#Emotional/Psychological Abuse

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Un-Happily Ever After

*Implied and teased sex* Language. Trigger warning, forced relationship/pregnancy.

Tommy gets Esme to move with him just in time for her to realize he'd set yet another trap for her.

______________________________________________________________

Move with Me

Esme's head whipped in the direction of the door. She hated being in Tommy and Grace's room. We'll, now it was her and Tommy's room.

Esme had hours to think up here by herself tonight after the kids went to bed. It was as if Tommy were trying to erase his mistakes, Grace's death, his choices and loneliness, his brother's death.

He'd told her he needed her to help him with business and life. That he should have married her, not John. She shuttered hearing the lock unclick.

He sauntered in casually glancing in the middle of the room where Esme sat on their bed.

He didn't look knackered like she'd expected. She'd heard shouting from the office below the bedroom.

"You look better than I thought you would. Polly didn't take you to task like Ada said, eh?" Esme watched him. He was walking towards her looking her up and down.

She shivered. What had been said? She now wished she'd been in the room.

"No Esme, you need to stay away from the stress for the baby's sake." His voice was low and full of whiskey, tobacco smoke and sex.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew she had to keep up appearances, on the other hand, would Polly believe her or help her when the time came if she was fucking Thomas Shelby just to feel.

Surely with Pol's sexual appetite she would understand, wouldn't she? She never asked Esme's permission when she had an itch to scratch.

Esme needed to scratch.

Thomas's weight sunk down next to her on the bed gently pulling her towards him. He took her into his arms and hungry devoured her mouth.

She had Thomas Michael Shelby wrapped around her heavily jeweled fingers.

"Everyone but Polly seems to have come around. Aberama even told Pol to settle down. She just needs some time to kick the stall. That's all Esme." He silenced her thoughts as his calloused fingers dug into her hair sending her side braid into ruin.

His hands and mouth were all over her like a starving man.

How had Grace only conceived one child? Thomas was an extremely needy sexual man. It didn't hurt her feelings that he was so well experienced.

John was but Thomas….he was a different breed.

Tommy grabbed her by the hips roughly and pulled her down the bed. He towered over her, pinning her hands up above her head he set to slip her nightgown off. God, he could work with one hand.

He took his time touching, sucking and biting at her.

"Tommy, slow down, I need air." She was panting underneath him. She could tell it was going to be a vicarious and rough night.

He was going through something, needing to sort it out in his head but instead he'd take it out on her body. No complaints from her.

"Move with me Esme. I need you tonight. You are mine Esme Shelby. You are mine." She gasped at his words, deep and laced with possession. If she wasn't careful she could be truly that, his.

He buried himself into her harshly setting a quick pace at first bringing her to the edge before teasing her.

She could hear a muffled voice climbing the staircase belonging to his family.

He was intentionally pleasuring her so they knew it was all true, every word he'd said.

They were married, she wanted him, she was pregnant…and she was very much his willingly.

Fuck.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lily of the Valley

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

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

Chapters: 1/?

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

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

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

Chapter One: Snowdrops

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

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

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

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

"Just Barbara," Barbara replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[somefanficrecomendations]

acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

Author: ephhemeralite Fandom: Batman, White Collar

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

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

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

Characters: Dick Grayson, Peter Burke

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

[luxshine]

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

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

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

[miles-prentiss]

Where is my mind

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

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

Words: 414

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

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

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

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

The door open revealing a living room which seem familiar .

"Hello?" I call out once more.

... no reply .

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

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

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

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

I couldn't believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?...why now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is my mind?"

[puriteenism]

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

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

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

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

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

[rottenbutrecovering]

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

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

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

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Captured by a Shelby-Martha

Martha disobeys a rule and angers John.

Dark John Shelby. Don't interact if under 18! Abuse, fear and dark themes.

_____________________________________________________________

The call

Her husband could literally sleep through anything. Case in point, the telephone. It had rung seven times and John still hadn’t stirred to get out of bed and answer the call. 

She’d been expressly forbidden from calling anyone or even answering it. 

Apparently he was an important man and he hadn’t wanted her getting mixed up in his business. He seemed like a secretive man, she couldn’t really see him as dangerous. 

The house stilled again. Martha was awake. This child was practicing for the olympics in her tummy and she had heartburn. 

Ringing continued much to the heavily pregnant womens irritation. Well if he couldn’t answer it, she would. She flopped over and glared at his taunt back. He slept nude and while she didn’t hate looking at him in all his glory right now she wanted to smack him in the back. Get some satisfaction for having to be awake and miserable because of him. 

Sighing, she got up and tossed the blankets over him. She padded quietly into the living room avoiding the creaking wooden floorboards. She was relearning the house.

The living room was centered around the fireplace which had gone out leaving the air cold and crisp. She shivered and grabbed one of the blankets off the couch and wrapped herself up tightly in it.  

Apparently it was Johns. It smelled of cigar smoke, whiskey and his aftershave. The man had great smelling vices she thought to herself. 

“Hello, Martha speaking.” She couldn’t remember her last name so she hoped that whoever called knew John was married to her. She waited for someone to talk. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent further snuggling into the woven blanket. 

“Hello, Hello, Oh, Martha May, thank God! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for months. You're in danger! Don't trust anyone, try to get out of there please.” Her father’s usually slow and calming voice was frantic and rising. Bile filled Martha’s throat, searing her esophagus as it slowly rose up.

“Daddy?” She squeezed out gingerly. Feeling the familiar pain of her throat closing around a familiar lump. Martha hated conflict, tears, stuttering and pain were the only ways she could communicate when she was upset. It was all washing over her again. 

“Wait, I don't know..” Her voice was rising in panic and frantic as he had been with his warning to her burning into her brain. 

The call suddenly cut. Martha’s eyes followed  the large hand was firmly placed on the phone cutting off the connection. 

Her large blue eyes wandered up the strong exposed arm, his soft hair looking partially risen in anger. She slowly looked up at him dreading what she’d see.  His face was what frightened her. 

He looked like an excited predator. His usually handsome jaw and lush lips that smiled easily were now set in tight hard lines, his eyes flashing dark and with imminent danger. 

She knew the first day she saw him, we’ll, remembered him she guessed: she thought then that his shifting moods like sand on the beach made him unstable and not trustworthy. 

How could she have fallen in love with him? 

“Martha you aint allowed to talk on the phone here, I told you why. Why are you being difficult?” His tone was even but she’d caught the anger simmering in it. He was pissed, not that his body language hadn’t told her that. He’d stood half a foot away from her towing over her. She was mindful not to shrink back. 

“It wouldn’t stop ringing.” She set her feet firmly in the ground and tilted her jaw towards him in defiance. She caught the wicked gleam in his eye. He was enjoying this little show. Why? 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked her sternly. His voice was still deep and husky from sleep. He wasn’t moving. She could see his naked chest rising and falling so at least she knew he was human. Sometimes she wasn’t sure after their little interacting or weird rules that were constantly being laid down for her and only her. 

“You weren’t waking up.” Truth be told, he hadn’t with all the noise. She however also hadn’t tried but she wasn’t going to tell him that. 

“Did you try shaking me awake, whispering in my ear, nibblin on me?” His voice dipped and he sauntered towards her, closing the gap. He gripped her hips and pressed her towards him. She was grateful her protruding stomach kept him partially at bay. 

He seemed to go for seduction when angry didn’t push her. They were both stubborn, great. 

“It worked in the past, Mouse.” He grinned at her and rubbed her stomach. His hand trailed lower until she broke the spell he was trying to cast on her. She wouldn’t let him charm his way out of this. She moved back and smacked his hand. 

He laughed like a school boy, jovial and amused. 

“John, it was my father.” Her admission stilled his movements almost as if she’d frozen him to the floor. 

She had a feeling instantly that she shouldn’t have given that piece of information to him. 

“Your father?” His voice dipped to almost a growl.  He studies her for several minutes. She could feel knots in her stomach forming. “Yeah?“ 

“Why can't I talk to him? He said I was in danger and you weren't safe!” She stood almost on her tiptoes trying to put them nose to nose. Her balance was off due to being pregnant. She was grateful for his strong hands to steady her then.  John’s eyes went dark and a sinister smile crept across his face. It was the kind you got from a killer when you overstepped and you both acknowledged you were about to die. Cold, creep and cruel. 

Curse her big mouth! 

Why wasn’t he upset that her father had said all that, about him nonetheless! The blood in Martha’s veins chilled.

 Perhaps it was true. 

“Your going as mad as Fuckin Gina now eh? Oi, look at me!” He roughly gripped her face and brought it to him. His breath still smelled of whiskey. He always had a glass before bed. She’d been brought up in a strict home, alcohol was never present.

 “You stay away from the phone.” He commanded while still handling her roughly. She shoved him off, grateful that he’d let go so easy. He was raging now. Pacing and cursing at her, he then went into some language she’d never heard of before. His hands were flailing about and he stopped to scold her and point a finger at her every once in a while.

She turned and ran into the bedroom slamming the door.  She could hear him in bits and pieces when she’d gone to the bathroom to cry and splash her face with cold water. A heater vent carried his loud booming voice through the metal grate.

He was talking to Tommy, his brother, if she remembered correctly. He was asking how her father had managed to call. She took several breaths and walked into the bedroom flopping on the bed mindful of her growing stomach. 

“How the fook did he get in?” The loud roar created a spark of hope in martha who waited with baited breath hoping her father had indeed gotten in and was coming to rescue her. But like the fairytales she’d read as a child, no help came. As the clock mocked her mercilessly minute after ongoing minute only one thought kept floating through her mind…

Whatever was happening was going to end very badly. She just knew it.

__________________________________________________________

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lily of the Valley

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

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

Chapters: 8/?

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

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

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

Chapter Eight: Chamomile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How would you know—?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[arylleth]

The books taught me that when we live through traumatic experiences, our brains take in the things around us that are causing the greatest threat, and they encode these things deep into our subconscious as sources of danger. Let’s say, for example, that you are hit by a car. Your brain registers the noise of the car screeching to a halt, the grille speeding toward you. It shoots out an onslaught of stress chemicals like adrenaline and cortisol that elevate your heart rate and blood pressure, narrowing your focus to the thump of the impact and the pain and the sound of an ambulance. But at the same time, your brain is subconsciously taking in thousands of other pieces of stimuli: the foggy weather, the Krispy Kreme at the intersection, the color and make and model of the car, the Midwestern accent of the guy who hit you, his blue Wolverines T-shirt. And your brain imprints deep inside itself the powerful connections between these stimuli and this pain. These associations are stored in your brain along with the corresponding emotions from that day. And they often do not come with full stories. Therefore, your brain might not encode the logical connection between the Krispy Kreme and the car crash. It might simply encode: KRISPY KREME. DANGER. The result is that when you see a glazed doughnut or a blue Wolverines T-shirt, you might become uneasy without understanding why. Your brain is recognizing a pattern that it has flagged with life-or-death importance, and reflexively shoots out what it believes to be the appropria emotional response. This reflex might manifest in a big wa like a panic attack. Or it might manifest in a smaller way, like suddenly feeling very grumpy. You might decide that you’re irritated at your girlfriend for a mildly stupid thing she said that morning and text her to say so. None of this, of course, is reasonable or rational. But your brain is not trying to be reasonable. It’s trying to save your life. If someone pulls out a gun near us, we shouldn’t need to ponder for a few minutes about the make and model of the gun and how guns work and what caliber the bullets might be and the amount of damage they might do. If we see a gun, we need to know one thing, and we need to know it fast: GET DOWN. MOVE. RUN. What we might think of as emotional outbursts—anxiety, depression, lashing out in anger—aren’t always just petty, emotional failings. They may be reflexes designed protect us from things our brain has encoded as threats. And these threatening inputs are what many people call triggers. No, having triggers doesn’t make you a fragile little snowflake. It makes you human. Everyone has them, or wi have them eventually, because everyone will experience some form of trauma. That annoying blank stare your ex used to give you. The sound of the ventilator your grandmother was hooked up to in the weeks before she died. Having an emotional response to a trigger is perfectly healthy. Those triggers are only considered PTSD when an event is so traumatic that its triggers cause symptoms like panic attacks, nightmares, blackouts, and flashback when the emotional response becomes debilitating. And here’s what makes complex PTSD uniquely miserable in the world of trauma diagnoses: It occurs when someone is exposed to a traumatic event over and over and over again—hundreds, even thousands of times—over the course of years. When you are traumatized that many times, the number of conscious and subconscious triggers bloats, becomes infinite and inexplicable. If you are beat for hundreds of mistakes, then every mistake becomes dangerous. If dozens of people let you down, all people become untrustworthy. The world itself becomes a threat. PT 2

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar 1

Started a new AU called Affectionate Obsession, with Steve Rogers as the first Character Story Series to be told I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

Story Masterlist

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

  I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

Yeah. Fuck everyone. I was going to make this trip mine.

[spoonie-on-wheels86]

[wiserebeltiger]

Small town America is a torture chamber

Parents move to small rural towns so they can have total control of their children.

Control their flow of information, isolate them, abuse them.

No friends, no boyfriend, no fun.

Police and school likely to ignore abuse, or be ill-informed about the signs.

Deny kids opportunities, and a life.

Most of the neighbors are just as shitty. Most of the kids you’re in school with are also isolated and clueless about how badly they’re being abused, how abnormal their home life is.

Effortlessly, the small town silences victims and keeps them imprisoned. Psychopaths are allowed to get away with bad behavior while the authorities turn a blind eye; here, more so than other places, the abuser is allowed to win; and this impresses on the victim that the victim always loses, a warped lesson that may fuck with their head for the rest of their life.

A horrid display of quiet, lock-tight order, small town America.

And all disguised with a wreath of nice foliage.

Here, do not expect reason to prevail. Do not expect the truth to out. Not until it is too late. Or until after you are gone.

[northern-punk-lad]

Hot take

We would see more males listed as abuse victims if emotional and psychological abuse was treated as seriously as physical

We need to take all abuse seriously and combat to end it so there are no victims



[furiousgoldfish]

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

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

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

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

[family-trauma]

This is a really good post differentiating the two instances of mental abuse - emotional vs psychological. I think I've experienced both numerous times to lose count of the instances.