#victim self blaming

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Therapy

okay this is low-key a short one, and not very eventful. Just Jesse branching out a little and going to therapy! (sorry if my writing of therapy sucks, every time i go to write this i totally forget how therapy goes lol) Also this is a chaos post but im trying to get into writing for jesse again. I miss him

CWs: bbu, therapy, grief, victim self blaming.

Masterlist

———————————–

Bree stared at the young rescue sitting across from her, in the den of Cooper Hernandez’s home. It was always a little nerve wracking, meeting with someone new. Would she be able to help them? Did they want to be helped? It was even more so meeting with an ex-pet. What kind of pain had they experienced? How deep did the conditioning go?

She’d met with clients who had gratefully and swiftly shed their previous identity, ready to take on the world as a free man or woman. And she’d also met with clients who had no interest in moving on, who were much more comfortable as a pet. It was freedom that scared them, it was healing they didn’t want. And she had no idea which one she’d get.

She met with Cooper before the session, so he could give her the low-down on what kind of person this rescue was. She learned that his name was Jesse, and that he kept it from his previous owners. She learned that he was roughly twenty years old. He was trained as a Platonic and worked for his buyers as a nanny. She learned that he left of his own free will, although he seemed to regret it ever since. He was severely physically abused and most likely sexually abused. He was having a very difficult time transitioning to his new life and leaving the family he lived with behind.

Throughout Bree’s five years of working with the pet liberation movement, she’d learned that Platonics and Romantics often had the most difficulty in moving on from their owners, regardless of if they left themselves or not. They were taught that they only existed to please their owners. They felt as if they’ve betrayed them by leaving, not saved their own lives.

She could feel this just from looking at Jesse. He looked miserable. He was thin, although she had no idea if that was a product of his time here or not. There were deep bags under his eyes and they were red rimmed, as if he was crying before coming in. He kept fiddling with his collar and looking at the door. He sat on the couch cushion furthest from Bree, which she was actually happy for. If he felt  he may be in danger with her, it was good that he would at least try to preserve himself. So many rescues don’t even bother.

When he first walked in she greeted him with a, “Jesse? Nice to meet you. I’m Bree,” which he nodded to, but he hadn’t said a single word himself.

Bree leaned back in her chair to give him space. She didn’t have a notepad in her hand -- she felt as if he might get nervous if she began to write things down without telling him what they were. “How are you settling in here?”

Jesse twisted his collar around his neck, staring at the carpet between them. “Fine.”

Bree nodded. “I know it can be difficult transitioning to such a new situation so quickly.” He didn’t respond. “Have you talked to any of the other rescues living here? Or Cooper and Contessa?”

He hesitated before answering. “Gwen.”

Bree smiled. “Gwen’s a great girl. Has she helped you settle in any?”

“Um. She told me to try this. To try talking to you. I mean.”

“Did she?” That was very nice to hear, actually. Gwen had her own reservations about therapy when she first arrived, but four months in she was opening up more than Bree even expected. “Why did she say that?”

“She said you would help.”

“What would you like help with?” Jesse glanced up at her for just a half a second, but even from that Bree could tell he was holding back tears. “She said you could help… with my girls. Help me feel better about-- about abandoning them.”

“The girls. The children you cared for?” He nodded stiltedly, quickly running a hand over his eyes. Bree pointedly took a drink of her water, taking her time with the lid to give him a moment to compose himself. “Well. I can tell you right now you didn’t abandon them. You saved yourself, Jesse. It’s something that’s not cowardly, but admirable. Do you believe me when I say that?”

He nodded immediately, not even trying to convince her he was telling the truth.

“You don’t have to lie. I know you don’t, and that’s okay. We’re going to work on it together, okay?”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to talk, but hesitated. Bree waited patiently. “I just -- I don’t. I just want to know if they’re okay.”

“Are their parents with them?”

“Their parents are divorced. They live with their -- their mother during the week. She has a nanny. I don’t know who will care for them on the weekends.”

“Their father? The nanny?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But they--” He cut himself off, frowning deeply and swallowing hard. He was scared to cry. “They don’t know them like I do. They don’t care like I do.” He worked his jaw, twisting his collar around his neck. Bree could see the skin underneath, chafed and raw. She reminded herself that they will have to discuss other self-soothing techniques.

“Why do you say that, Jesse?”

He looked at her with such pure and sudden pain in his eyes, that Bree was taken aback. “They weren’t trained for it,” he said. “If I’m taking care of them, I know they’re getting the best care. I left them in hands that aren’t prepared, not like I am.”

“You think they’re unsafe because of that?”

“I know they are.”

She feels her eyebrows draw together. “How do you know that?”

“I--” he stopped again, thinking, looking over at the door. He lowered his gaze, wiping his eyes. “I just feel it.”

Bree’s hands itched for her notebook, but she didn’t reach for it. Instead, she watched him. Watched the way he was once again avoiding eye contact. Watched the way he was curled in on himself, protecting himself. The way he kept twisting that collar with one hand, and the other was knocking against the couch in a pattern only he knew. He was tense, like he could try to run any second. Bree knew, though, that even if he wanted to he never would.

“Did you leave of your own free will, Jesse, or were you taken?”

He swallowed. “I left,” he admitted, ashamed.

Bree nodded. “Why?”

“My owner--their father… he hurt me.”

“Did he hurt them?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“No. Never.” He chewed his bottom lip. “He just -- he worked a lot. So he wasn’t home. But he never hurt them.”

“Do you regret leaving because you think he’ll start, or because you think they’ll miss you?”

“They’ll miss me,” he whispered. “I miss them.”

Bree smiled softly, but he was not looking up to see it. “But they will be okay. And they will heal. They’re children. You will miss them. I can tell you really loved them. But, Jesse -- what do you think would have happened to you in that environment?”

“What do you mean?”

Bree searched for the right words. She didn’t want to push him to this conclusion, she wanted him to reach it himself. “I mean… do you think you would have been safe there? With the man who hurt you?”

He shook  his head silently. Bree went to continue when he did speak up, albeit quietly. “He would’ve killed me. I think.”

She nodded. “Do you think the children will heal better from having witnessed you die -- or from knowing that you left to be somewhere safer? Don’t they love you too?”

“I think so. I -- I hope so. I love them.”

“So… can you agree that it was better for you to leave than to stay? That you’ve saved them a lot of heartache in the long run?”

He didn’t answer. They sat in silence as Bree’s watch ticked on. They used to have a clock in the room, but it was removed after it made too many rescues feel as if they were being timed and doing poorly. Eventually, Jesse nodded. One, quick nod, as if he didn’t want to do it.

Bree smiled again. “They have people to care for them. They will be okay. You had to take the chance to leave for you. Don’t you think you’re important enough to be safe too?”

“I don’t want to feel like this,” he confessed tearfully. “I feel so awful. Thinking about them and being here. I don’t want this.”

“Will you let me try to help?” Bree asked.

He glanced up at her, tears falling once again from bright blue eyes. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Jesse. I appreciate you trusting me. I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

He gave up on holding the tears back, letting them fall rapidly down his flushed face, chest heaving for breath he tried desperately to control. “Why would you want to help me? I’m -- I’m bad. I’m a bad pet. I ran away. I’m ungrateful here, I hide. Why?”

It was Bree’s turn to ponder a difficult question. “Because you deserve to feel safe, too.”

He didn’t believe her. She could tell. But he accepted the answer, leaning back into the sofa and wrapping his arms tightly around himself. She could only hope that he would believe her sometime soon. That he would choose to live his own life, and be his own person. That he would find an identity outside of being a Platonic.

That he won’t let his heartache destroy him first.

———————————–

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @boxboysandotherwhump @hold-him-down@winedark-whump@melancholy-in-the-morning@castielamigos-whump-side-blog@cyborg0109

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

but also like. guys you don’t need to leave the minecraft youtube community bc one person is bad to clarify. like. shelby is a minecraft youtuber. a lot of her friends are minecraft youtubers. those friends are supportive and as far as we know all believe her. the vast majority of minecraft youtubers are like. fine. this shit is something that Happens because Abusers are Manipulative, going to another hobby will Not shield you from anything and you’re not immoral for liking something bad people also liked. which is. one of the biggest video games ever. like in this situation no one was knowingly harbouring an abuser and it seems everyone was supportive. this is just a case of some people being shit, not anything to do with mcyt. hell, the guy hasn’t been on minecraft in like a year lmao.

i fully understand why the content might be uncomfortable to you guys now but like, please don’t self flagellate and cut yourself off from an entire genre of media because of one guy again. i saw that happen after the dream stuff and a lot of people ended up losing important things because they made rash decisions and felt like they Had to leave. but please. take one deep fucking breath. this has happened before. this has happened so much before, and in ways far worse than this. because abusers, unfortunately, exist. you should not feel guilty for being manipulated by a manipulative abuser, don’t blame yourself. do what you have to, but please, please keep in mind that the majority of minecraft youtube is fine. it is fine to continue engaging with it. it’s fine to be manipulated by an abuser and it’s not your fault. please don’t make rash decisions and end up losing things you care deeply about and being unable to get them back. distance yourself all you want, but please be careful to not do so out of emotional self harm from the guilt. that’s something this fandom encourages far too much- even outside of this- and it’s unhealthy and anyone expecting it of you is cruel.

[akindplace]

Abusive people often know what to say/do to make you feel at your worst. The hurt they inflict is their responsibility, always, and it's not a matter of "people can only hurt you if you allow it". In an abusive situation, you don't have control over the hurt they are inflicting. It's not "just words", it's not casual like someone making a critical comment. It's abuse. It's traumatizing. And abusers often taken control out of people and then gaslight them to making them believe it's their fault. The guilt you feel about yourself or the victim-blaming actions of others is very damaging, but the blame is never the survivor's, the abuser is always, always, the one at fault, and there is never any way around that fact, though people may say otherwise and you might feel guilt. Please don't blame yourself. Please don't dismiss your feelings.

if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting the blog ☕️

[creature-wizard]

You did not "manifest" poverty into your life.

You did not "manifest" abuse into your life.

You did not "manifest" illness or disability into your life.

Anyone who tells you differently is victim blaming, and you should not be listening to them.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Still very wild to me when people try to gotcha Jason with the whole "if you can kill other people for being evil why can't they kill you" when jason is like. One of the most passively suicidal characters I've ever seen. What if man

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial II

hiiii. i have such a headache omg. help meeeee

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past child abuse, conditioning, dehumanization, electrocution, physical abuse, verbal abuse, bruises, broken bones, institutionalized child abuse, institutionalized slavery, (internalized) victim blaming, self hatred, retraumatization, whump aftermath)

He had still felt the chill of the ocean when they had first brought him back to base. They’d had to recast his arm for the final time. They’d spotted the broken ribs that had barely had time to heal, not helped at all with the impact he’d made into the water. The fever dreams crept all around the corners of his eyes. 

After Levon had left, the nurses had made a request of him.

He did not have to stand for it, luckily. He sat up on the bed and let them undo the jacket, folding it back against his waist to reveal his bare torso.

He was so covered in bruises then that it almost looked natural on him.

The marks themselves were not the shape of anything in nature, though. Not unless you counted the handprints. Instead, they showed the imprints of rulers and rings. Whip marks. Chains.

They really tried to be respectful as they aimed the camera at him.

~

Two and a half months later, in the new and sterile room, all the bruises had faded. It was the longest he’d ever gone without them. There was still a tenderness in his ribs, but it felt more like a phantom pain than anything real. The cast had finally come off of his wrist — and he appreciated the new dexterity it afforded him. 

He sat on the white floor and watched Kitty hesitate for a long while with her rook.

He was not allowed outside of his room, but he could have her inside of it. He’d had Apollo there too, but from what he understood, the medic had immediately been thrown back into clinical rotations. Kitty’s role in IT afforded her much more free time. She’d spent most of her absence working too, so there was no real change in their schedule.

She put the rook down indecisively, but seemed to tire of the game. She glanced back at the door, furrowing her eyebrows at the lock placed upon it. She folded her fingers up beneath her chin.

“This whole thing is a waste of time.”

The anger in her voice caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing his hand closer into his lap. 

She looked up in surprise, a bit of guilt seeping into her expression. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she clarified, “You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the thing. Levon knows you’re innocent. You shouldn’t have to go through all this.”

He didn’t really feel like he had been through anything, but he didn’t argue with her. He processed the words slowly, trying to work around the irritation in them. It still made him antsy.

“Hey,” she spoke gently, trying to draw his attention back, “I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “Sorry.”

He moved his bishop to put her in check. She sacrificed the knight in the king’s stead. Before he could capture it, a voice sounded through the buzzer, directly on the other side of the door.

“Maryam Pike. Can I come in?” It crackled through the static.

Kitty gave Delta a concerned look. He blinked, unsure what she was waiting for. 

“Do you want her to? You don’t have to let her into your space,” Kitty said.

He shrugged. She was just doing her job. There was nothing he could really do to avoid questioning, anyway.

Kitty stood up from her spot on the floor, stalking over to the entryway. She opened it up.

“Does it have to be here?” She asked Maryam, “It’s his room.”

The older woman shrugged just the same.

“His choice. I have the office too, if you want to take the hike.” She glanced over Kitty’s shoulder, addressing Delta. “You want to get out for a little bit?”

He did, actually.

~

They were back around the table. Apollo was absent this time, but everyone from the council was still in attendance. Levon leaned against the back wall casually, sorting through the folder he’d been given. His expression was unreadable.

They knew how impossible it was to get Delta to speak in front of people. He had his gaze all the way down even as he sat at the table. It was too difficult to try and have him give testimony. They’d had to resort to other ways.

Maryam slid the cassette player into the center of the table. She looked at Delta, giving him a final chance to amend it. He had nothing to add.

He still cringed to hear his own voice play over the tape.

[

Q: What is your earliest memory?

A: …I was playing with a baby pool, filled up with all these little fish. The staff were asking me if I could move them around, but without using my hands. It took hours, but eventually I could focus enough to push them around just by thinking about it. I made them swim upside down. 

Q: Where did this take place?

A: One of the lower levels of the Institute. It was one of their wet labs.

Q: What were your parents like?

A: I never knew my parents, ma’am.

Q: How did you feel about other children your age?

A: …Indifferent.

Q: What is the primary emotion you associate with your childhood?

A: …I don’t know, ma’am.

Q: What were the rules at the institute you grew up in?

A: No running. No fighting. No talking back. Be respectful when addressing a superior. Wait for explicit permission before using your powers. Take your medicine as prescribed.

Q: When you were a child, did you ever make any attempt to escape or to disobey your handlers?

A: Never to escape. And I never, um. Never intentionally disobeyed. But by accident sometimes, yeah.

Q: By accident? What did you do?

A: …I was getting fussy one day after drills. There are these kind of growing pains you get if you move up a new level — and I was getting them really badly that day, and I guess I was lashing out too much. I wasn’t really listening.

Q: And what happened?

A: Got some warning shocks. When that didn’t work, they. Um. Increased the voltage until I was ready to listen. 

Q: To clarify, are you saying they electrocuted you?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: Did this happen with any frequency?

A: Not to me.

Q: Not to you? What does that mean?

A: Not to me, ma’am. It happened to the other students a lot more. I didn’t need as much correction, ma’am.

Q: And you witnessed this “correction” personally?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: How frequently did this happen?

A: In the first years, it was multiple times a day. It didn’t happen as often later on. A lot of the problem students had already been eliminated from the program at that point.

Q: I see. And you never once attempted escape?

A: No, ma’am.

Q: Why not?

A: 

Q: What was that?

A: I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

]

The tape clicked off. Delta folded his hands in his lap.

“We also have testimony from other alumni of the Beldam Institute,” Maryam declared, though Delta disagreed. You couldn’t be an alumnus if you didn’t actually graduate. She’d gotten testimony from the drop-outs. It’d been edited into a neat and digestible format, though to him it seemed a bit hokey.

Levon pulled it up onto the projector, his expression still unreadable.

The woman in the video was in her mid-20s, which meant she hadn’t been there from inception, and that she hadn’t stayed long. She said as much in the video. She was a kind of lightworker - lasers, burns, flash bombs. She’d been transferred to the Institute out of foster care.

“-would’ve been unethical to have adults working those hours. 16 hour days — and there were younger kids there than I was, ones that needed like ten hours of sleep, and they never got it. I don’t think I had a single moment of free time while I was there. The amount of-“

“-and of course they hit the kids. Where I went, at every house I’d been to, they hit the kids. That was nothing new to me. But they had the kids hurting each other. And these were untrained psychics who were still learning to use their powers, they didn’t know their own strength. And they were learning to use it on whoever was lower in the hierarchy than they were. Some of them would get messed up bad. One time-“

“-said pack your shit, get out. I didn’t have any more value to them anymore. I had been fucking gifted. And they just burnt me out like I was nothing. Glad they did, though. The only way kids ever left that school was burnt out or in a body bag. I still haven’t-“

There was no footage of the Institute. No cameras had been allowed inside except by licensed professionals. What they did have were the scans of the old photo books. Delta recognized the backgrounds so clearly, even though it’d been years since he had stepped inside. He felt only some dull recognition for the children in the photos — there’d been too many to keep track of. He’d never cared for them much anyway.

He felt the air in the room stiffen as the pictures got progressively gorier. Training accidents. Wrong dosages. The stripes they’d whipped into the backs of the worst kids. He wondered how much of his survival had been pure luck. He hadn’t known just how mismanaged it’d been at the time. Though he did have inklings.

“It’s clear the defendant was raised in an environment in which his every move was controlled under threat of severe physical punishment or death. His surroundings instilled a sense of learned helplessness within him. From an earlier age, he has been made to feel he has no option but to obey. Due to that conditioning, we can reasonably say that any exhibit of his powers has been under duress. It’s absurd that he should be held legally or morally responsible for his actions.” Maryam had a practiced cadence, especially on such short notice. She looked at nobody and nothing in particular when she did it. Levon watched her like a hawk.

She took a deep breath.

“There’s evidence this coercion continued beyond Beldam Institute.”

She switched between files on the computer. A new screen filled the projector.

“Hold,” Levon held a hand up, “Delta, you don’t have to be here for this. You can take recess.”

She couldn’t get him to talk about Paris. It’d been a no-go. His chest tightened up whenever he tried. The questions made him dizzy.

She had other ways, though. She was surprised she’d managed to dig them up. There’d been so few photos or videos of Paris anywhere. By now, the videos of his time on-the-run far outnumbered any from his reign. He couldn’t imagine how much effort it must have taken her to find this one.

He shook his head. He didn’t see any reason to, did not want any reputation for sensitivity. Keyglades didn’t even stand out as one of the bad ones, anyway. 

“I’m okay, sir,” he said softly.

The video began to play.

It had sound.

Paris’s voice cut through the white noise. It was distant, grainy with analog. Still, Delta felt his ears perk up, immediately rapt. Unable to pry his attention away even if he had tried.

He could pick up on the irritation from the first syllable. The tape showed surveillance footage  a hallway within Keyglades’ city hall. It led away from the main conference area and twisted up into the further reaches of the government building. Delta had been pretty sure at the time it was restricted territory, that they shouldn’t have even went that far.

Paris’s speech had risen to the rapid-fire pace it always took when he was pissed. Delta swore he worked himself up just for sport sometimes. Paris didn’t want a solution, he just wanted to be mad. He should’ve known better than to interrupt.

On the tape, Delta’s voice was low enough that the exact words were indistinct. But the sound of the ringed hand coming down hard against his face had been picked up in crisp resolution.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?!”

It had caught him off-guard. It seemed to catch the others in the room off-guard now, some of them visibly flinching at the abruptness. In the tape, he had reeled, though he did not have long to do so. Paris’s hand caught on the loose fabric of his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. His grip moved upwards, onto his neck. Tight and uncomfortable, but not actually choking. Just meant to hold him there. Make sure he couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s not about the fucking tax, it’s about the principle. That’s all it ever is with these people. Can you stop acting like you know better than me? There’s a reason nobody fucking asks you. Who the fuck even gave you permission to speak?”

Delta frowned, looking down as if he was getting scolded in that same instant. It had the same effect. He tucked his legs further beneath the chair, shielding them. In the tape, Paris pushed him to the floor — not a hard thing to do — and stomped down on his wrist. It was too mild for him to really consider a beating, but some blood had dripped from his mouth while he was on the floor, which is probably why she’d chosen it.

Maryam cleared her throat.

“Would you say there was anything exceptional about this event?” 

It took him too long to realize the question was directed at him. He knew they were all looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor.

“No, ma’am.” His hands balled up in his lap.

“And was this an atypical occurrence?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How often would you say you experienced this level of violence?”

That level, specifically? That much was hard to quantify. It depended on how quickly operations were moving, how much the plan was working, how badly he’d fucked up. He’d like to say he had a good track record when it came to his powers. He aimed to please. The worst of it came when he didn’t. He would have answered monthly if he’d been asked how frequently he was actually beaten. Those were the standout ones, the ones that left him sore for days afterward, the ones he most thought of as deserved. Well, justified. He deserved all of it.

But the tape hadn’t shown a severe beating. That kind of pettiness came much more frequently. Weekly, he guessed. Biweekly if things were going well. The other kind of biweekly if things were going poorly. If he counted the smaller things — the shoving, the hair-pulling, the grabbing — he would have said almost daily. But he didn’t count those.

“Weekly, ma’am.” He didn’t let his uncertainty show in his voice. He couldn’t pose it as a question; it wasn’t something they could answer. Weekly was a good enough approximation.

He saw Kitty’s eyes narrow dangerously. Her claws carved lines into the woods of the chair from gripping it so hard.

“This caused significant injury, as evidenced by the condition he was in when he first came to Galatea.”

The screen clicked abruptly to the photographs the nurse has taken just before she’d cast his arm. There were several of them, taken from different perspectives. The broken angle his wrist was held at. The thick, dark bruise against his ribs where they’d been kicked in. There was a whole litany of other bruises along his arms and neck. Handprints, implements. Nobody could argue they were obtained in combat. None of the photographs showed his face.

It was his first time seeing the full mosaic. He’d avoided the mirror whenever he could while it was happening. He remembered how badly he did not want Simon to see them, to have the proof of his failures be written out so clearly on his body. It felt a million times worse for Levon to see him like that. He wanted to apologize. He’d promise to do better, if he was allowed to. His lip bled from how hard he was biting into it.

The bruises were bad. Each of his separate ideologies burned in his brain, building and fighting each other. He’d failed. He’d earned it. Paris was fucking crazy. He’d never be able to please him. He’d deserved it. He was supposed to be better than this. He deserved worse.

Kitty’s hand brushed against his. He flinched, but forced himself not to withdraw it. Too well trained to pull away. She seemed to pick up on this as she drew her own hand back.

“Where are you?” she whispered. He couldn’t answer.

When he looked up again, Levon was staring straight at him, not at the bruises on the screen. As soon as they made eye contact, Levon looked inconspicuously to his watch.

“Think we’re gonna call it for today,” he announced. 

~

He’d expected to return straight back to his room afterwards, but nobody escorted him. Kitty led him through the airy hallways instead. This section of the building was made mostly of glass and white tile. 

“I swear this is their best kept secret,” she said as she pushed open the outer doors.

They entered into the bio-pond. The algae green ambiance contrasted sharply with the tidiness of Galatea’s interior. Despite her claim, a few other people drifted around the edges, absorbed in their own work. They didn’t pay the pair of them any mind.

It was the first time he had stepped outside all week. The damp air was suddenly much easier for him to breathe. She sat him down by the edge of the pond. A row of turtles sat on a log in the center of the water. The grass was soft, slightly damp. It felt cool against his palms.

Kitty leaned forward over the water, pointing out the fish that lived inside of it. He saw her claws poke out like she wanted to snatch them straight from the water, but she held herself back. 

He didn’t speak. Subconsciously, he tried to shield his arms, covering up the bruises from her sight. Of course, they weren’t there anymore. And when they had been, she’d seen them already. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but he saw the sky slowly fading to purple by the end of it. The mosquitos were starting to bite. 

“Why don’t you hit me?” He’d asked when he finally had to return to his room. She went in with him, just for a little while, until she had to go back to her own. His head had drooped a little when he asked in, in its exhausted state.

“Whyyy would I hit you?” She asked instead, hooking one finger around his. This time, he didn’t flinch, felt no urge to withdraw it.

Because he was difficult, more needy than he’d been in years. Because he was evil, because he deserved it. Because she could. Because everyone else always had.

He shrugged.

“Never,” she promised. She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. 

His chest ached.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

[disniq]

The thing is, I actually think it's a super interesting angle to look at the intersection of trauma and mental illness and vigilantism and coping mechanisms with Jason's character.

But, for me, if you want to seriously ask at what point does Jason need therapy more than he needs the vigilante lifestyle it's not Red Hood Jason you should be looking at. Red Hood Jason was literally murdered and the mysteriously resurrected. That's not something you can therapy your way out of! That's something that no amount of talking will ever help you understand, because it's a completely incomprehensible event!

No, if anyone needs therapy it's 12 year old Jason.

It's 12 year old Jason, who has poverty trauma and homelessness trauma and prison system trauma and parentification trauma and drug related trauma and, depending on your reading, potentially sexual trauma.

It's 12 year old Jason, who is taken in by Bruce - a man who is *also* severely traumatised (in extremely different ways) and chooses to dress up as a Bat and punch people about it instead of seeking healthy coping strategies.

It's 12 year old Jason, who Bruce decides - without psychiatric training or so much as a second opinion - needs the same outlet that "helped" Bruce and "helped" Dick.

And by the time aditf rolls around, Bruce is maybe just realising that he's made a mistake. But it's too late, because for two years he's told this child - a child who arguably feels indebted to him, a child who is extremely isolated and had very few if any other trusted adults to talk to - that violence and avoidance is how you deal with emotions.

I think that's fascinating to think about!

That Bruce's own failure to process his trauma left him blind to what Jason might actually have benefited from! That if Bruce had noticed Jason struggling earlier, if he'd reacted differently or explained himself better in aditf, Jason might not have felt the need to travel around the world alone looking for a woman he'd never met and only just learned about!

That if *Bruce* had been healthier, had been to therapy instead of throwing all his energy into vigilantism, none of this might have happened!

Reframe Red Hood Jason as a tragedy of Bruce's own making, not because of the classist bullshit that Jason was always going to end up a criminal and Bruce failed to stop that, but because Bruce's terrible coping mechanisms became *Jason's* terrible coping mechanisms and nobody likes to see the worst parts of themselves in the mirror.

[lucrezianoin]

Thinking about Astarion saying that he gave up after just a few lashes. Joking about how if Durge kills him then he got sloppy and probably had it coming. Laughs at the fact that visiting Cazador's palace will bring up so many pathetic memories, saying it in a mocking tone. Insist that none of the other spawns is deserving of anything because they look pathetic. Putting a clear divide between his old pathetic self and his current new stronger self (in his eyes). The way he mockingly says "elven prostitutes".

[rosesradio]

“why would you ever think of a minor” is absolutely sending me. sorry guys pack it up turns out thinking of a minor is immoral now

me when my child is crying for food but i can't think of feeding them because that's inherently predatory

[i-spilled-my-soup]

post ttc nico thinking bianca might have lived if he was only smarter and stronger and better, and bianca being the only role model he'd had for all the life he'd remembered he absolutely overcompensates becoming a caricature of distrust and seclusion. but he isnt used to it like bianca was and his desire to help (to prove his worth? to prove that he has a right to live when his sister didn't?) manifests in clinging to any opportunity of progress, anything that could earn him graditute or at the very least repentance

[winepresswrath]

what louis did to lestat and what louis did to armand are connected and that's important to the story but also. it is simply not the same. nothing louis did excuses armand's behaviour, that's not how anything works, but he did not "cross a line" or "poke at armand," he weaponized armand's history of abuse to belittle and demean him. nothing armand said to louis came close- the equivalent would have been "oooh, i'm such a stupid bitch that my husband can beat me half to death and i'll keep crawling back for more even when it endangers my daughter!" it's retraumatizing and deeply destabilizing to hear that shit from your partner. and in response armand should have been like "well this man sucks when he's high and he's high all the time, so i'm bouncing" but if he'd done that we wouldn't have a story, would we?

edit: i've come back to give armand credit for "claudia didn't love you like we did/do. ps. u used her to distract from your own hurt feelings" that shit does hit in a similar way. however "the ways someone hurt you have left you contemptible and weak. they scrawled 'dirty and annoying' all over your soul in red ink and it's never coming off" is just outstanding work. timeless

[3rdsday]

Something I really like about the Society of the Blind Eye episode is that the kids' sympathy for Fiddleford doesn't diminish when they learn that he was the one responsible for his own memory loss. Like, they could have been really judgmental about how he was the ultimate cause of how he ended up, but instead they still felt bad for him and wanted to help him.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[defensive-tactics]

Those of us who post self defense articles and advice do NOT blame victims if they are attacked. We're just trying to help keep people safe.

[howifeltabouthim]

That he had hunted me so quietly, that I had allowed my neck to get caught in the teeth of something stupid.

Lisa Taddeo, from Animal

[gonkaccino]

I'm really trying to enjoy Agatha All Along, but...it's just making me miss Doom Patrol. More specifically, it's making me miss whatever the fuck Rita and Laura had going on, and the anticipation of finding out which new and exciting way room patrol was going to rip my heart out and smash it to bits this week.

I could rewatch it at any time. It's still on Max, and even if it wasn't, I own the DVDs. The only barrier between me and another happy rewatch of my favorite show is the memory of how much it fucking HURT the last time.