his nose so you could give him a gentle kiss.

Soon you pulled the mask back down and looked at him with a small smile. "I'm proud of you, Simon. You seem to be a lot better lately."

"I am better," he told you with a sigh. "I'll keep going to therapy when we're home. And if it wasn't for you…"

With a short laugh, you reached out and took his hand. "I'll always be here for you. Never forget that," you said.

"I love you."

It had been a while since he had last told you this. It was as if his brain had forgotten how to say these words, but you knew it wasn't intentional. So you flashed the brightest smile at him before you replied, "I love you too."

[chaifootsteps]

Oh my god, finally! I've been wanting to post here for a few days.

I'm the author of that infamous fanfic. And I wanted to say, unrelated to Hazbin, that the documentary and Drake's story, coupled with his new music video "I Kinda Relate" is the most heartbreaking and empowering thing I've ever seen. I bawled my eyes out the entire day that I found it.

In the first 28 seconds, Drake heavily implies, but doesn't show, his abuse that he suffered at the hands of his rapist, Brian Peck (who also was penpals with none other than John Wayne Gacy.)

I wanted to do nothing but hug that poor little boy, and to hug the man he is now. I want to tell him that he's beautiful and strong and brave for coming out. Male CSA victims rarely ever do. Could you imagine telling Drake then or now, that he's a *loser*? Could you imagine going about his abuse the way Viv did with Husk and Angel? He literally made his own music video that was much more tactful and empowering than Loser Baby ever will be.

I also have dirt on Dan S and that whole fucking pedo ring (I know a LOT of people in this industry. I also helped take down an ACTUAL ZOO AND PEDOPHILE with a decent amount of power a few years back.) And for anyone still confused about Drake, the girl he messaged lied about her age and he never did anything physical with her. He still acknowledges he's fucked up (please watch his hour long interview and music video) but he's "bound to make it right".

I also just want to say, to a CERTAIN PERSON, that comparing the objectively fetishisized abuse (I'm a CSA victim and into noncon), to fucking SEX ED FOR CHILDREN, is the absolute most fucking garbage and vile take I've ever seen. Poison is NOT educational. It is fetish content for Viv and Raph and others like them. If survivors and fans can turn something objectively negative into something subjectively positive, all the power to them.

Again, into noncon and a CSA victim. I also don't want to see stans taking this and telling me I'm invalid for critiquing Viv and Raph (already dealt with that in my damn fic.) I have been raped/sexually assaulted/groomed/groped/strangled/pinned down/dragged around as a child and NO ONE is ever going to tell me I'm a hypocrite or that I'm wrong for my feelings on this issue. Especially when I also have friends and my own mother as SA and CSA victims as well.

Someone like myself, or like Drake Bell, do NOT need to see how explicitly horrid our abuse was/is to understand how bad it is. I personally had panic attacks watching the episode, and having the knowledge of Raph being an unapologetic rape fetishist, was all I needed to know that that entire episode was fetish content. It's basically an adaptation of Raph's Red Smoke comic. Nearly word for word too. I've written and consumed so many stories over the years to know exactly what's going in their heads.

You know how you actually help a victim? You have friends and family and a therapist help you get out of that situation. Husk "helping" Angel was not the way to go about it.

And I've seen fans argue whether or not Viv is a rape fetishist (she is), but if she wasn't, why is she so adamant on keeping an unapologetic rape fetishist on her staff? He's confirmed to be working on season 2 (God I'm gagging thinking about it) and why does she like so much art (no hate to the artists) of sexy, fetishisized, hot, and sad art of Valentino? If he's supposedly based off HER abusive experience, why does she coddle, woobify, and downplay and sexualize him so much??? I wouldn't base a rapist character or write a rapist character as a fucking "high school Mean girl".

I'm sorry this got so long, but fuck man... it's so fucking disgusting.

Anyways, please watch this. It's got more tact and heart than fucking Poison will ever have. Drake Bell, my heart goes out to you. CSA victim to CSA victim. I hope you get better and can heal. And that goes for all victims as well. 💜🫂 (You too, Chai.)

And Brian Peck, and any and all other rapists, can burn alive in a grease fire. Val included.

https://youtu.be/I5gh8rAVLkI?si=B2eny2U4GZRgDZ7t

https://youtu.be/nSzk-MsVKqA?si=6D4rEihu89Yom7YG

Well said as always, Anon, and thank you for this.

Also, definitely seconding Brian Peck burning up in a grease fire.

[trilies]

In regards to the "problematic content" discussion: Why do people like Bog never want to discuss how that kind of content can actually help survivors cope, or even realize what happened to them? I was well into my adulthood before I realized/accepted it, and of all things, it was DanaerysxKhal Drogo that made something in my brain go hey wait a minute. Like, entertainment media can help trauma survivors exponentially.

Well, you see, while bogleech may not be a trained and certified therapist/psychiatrist, he vored someone who read a dictionary definition on "coping mechanisms" once, so he TOTALLY knows everything there is to know about every single survivor of CSA.

And, because it's inconvenient to him, he says it's actually a really terrible coping mechanism, and maybe you should keep it more private and just shut up.

I'm being sarcastic, but this is also literally what he said to me. Literally admitted that it didn't matter that some people only realized they were abused by finding fics tagged with abuse.

You see, it actually HELPS victims if it's made harder for victims to publicly discuss or write about their trauma. /wanking gesture

[traumatizedjaguar]

Hi I love your blog, a lot. Still processing some horrific things of my own. How do you get through the darkest moments? I hate mine.

Honestly for me how I got through some dark moments...

Music. Usually a technique I learned from therapy was putting music on that was the opposite of my current emotion; if I was sad or depressed or whatever I'd put happy tunes on or if I was angry, calming tunes. Sometimes finding music that allowed me to let out emotions too like if I was angry I'd listen to a few angry songs from Slipknot for example and have a little session to myself, then I'd go relax. Music affects my mood, but it's not like that for everyone. I made a playlist for "abuse recovery" meaning the songs are more uplifting, makes me feel like a warrior.

Survivors stories. Listening to others stories of their complex abuse they've been through and saving them all in a word document to go back to later. Finding people I relate to who've been through the EXACT same abuse I have been through. It helps finding out you're not the only scapegoat or you're not the only one with many abusers and rapists. It helps to know I've met people with 15, 16, 18, and 25 abusers before.

Meditation. It sounds stupid to most people but if you research the affects meditation has on the human body and brain when you use it daily or on a consistent schedule in the long-term, it's amazing to know what it does for you. It's hard at first, but eventually you get used to it. And sometimes I have a focus point when meditating, such as listening to my breathing going in and out in a quiet space so my thoughts don't drift; because drifting thoughts or worrying isn't meditating so like I said, it's hard at first. But your mind gets so used to it after awhile.

Changing my environment. I've rearranged my whole room, put posters up, painted it so it feels like I'm in a different house sometimes. Adding something new and different to your life like a hobby or something you've never tried and do it often, it can be a good distraction. I like using distractions often.

(TW: God mention. Skip this paragraph if needed be. This one might just be me) Putting my faith in God Our Creator and having had many communications with him before. Sharing my space with him, inviting him on walks with me, telling him about my day although he sees everything I do, and asking him about his "day". I got into talking to Norse gods and the Creator and it has helped so much knowing a divine entity who created everything in the universe wants me to be safe and heal and actually told me this in many ways; who tells me he loves me and knows I'm a very loved good soul in his eyes. (I try but never feel that way).

Doing the scary thing and reaching out. I have reached out to people and told them my story and told them about my abusers and they've believed me. Focusing only on the ones who believed me even though my story is insanity with abusive parents, abusive brother and abusive exes who all smear campaigned me and many of them raped me too. No matter how much complex abuse, there was people out there and other victims who took my side. I only focus on the good ones, not the bad ones who don't believe me. Because once I shut out EVERYONE except the good ones, then my world only has love in it.

>>Making word documents for healing. I learned I was in a freeze state recently and I've been teaching myself about it through online trauma therapists (I'm so happy to be living in the digital age) and I've learned about it and I'm doing the work necessary everyday to teach my brain different and rewire it. It's also why I shut down around abusers and can barely speak even when I want to.

>>Trauma therapists: Crappy Childhood Fairy, Patrick Teahan to name a few. Patrick Teahan helped me so much specifying types of sibling abuse that were SO SPECIFIC to what ive been through and scapegoating in family systems, he taught me about how some family systems gang up against one family member (so like 6 family members for example, against one of the kids in order to scapegoat properly there's many abusers in most situations) and how im not the only one with many abusers in one family and im not the only scapegoat. He also made videos that were WAYYYY to specific to the abuse I endured and wayyyy to specific to the behaviors and belief system my abusers held. He has so many great videos for people like me. First time I listened to a few of his videos on family abuse, I was overwhelmed with emotion and joy and it made my heart and stomach flutter. I love Patrick Teahan so much and hes a real therapist too.

Make stuff, build stuff, start projects.

[deusvervewrites]

Blaze of Glory: Somehow, I see Burnin' poaching those who in canon would be the survivors of the Vanguard Action Squad. Spinner? Saved him from a beating and found him a job as handyman at Endeavour Agency. Twice? Found him a therapist and a job at Endeavour Agency. Magne? Set her up to have enough mitigating circumstances to get off lightly at the trial, and maybe got her to the same guy that helped her transition physically (assuming she did that). Mr. Compress? Deconstructed his "heir of the peerless thief persona" and aimed him to the right targets. Himiko? Exposed the Togas and arrested them for child abuse and bribery (they tried to pay her off), then burned down the home to lure Himiko out of hiding and got her the much needed therapy.

She then had to figure out how to raise the new daughter she had accidentally picked up.

The Endeavor Agency responds to many, many situations. That's kind of their whole deal; solving more situations a year than anyone else.

That being said, since Kamiji was focused more on joining the Endeavor Agency and surpassing Endeavor himself, she would be highly unlikely to encounter any of them except possibly Magne, depending on what kind of underground circles they were both running in after she realized she was trans.

She's also not exactly got the personality for things like pointing Compress in better directions.

Though I could see her having a lot in common with Toga

[jewishvitya]

Can't remember if I ranted about it before, but I thought about it and got annoyed all over again.

There was this skit that went:

What your therapist says: "have you heard about generational trauma?"

What they mean: "your family is the problem."

And it's just one example, the video had several versions of this joke. But this part is such a misrepresentation of what generational trauma can mean. Generational trauma isn't just trauma caused by a previous generation, it's trauma carried over through generations.

My great grandfather was a holocaust survivor who lived through the camps. And after surviving them, he had nightmares and he was restless and he had anger issues. Our family always acknowledged and discussed the abuse, but never blamed him for what we saw as symptoms of PTSD. I grew up with that mix of compassion and understanding that he couldn't help his explosive trauma responses, but it didn't make them okay.

My grandparents also survived the holocaust, and they were kids at the time. They had to do better. And they did. But there was still trauma. Both the war and the abuse. Shame over our Jewish heritage. A desire to create distance from it and assimilate, become less of a target. Looking at visibly religious Jews and going "they're the reason it happened." Because they insist on being different. And there was fear and abuse that came with that.

And then the next generation reconnected to Judaism. That's my mom. She told me "I tried to do better than my parents, and you'll do better than I did." I'd call her a cycle breaker, only I don't entirely see it that way. Her hard work didn't make the trauma just vanish. It lives in me. But it's not as heavy.

My family carries trauma from centuries of persecution, pogroms and genocides. My family isn't "the problem." There's nothing wrong with my family. Not any more that there's something wrong with a person who can't walk steadily on a broken leg. It's just human.

I'm not saying it can never be the case that a family is the problem, but saying "generational trauma = your family is the problem" as if that's the default meaning, is blaming survivors for being wounded.

There's a very different kind of trauma that comes from broad societal harm, and I feel like people from families that don't carry this can't imagine what it's like.

It's not the past generations' fault that my family traumatized. Each of them did the best they could with what they had, and that's the tradition I'm continuing.

[redjadethewriter]

Understanding One's Self to Figure Out Someone’s Character

I recently listened to the same ex-therapist speak about yet another intriguing topic: how to discern someone’s character. He mentioned some people focus on trivial methods such as eye movement, posture, hand or foot placement, and so on. While he acknowledged the potential effectiveness of these methods, he also introduced a much better way to truly understand the person in front of you. This idea resonated with me because it has helped me, although I never fully grasped why or how until I watched him talk about.

Furthermore, he revealed that he could see the goodness or quality in people, even beneath layers of insidious intentions. This ability has saved his life multiple times. I also came across another video of him discussing a survival mechanism called “people pleasing,” which hinders one’s sense of self. It made him and even me realize understanding oneself is crucial in deciphering someone’s character and possibly even their intentions.

This is not anything new or a secret. Even in certain spiritual practices, to fight a demon, you ask for the aid of another demon. In some games I played, to counter a higher dimensional entity, you summon or pay the price for an equal standing entity to oppose it. A monster can sense its own kind. How often to we see this used in entertainment? But I’m discussing real life.

Many of us have had challenging experiences in life. Some have even endured and survived narcissistic abuse, manipulation, and other horrible situations from parents or romantic partners. The list of the traumas one can endure is extensive. However, have you ever considered the insights that survivors gain once they have healed? Can you imagine the perspective of a recovering sociopath, psychopath, narcissist, or master manipulator? Can you imagine using that to help people? Who would know more about these individuals than the ones who have lived through it?

An ex-therapist shared his story of self-discovery while healing from parental neglect, abuse, and other painful experiences. By tapping into his own healing process, he developed a keen sense of discernment. Without even looking at someone, he could tell if they were being truthful, hiding something, or even manipulating others. Reflecting on his own survival strategies, he admitted that using people-pleasing as a coping mechanism was a form of manipulation. It involved saying what others wanted to hear in order to navigate or avoid difficult situations.

I can relate to this because manipulation was a learned behavior in my household, with my mother as my prime example. I don’t believe my mother is a bad person; rather, we both adopted these methods to minimize conflict and avoid devastating situations. Unfortunately, this caused us to lose touch with our true selves. I understand the necessity of wearing different masks for different situations, as it was a part of my trauma response. Because of my self-awareness, I can now recognize when someone is not revealing their true selves and how potentially dangerous they could be. In fact, I can often sense it without even hearing them speak. However, when they spoke, it further confirmed my initial impressions.

I do have a habit of seeing the good in people and recognizing qualities that could benefit others greatly. However, I understand now that if individuals don’t acknowledge their own issues or attempt to heal and change; it puts me at risk of encountering their underlying insidious intentions. It’s important for me to be cautious and protect myself from the brewing beast that lies beneath the surface, ready to attack if provoked.

However, I had these senses long before doing the inner work or acknowledging my traumas. Now, they have expanded their capability with the healing process. Even before, I would naturally peg out who was the one to worry about the most in a customer altercation at my jobs. In this particular incident, we had a customer, a Karen, who was raging about her drawing getting damaged in the frame shop. It was just a sketch she did in art class, not an expensive piece of work. Although she was going to get everything for free, she still raved on irrationally.

You would think I would be worried about the woman, right? However, it was actually the husband standing quietly behind her that caught my attention. I poked the manager on the arm and asked her to come with me to the back area. I told her, “If they ask, say nothing about who was handling the drawing. I have a bad feeling about him.” The manager cocked her head and peeked back out at the husband, not fully understanding what I was saying. After all, he appeared harmless and looked like a pushover, as it was the wife who was emotionally out-bursting.

Let me tell you, I hadn’t even heard the guy speak, but my alarm bells were going off. Something was giving me the notion that this dude could potentially harm someone or even kill them. So, when the manager went back out, the guy spoke and demanded to know who was handling the drawing. He wanted names and a face. Fortunately, the manager was smart enough to say that we aren’t permitted to provide that information.

There have been plenty of other situations where I had to turn up my people-pleasing ability and a bit of manipulative acting to de-escalate a situation. One such instance was when I had to manage a customer for my coworker, as no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the guy to calm down. The customer was in fury mode because the line was long, and we had a lot of orders to go through. With so much happening, it was especially difficult, considering this guy was 6 feet tall and built like a sumo wrestler who could easily put many people in the hospital. He was raising his voice right in front of us and let me paint a picture of how bad the situation looked. My coworker, who had asked me to assist him, was at the counter, holding a mallet ready in hand. Another male coworker, who was only 19, was in the next aisle over, standing right across from me. I could see him through the shelving, and he could see me, too. He kept his eye on me the whole time. Adding to the intensity, another male coworker from the neighboring department came over and stood at the corner of the aisle we were in, positioned behind me. That’s how bad it was, where three of my male coworkers needed to stand by and be ready. I don’t remember exactly how I did it, but somehow, I got that bulldozer of a man to calm down. He simmered down and started talking normally, acting all cool again. It’s like whatever I said and how I said it snapped him out of whatever he was feeling. I was grateful for that because not only would my life have been at risk, but my coworkers were ready to take down this man. So, I understood what the ex-therapist said about being manipulative has its benefits because it saved me plenty of times from potentially horrible situations.

Although I haven’t worked in retail for a long time, I believe my abilities in spotting someone’s character have improved because of the inner work I’ve done. While I am still a work in progress, these improvements have allowed me to view things from a different perspective. I can spot a person who’s ruled by arrogance much easier. Who’s power-hungry. Who’s a predator, a manipulator? I have to agree with the guy that so many people don’t recognize when they are being exploited by a wolf in sheep’s clothing. There are plenty of them on social media with massive followings and cult-like fans. It’s so scary to be honest. As a result, I can understand what the ex-therapist was referring to - the importance of knowing oneself first in order to better understand others. Perhaps even more effectively than someone who is solely trained in the field but lacks personal experiences or insights. Survivors of narcissism, for example, may possess a deeper understanding of narcissists compared to mental health professionals who have not been victims or narcissists themselves.

Alright, I will share some key indicators that can help you identify whether you’re dealing with a master manipulator who is power-hungry, arrogant, and only interested in exploiting you. First, it’s important to note that there is no relationship expert, especially when it comes to taking advice from someone of the opposite gender. This applies to both men and women because you never truly know who they are or their behind-the-scenes motivations. They could be hiding a dark side, such as being a domestic abuser, a narcissist, or even a sociopath, without even realizing it because many people are excellent at wearing masks. You can’t trust someone because they claim to be a love expert. In fact, following their guidance might put you in a dangerous situation without them giving it a second thought. These individuals may have a way with words and a charming smile, but they are more likely responsible for women settling for someone who could jeopardize their life or make it unbearable. It’s crucial to understand that they have no concern for your well-being.

Someone who genuinely cares about your well-being would point out the obvious: your trauma, your parental models regarding love, or witnessing a healthy or unhealthy relationship. Our environment teaches us almost everything, starting from childhood. There’s a reason they say you marry either your mother or father. It’s not for shits and giggles; it’s a fact. And now they know it shows in the brain, specifically in the regions in charge of novelty and familiarity. Our parents or caregivers and home dynamics are contributing factors to why it’s challenging to find a decent relationship, let alone deep love and companionship because of complex trauma. Someone would say it’s the construct and the cycle of bullshit that has put many people in their circumstances today. And a lot of it is not their fault, as they may not even be aware of it all. Ignorance is not bliss. We are trapped in toxic systems with a bunch of crazy man-made bullshit. However, it becomes your responsibility the moment you realize what’s the contributing factor to your situation and choose not to change it. This applies to everyone, not just a specific gender.

I have something to say: acclaimed thought-leaders often come across as ego-driven individuals who will never take accountability for being wrong. They will never admit they are wrong and made a mistake. They use vague and broad statements, talking excessively. You know the type - those professors who go on rants simply because they enjoy hearing themselves speak. They exude confidence in their voice and carefully choose their words. Let me tell you, the way words are strung together can hold more power than anything concrete or valid. Salespeople understand this concept well, using their communication skills to persuade people into buying things they don’t actually need. Acclaimed thought-leaders are no different. In fact, there are quite a few prominent names out there who exhibit sociopathic traits, and it genuinely frightens me that people haven’t realized it yet. I won’t mention any specific books or authors, but there is one book that essentially teaches you how to become a sociopath, albeit not explicitly titled as such. The advice it offers essentially guides you on adopting the traits of a sociopath.

Here are some words to be cautious of, as they may trigger your alarm bells. When you come across these words, it’s important to engage in critical thinking. Take everything that person says with a grain of salt and don’t consider it as absolute truth. Words like “master,” “guru,” and “expert” need to put you on high alert. If you encounter these words, detach yourself from your emotions and try to view it from a third-person perspective. Make a conscious effort to not get caught up in what they are saying. Nobody is a master or an expert. They can be more skilled in their field and have a bit more experience, but no one is a master or an expert. As human beings, our knowledge is limited. Information is constantly changing and evolving. Even monks cannot claim to be masters of enlightenment or beyond the human experience. Knowledge is infinite, and we have much to learn. It’s important to practice humility and acknowledge that we know very little. I, too, am just a student of life, so please approach what I say with discernment. Even as I write about all of this, continuously ask questions and engage in critical thinking, as I am a flawed human being with my own share of traumas to resolve.

The reason I write about trauma and its detrimental effects is because, like many others, I have a voice. However, because of my speech impediment, I may not sound as convincing as a suave speaker. Nonetheless, through my writing, I aim to provide some insight to whoever wants to read my blogs. I want to give them something to think about and perhaps highlight the possibility of healing and gaining wisdom from their traumas and experiences. Before: It never crossed my mind that my circumstances enable me to assess someone’s character so effectively. I’m still here, you know. Still alive by sheer damn luck. Learning about yourself, acknowledging and healing it might help you figure out someone’s insidious intentions, and may even save your life. Well, at least I hope.

Thank you.

[astrangewoman]

my first psychiatrist misdiagnosed me as bipolar (as well as an abundance of other things, some of which were correct) when I was 21, and he once recommended electroshock therapy if they “couldn’t get my mood swings under control” with medication. I was taking 14-16 different pills then. I was sedated from some of them, so he prescribed me others to wake me up. I was taking pills that made me shake so hard I couldn’t write, so he prescribed me additional ones to combat it. he fought side effects from pills with more pills. I couldn’t focus. I could hardly hold a conversation, much less retain anything. my cognitive abilities were completely shot. I was taking 900+ mg of lithium every night and 70 mg of vyvanse in the morning to wake me up and help me focus and 20 mg of adderall in the afternoon to perk me up when the vyvanse’s effects would start to wane.

I wasn’t bipolar.

I was a mentally and emotionally abused girl dealing with prolonged trauma, and I was reacting to triggers and boundaries repeatedly being crossed in a chaotic and unsafe home environment.

he was going to use electroshock therapy on me because he ran out of options when the myriad of pills he put me on weren’t shutting off my brain or my emotions like he wanted, like my mom wanted. she actually considered it, which felt like a betrayal because it seemed so unsafe and barbaric to me. (she never should’ve been involved in the conversation in the first place but my doctor always insisted that she sit in on our appointments. I was still living with her, and I didn’t know better, and I was afraid to speak up.) I actually considered it, even though it scared me terribly, because I didn’t know any other way out of my suffering that wasn’t final.

I took 900 mg of lithium every day for almost 9 years before I finally found a psychiatrist who recognized what I’d always suspected but was never supported. my brain will never ever be the same.

I think about that all the time. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.

idk where I’m going with this or why I’m even sharing. it’s been weighing heavy on my mind and my heart this week, for some reason. the moral of my story, I guess, is to advocate for yourself. if something doesn’t feel right, speak up and get a second opinion if you can. I was unfortunately ignored and felt beaten down to a point where I just kind of accepted my diagnoses until I couldn’t anymore. my doctors (I left that one shortly after the electroshock suggestion) found a cocktail of medications that seemingly did the trick, and by that I mean my anxiety and depression were subdued enough that I could more-or-less function so it seemed like these doctors were on to something. until they abruptly stopped doing the trick. until I finally put my armchair research on trauma disorders to work and found a therapist who listened and who recommended a psychiatrist who understood.

I hate that psychiatrists are so expensive and that the “good ones” I’ve come across don’t take my (or any) insurance. I hate that mental healthcare feels more, and is more, like a privilege than the most basic human right. I hate that my first two psychiatrists only thought of trauma disorders in relation to military veterans and not abuse survivors (or any other way that trauma could manifest itself). I worry about the fact that my first doctor is primarily a youth psychiatrist because that means that actual children could be facing the same experience and misdiagnoses I was when I was seeing him. I hate that I feel powerless in stopping it. sharing my story helps make me feel better. I don’t know that it would or does make a difference for others, but I don’t feel like just writing this down in a private place just for me. I’m not afraid to be honest and speak out anymore, like I used to be. I’m not afraid of the boogeyman, no matter who he might be.

[loveguts]

ok last skinamapost but there’s a lot to digest about it so here’s my own personal theory on what i think the movie is about?

(content warning for mentions of child abuse, suicide, and self harm) (also heads up for spoilers for the entire movie)

so disclaimer i only saw this movie once a few hours ago so i’d really need to rewatch it to really develop what i think about it and pick up on details i missed out on and stuff

personally i think it’s a metaphor for child abuse and the malevolent force fucking with the kids is representative of the mental trauma of it and the way abusers can just haunt you, but the shape the memories take makes them into just this sort of shapeless horror. i once said to one of my therapists that my childhood abuser was less of a person to me now and more like some boogeyman, and that’s the vibe i got from the way the entity was portrayed.

i think that the entity is representative of both trauma as in ptsd symptoms, and trauma as a memory of an abuser that’s less of a distinct person and more of this amalgamation of cruelty. some thoughts:

-completely altering the world around you even in nonsensical ways because what you know is cruelty

-sabotages attempts to help (the 911 call)

-killing/torturing kevin over and over again, forcing him to relive it (like a flashback). i think it’s interesting that the one sound from the cartoon repeats throughout this too, which kind of acts as a motif to tie a lot of the movie together and imply repetition.

-calling the kids upstairs, particularly in regards to their parents’ bedroom. making them confront their abusers.

-taking the eyes and the mouth of kaylee. can’t see what’s happening anymore, can’t tell anyone about what’s happening.

-the whole knife in the eye thing reminds me of how kids in abusive situations will often self harm or do otherwise extreme things for a variety of reasons. it also reminds me of intrusive thoughts i’ve had about stabbing myself and even ones that are just exactly like the movie (stabbing my eye out).

-overall throughout the movie the kids are relatively calm when reacting to everything happening. i think this could imply acceptance and dissociation from the trauma because it’s no longer new or shocking, just numbed from it.

-the toilet thing was weird but i think i pieced it together. i think it’s designed to purely and sadistically humiliate the kids. trauma can be humiliating and humiliation can be trauma. taking away the thing that helps them dispose of their waste = forcing them to live alongside it. in a way, the waste itself could be seen as representative of the trauma. you’re begging to get rid of, it’s literal waste in your life, but you can’t get rid of it when it’s just right there in a bucket. it makes you feel disgusting and guilty and gross but you can’t get away from it.

as for why i think the kids were abused at all:

-kaylee doesn’t want to talk about their mother

-falling is often a huge go-to excuse for both abusers and abuse survivors when there’s visible injuries. the dad sounds stoic and relatively unconcerned when talking about kevin falling and hurting his head. i think the sleep walking was a red herring and an attempt for the dad to cover his tracks.

-i think the scene with the parents on the bed is interesting because one parent is asking for kaylee to close her eyes, and the other is telling her to look under the bed. i think this is mostly symbolism based, because under the bed is where people typically store things and keep things out of sight. so looking under the bed = looking at what’s hidden and stored away— confronting trauma. she didn’t see anything under the bed itself because that language was metaphorical, what she was meant to be looking at was her parents who were right there in front of her. i think this is meant to be representative of repressed memories from abuse, because she knows something should be there but she can’t see it. meanwhile, the other parent tells her to close her eyes. she doesn’t want her to acknowledge the abuse. maybe the mom was complicit but not an active abuser herself, just not doing anything to stop it. “your dad and i love you very much” in the context of the film sounds like an excuse for something that happened. when kaylee leaves the room, she wants to move the couch. she’s blocking it out. she doesn’t want to talk about mom because that means acknowledging that maybe her mom let something bad happen, maybe her mom doesn’t care, her mom is just making her ignore it. i think her eyes are taken because she tried understanding what’s happening to her, her mouth is taken because she’s trying to stop being complicit and stand up for herself (the entity says her mouth was taken because she wouldn’t do what she was told).

-i also have a theory that the mother committed suicide sometime before the events of the movie, and they encounter her in the weird trauma memory dimension. (basically i think the entire movie is meant to represent traumatic childhood memories and what it feels like to have flashbacks and recall them). iirc the first time we hear her is when she’s crying, after kaylee says she doesn’t want to talk about mom. there’s also a scene where there’s a chair on the ceiling, and another scene where there’s a barbie doll on the wall (or the ceiling? not sure). i think that all of this, combined with the fact that there’s a loud bang from the closet when kaylee talks to her and the closest door is later opened, could signify their mother hanging herself in their closet (chair + barbie is how i came to the hanging conclusion , like kicking over a chair and being suspended from the ceiling, i also think closets are unfortunately a common place for people to commit suicide in this way). i also think it’s possible kaylee is the one that discovered her body and repressed the traumatic memory of it, given the context of everything else.

anyways this is all just my interpretation and by no means canon. and it’s also not perfect either there’s probably a lot of holes in it and i really need to rewatch it and develop it more and decide if i still agree or disagree with this on my second watch. 🤔

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hey there! I know you've answered previously that pretty much anything can be traumatizing for a child, but how damaging can be growing up with chronic illnesses and no aid from your caretakers?

TW: medical stuff, neglect (?), possible child abuse, not-so-great parenting

/

I've had gastrointestinal issues since I was born, and almost daily episodes through my childhood where eating anything at all would result in unbearable pain, but was too afraid of telling that to my parents, scared they would blame me for it. Later in life, in my adolescence, my toenails would start growing into my fingers and cause infections that almost resulted in necrosis, but I was denied the so-needed surgeries by my father, who refused to pay for them even though he had plenty of money, so I was forced to make "homemade" procedures by myself (which often resulted in worst outcome). I also remember having antibiotics forced down my throat with a syringe when I refused to take it and getting slapped when I threw it up over the kitchen floor (I believe I was about 7 years old at that time).

Note that I had forgotten most of this and recovered these memories when, a few years back, I had a GI episode in my father's house, and he screamed and berated me when I "threw up", aka gagged, while trying to run for the toilet. He pushed me into the bathroom and yelled how "it wasn't that hard" (to get there), and when I told him it wasn't my fault, he called me selfish and ungrateful. Then, instead of taking me to the hospital or letting me see my mom, he got furious that I didn't think he was able to take care of me and accused me of trusting my mom better than him. He coerced me into trying to make myself throw up again (the fingers down the throat thing) and then gave me hangover medicine. After that, things got messy for various reasons and I got officialy disowned.

Now, I am freshly diagnosed with DID and can't bring myself to believe it was all really that bad. There were some less than pleasant parts, sure, and there's plenty more to unpack beyond these small separate events, but I don't feel like that's enough. I have felt terrible ever since, like I somehow misled my psychiatrist into believing that I had a terrible life. I'm truly sorry for the rant (you can just stick with the original question if you'd like), I'm just so confused.

Hi anon,

First of all I'm so sorry to hear about what you went through. It's honestly unsettling just to listen to, and I can't imagine what it must've been like to experience it yourself. Please know that this can absolutely count as trauma, and it makes sense that this may have led to the development of DID.

It can be natural for trauma survivors to feel like what happened to them wasn't sufficient to be traumatized. It's almost like a kind of trauma impostor syndrome, where you feel like you're lying to yourself about the severity of your trauma, when in reality it is that bad. I want to recognize that it takes a lot of strength for you to challenge these thoughts and choose to discuss and work through your experiences and the feelings surrounding them. Learning to give yourself some self-compassion and self-acceptance is a slow but rewarding process.

I understand how it can be hard to acknowledge the gravity of our trauma, especially when we find ourselves surprised by how much it actually affected us. But it may be helpful to remember that trauma isn't defined by what happened to us, rather it's defined by our psychological reactions to it. This is because we all have a multitude of factors that either contribute to or hinder our resilience - our ability to cope with stressful or potentially traumatic events. This can include genes, preexisting mental health issues, the environment we were raised in, what support we had, and so on.

If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist could best help you in processing your trauma, exploring your system, dismantling impostor syndrome, and developing some healthy coping mechanisms that you can take with you along your healing journey.

I hope I could help, and we're here if you need anything.

-Bun

[mavspeed]

Hi faerie_ground/ Desi,

I'm writing this in your ask box because for some reason my DMs are being stupid and not opening. My name's Kai, I go by Shearmouth on AO3, and I've been a rabid follower of "cloaked" since I found it around chapter 4's posting. I've already left you several reviews, but I wanted to reach out and let you know again how much this story means to me, and how grateful I am to you for creating it, so you can have a loving message from one of your readers to take into the new year (and on your much-deserved hiatus!) with you.

Trigger warning for CSA and its associated shittiness.

When I was 10 I was molested by a very close family member. Due to life circumstances, I didn't really have a way to get away from this person, and the response of my primary caregiver at the time was to kinda sweep it under the rug. Luckily it didn't happen again, but the body keeps the score and all that. 10 years later, during covid, the trauma started surfacing in therapy. I've spent the last 2 years working on it. I have been told by the same caregiver I confided in when it first happened to keep it to myself, don't talk about it, keep the peace in the family. There was a long time where I felt deeply broken, tainted almost. Like I never truly would heal from it. And I was so angry that it ever happened at all.

Though I've made tons of progress since then, I still find enormous catharsis in fanfic featuring sexual abuse and recovery. A few stand out, but yours is at the top of the list, despite being barely half posted. I've said it before but I'll say it again– your handling of the subject matter is nothing short of masterful. This is heavy, heavy shit. But you manage to say it out loud and look it in the face in a way that's both agonizing, and deeply moving. Maverick's reaction to his abuse is familiar to anyone who's gone through something like it, I think. The shame, the terror, the dread. Feeling like you've been dirtied beyond hope. That your friends and loved ones see you reduced to only what was done to you. And the rage. All that rage, with nowhere to go.

Maverick feels all this and more, and in the beginning it was torture to watch him go through it alone. As Ice slowly earns his trust again and works his way back into his heart, we see Maverick starting to let him in and lean on him. And Ice, flawed and frightened as he may be, is showing up for Maverick. He's standing by him through that terror and shame and rage. And we're seeing Maverick soften into it and accept that love from Ice.

So many people don't get that. So many people go through this alone, from start to finish. I was lucky. I have two amazing friends who stood by me, and a few excellent therapists. But even with them, working through this has seen me lonelier than at almost any other point in my life. I can't imagine how hard it is for survivors who truly don't have anyone. But here we get to see Mav accept the help, and start to move toward the path of healing. Ice, of course, can't fix this for him. But he can have his back. And that is invaluable. He's there for Mav even when Mav is being pissy and scared and angry and all the nasty emotions one tends to feel in the wake of such a traumatic experience. Thank you for giving that to him, and vicariously, to me. I can't wait to watch them heal, separately and together.

I'm rambling a bit, but the point is this: the story that you're making is incredibly profound. It's expertly executed. It's gripping and moving and heartbreaking. And for me, coming to it with my history, it's extremely cathartic. I'm so grateful to you for putting this into the world. Thank you.

I wait with bated breathed for the next chapter (even tho I'm scared, wtf does negative comfort even MEAN AUGH IM FRIGHTENED), and I'll be counting the days until February or whenever you come off hiatus! I hope you enjoy a well-deserved rest from this beast, and in the meantime happy new year!

Love, Kai

HIII putting this under a read more cos it got long. general trigger warning for discussions of rape/non-con/CSA

first off can i just say. i am SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO THIS this ask legitimately did not show up in my notifs. i had the shock of my LIFE when i came on tumblr web and realised i received 2 asks from you. lmfjgfjfjffj tumblr.............

second of all there is no need for an introduction (this may sound creepy) but i know who you are i really look forward to seeing your comments on cloaked you have no idea!!! each comment is like a balm to my soul i recognise every single one of my regular, semi-regular, dying-but-hanging-in-there commenters lmao i love yall serious

third!! this ask moved me to tears. seriously seriously SERIOUSLY it did i had to run off to the bathroom at work and then run back bc my work is a deadline-based hellsite. ANYWAY i am so sorry you went through that, you should never have done and these situations just remind us of how horrible and awful some people can be. im so glad you're seeking help for it right now, that's the right step and im so proud you had the courage to do it!

as for everything else- im also relieved that this story resonates with you! truth be told i was nervous about posting the first chapter bc its such a dark subject matter and we know what purity culture is like these days. don't discuss sensitive issues, don't put it in your fic, etc etc etc. i have my own opinions on these but in all honesty, cloaked was just going to be a straightforward retelling of tgm in tg86 squad's perspective until i came across a story handling rape/non-con..... not well. at all. and its not the first fandom ive seen this be handled in a way thats... just not to my liking, lets leave it at that. so believe it or not cloaked came about half out of spite and half out of personal reasons (i think i said some of it in my reply to you lol)

anyway thank YOU for sharing your story with me and please believe me when I say you're not alone!! a huge part of cloaked is the arc of mav coming to realise he doesn't have to deal with his trauma by himself. he has people around him (not just ice), and eventually, they push him to get the help he needs (is this a spoiler? nvm idc lmao). trust me, i put careful thought into it for a reason! thank YOU for realising it and coming to terms with it :') you're definitely not alone and anytime you feel as such, seek out help! my dms are always open too :D

also i feel like i don't need to say this but once again any form of way you use to go forth in your recovery is so so valid. if you wanna read my fic 1000 times over or others dealing in this content to get a step ahead, please do so. if you wanna ask me for personal headcanons/thoughts/etc in the cloaked verse specifically, please do so. im always ready and willing to talk!!

this reply got so godawfully long to end it off... i don't know which point you're at in the process of your recovery, but i hope you get the healing you deserve, which you do very much. thank you for being so brave to share your story <3 i sincerely hope cloaked ends in a fitting way to make you proud as well lmfkgjkgj ahhaha insert high-pitched nervous laughter

[shabalalaletho]

"Laughing Through Pain: The Joker as a Reflection of PTSD in Society

The Joker is one of the most famous villains in movies and comics, known for his chaotic behaviour and dark sense of humour. The 2019 film Joker gives us a unique view of mental health, especially post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). By looking closely at the Joker's past, actions, and feelings, we can better understand how trauma affects people. This insight is especially useful for students in occupational therapy (OT), helping us support patients dealing with similar issues.

At the centre of the Joker's story is a troubled childhood filled with trauma. Arthur Fleck, who becomes the Joker, suffers from severe neglect and abuse as a child. His mother does not protect him from harm, leaving him with deep emotional wounds (Phillips, 2019). Research shows that early traumatic experiences can have lasting effects on mental health, leading to problems with identity and coping (Perry, 2001). Understanding Arthur’s background is essential for me as an OT students, because it helps me connect with patients who have similar histories. As the story unfolds, Arthur shows many classic signs of PTSD. He is often jumpy and reacts strongly to perceived threats (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). For example, when he attacks the three businessmen on the subway, it demonstrates how years of trauma can lead to sudden outbursts of anger. He also experiences hallucinations about his relationship with Sophie, which reflects the confusion often seen in trauma survivors (Phillips, 2019). His tendency to withdraw from others shows how trauma can isolate someone and make it hard to connect with others (Herman, 1992). Recognizing these symptoms in patients has helped me as an OT student to learn to create better intervention plans.

Arthur's journey highlights how trauma can destroy a person’s sense of self. He often feels helpless and defeated, especially when he seeks help from a therapist but receives no support (Phillips, 2019). This lack of support reinforces his feelings of being trapped, pushing him further into chaos. Moments where he disconnects from reality show how trauma can make people escape their overwhelming feelings (American Psychiatric Association, 2013; van der Kolk, 2014). As OT students, it’s vital to understand how trauma affects identity. This knowledge has guide me in helping patients regain control of their lives and build a new sense of self.

Examining the Joker's character has offered valuable lessons for me as a OT student who is working with patients who have experienced trauma, especially those with poor social skills and fear of engagement with others. As I navigate my fieldwork placement, I find myself increasingly aware of how trauma can manifest in social withdrawal and difficulties in participation. For example, I am currently working with a patient who has experienced sexual abuse and exhibits symptoms similar to those of Arthur Fleck, including hyper-vigilance and emotional numbing. This connection has deepened my understanding of how trauma affects behaviour and social interactions.

Drawing from the insights gained from the film, I plan to implement interventions that focus on building trust and creating a safe therapeutic environment. Gradual exposure techniques will be essential, starting with low-pressure interactions, such as one-on-one sessions, can help the patient build confidence before progressing to group activities. Additionally, engaging the patient in expressive activities like art or journaling can provide an outlet for processing emotions and experiences, facilitating a sense of empowerment (Malchiodi, 2013). Validation of their experiences will also be crucial; acknowledging their past trauma can help them move forward and work on social skills without fear of judgment.

In Joker, we see a powerful representation of how PTSD affects a person’s mind and behavior. Arthur Fleck’s transformation into the Joker serves as a reminder of what can happen when trauma is left untreated. By studying his character, we can understand the complexities of mental health and the importance of empathy. For OT students, this reflection emphasizes the need for compassionate care, promoting social participation, and validating patients’ experiences. The film challenges us to think about the societal factors that lead to mental illness and how we can support individuals who feel unheard. As I engage with patients during my placement, I realize how crucial it is to understand trauma and create a healing environment.

Reference list

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (5th ed.). Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Publishing.

Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books.

Malchiodi, C. A. (2013). Creative Interventions with Traumatized Children. Guilford Press.

Perry, B. D. (2001). Stress, Trauma, and Children: A Review of the Neurobiology of Trauma. In Children and Trauma: A Guide for Parents and Professionals (pp. 1-12).

Phillips, T. (Director). (2019). Joker. Warner Bros. Pictures.

van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.