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#i think they deserve to have normal childhood experiences

fwckriley · 1 year

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I've read lots of fanfics and headcanons about Ghost with partners who are usually kind, pure, like a angel, all flowers and butterflies and stuff etc. I get it, but no offense, and looking at it from another perspective, when you think about people who have experienced childhood trauma, they tend to repeat certain patterns. I'm not saying that every person with a traumatic past will have a toxic relationship.

But, you see: I personally believe that Ghost would never give a chance to someone he deems "perfect," innocent, pure, because that's completely opposite to how he sees himself. How could he be in a relationship with someone so different from him? How could he be understood by someone who doesn't have a certain darkness within? I'm not saying it wouldn't work, but I think a part of him would never fully reveal itself out of fear of being judged. On the other hand, I believe he would also seek out people who, in some way, are unattainable, to reaffirm that little voice inside him saying he doesn't deserve to be loved. Of course, none of this is really true, but that's how the mind of someone with many traumas tends to work.

I think he would avoid relationships and commitments for a long time, and wouldn't be able to choose someone outside of his field of work. "Normal" people could never understand the things he does, they could try, but never fully comprehend. In my opinion, he would fall in love, without realizing it, with someone from his field of work, probably a teammate with whom he shared many experiences. Someone with whom he has a deep connection. And, as I mentioned at the beginning, I believe he would unconsciously seek out more complex people. I see him attracted to people with a similar outlook on life, who are tougher and more realistic. Who share a darker sense of humor. Who have also experienced some kind of trauma in the past, so they can understand how he feels. I imagine him in a relationship with someone who has these characteristics, and unlike him, is ambiverted or extroverted. Someone who challenges him, calls him out when he's wrong, or is determined. Someone honest, but not rude. Someone funny, smart, creative. Someone with a thirst for adventure and a spark, to contrast with some parts of him.

But honestly, I can't picture him with someone he deems pure and perfect. He doesn't feel worthy or even attracted to that. He tends to surround himself with people who are similar to him because that's where he feels comfortable. Just to clarify, it doesn't necessarily mean that this partner in question would be a bad or toxic person, but simply someone similar to him. I believe Price is the best example of that, who is good but not innocent, not entirely right.

In the end, I think the relationship with the chosen person would be a challenging but functional one. Not toxic, not abusive or destructive, just difficult. Traumatized people are human and fully capable of relating to each other, but it takes patience and determination, and a lot of work. I think that over time, they would improve greatly. Because Ghost's biggest fear is one-sidedness. He needs to know that he is protecting and helping, but he also needs to feel protected and helped.

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #call of duty mw2 #simon riley x y/n #cod imagine #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley headcanons

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 7 months

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ok so obviously all disabilities valid all disabled people should be allow talk about experiences and struggles even if another disabled person have worse but like also

don’t think like. highly conventionally successful disabled person who get live relatively normal life with their non terminal illness. should be allow go on speak for & speak about severely disabled people / with terminal illnesses / etc. as if their experiences “basically same thing” because both disabled. dont think it ableist point out these two groups clearly have different lives different experiences different relationship with disability. actually think it ableist to weaponize own disability status to speak for more marginalized group.

of course there going overlaps between two, like someone can be highly conventionally successful and have terminal illness for example

but for example am think about like. white PhD middle class published author who disabled but live independently who clearly can hold job (and highly rigorous education) and very high cognitive abilities. clearly not same & should not get speak for, idk, someone nonverbal severe autism severe ID with no functional communication who need 24/7 supervision. or kid with childhood dementia who lose ability almost moment they gain them who may die before even reach two digit age & lucky if get live to adolescence. like idk i think you just shouldn’t.

of course that PhD disabled person please talk about your experiences, academia highly gatekept very inaccessible need all feminist disability justice disabled people voices. but moment pretend you know it all pretend you get access to all disability, you just ableist.

and if you hear “some disabled people have it worse/more severe than others” and immediately think am pro eugenics think am advocate for kill all disabled people who “bad” quality of life, or somehow need other people feed you wipe your butt mean you can’t live happy fulfilling life, or am say milder disability deserve less or something something about invisibly disabled people or immediate “what about me”ism or idk whatever you all say, when there never ever word mention about that. idk, you the one who drew connection, not me. that on you.

#loaf screm #disabled #actually disabled

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starspyder · 2 months

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𝘐 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘺 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘕𝘦𝘢𝘵 // 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

Summary: Dean Winchester is a hardened man. While he would love to, he can’t maintain a proper relationship due to his line of work. With how much of a sweetheart you are, Dean finds it almost impossible to keep you at an arm’s distance.

Warnings: implied age gap but it's not fully mentioned (reader is 27, Dean is 40 in this if ur curious), moderate angst, AQUAPHOBIA WARNING (almost-drowning), witches, canon-typical violence, Dean saves you hehe, fluff, lowkey grumpy x sunshine, Dean is in denial and thinks you deserve better than him, self-hatred, guilt on Dean’s part, you’re both into each other but he’s so scared of hurting you, Southern!Reader bc i said so hehehe, Dean is YEARNING

Gif from Pinterest

Word Count: 1462

Dean would never consider himself soft. Sure, he was good with kids, but only because he basically had to raise Sam by himself. Those experiences in his own childhood slipped from his hands like sand in an hourglass, and that little ball of softness went right with it.

Until one case in Louisiana, when it practically fell right into his arms.

He and Sam had been there tracking a coven of witches in New Orleans, like something straight out of American Horror Story. Based on the news reports, the victims were all friends or family of one of the suspected witches– likely her initiation into the group, to prove she was worthy. A young girl had gotten caught in the crossfire, simply because she was roommates with one of them, and accidentally led the Winchesters right to the coven.

He’d seen you right before they began the real hunt, having gone back to your house for a final round of questioning. Truthfully, he’d gone by to flirt his way into checking the house for any hex bags, but your witchy roommate was good about keeping it out of her living space. When he didn’t find anything, he couldn’t seem to deny your offer for a cup of coffee, while you did your best to inquire about the case.

“Why do you think Rebecca is involved?” You asked, somewhat nervously.

You sat across from Dean as he sat on the couch, cross-legged in a papasan chair, one hand tapping your thigh nervously and the other holding your floral patterned mug.

“We’re just trying to rule her out as a suspect, Ma’am. As soon as we do that, the sooner we can get to figuring out what’s been happening around here.” He had reassured you. “Are you sure you haven’t been noticing any irregularities in her routine?”

“We have each other on some tracking app, just to be safe, y’know? She tells me that she leaves her job at 7:30 every Thursday, which is a fifteen minute drive from here. Rebecca would always tell me when she should be home, just in case anything happened,” You sighed.

Dean’s eyebrows raised as he waited patiently for you to continue.

“About three months ago, she just kinda’ stopped doin’ it. She’s been going out a lot more than normal, with a big group of girls– met ‘em at work, she said.” “Do you know where they’ve been going?”

“Mostly just to clubs around town. I checked one day because she hadn’t been home all night and I was worried. Her last location was some place near Lake Pontchartrain, a few miles deep into the woods. I tried finding it online, but nothing turned up. Rebecca hates being outside, she hates camping and all that stuff, so there’s no reason for her to be there.”

“Do you happen to have an exact location?”

Your head shook. “It’s a big area, not a lot of cell towers.”

Dean leaned forward and took your hand, which had still been tapping against your leg. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, Sweetheart.” The next night, a Thursday, Sam and Dean had tracked the coven down to some ritual spot in the middle of the forest. It didn’t take them long, considering that half a mile out, they could hear terrified cries for help.

They found you, tied to a tree and begging for your life as the witches teased and taunted you– even the girl who you told them you considered your best friend.

“You know, Y/N, you’re just too sweet sometimes. You even let an entire coven slip under your nose, because you couldn’t think for a second that your best friend would ever hurt you.” Rebecca sneered, kneeling in front of you and tracing the swell of your cheek with a knife.

“Please, Becca, don't hurt me, I won’t tell anyone!” You cried, tugging against the ropes that cut into your wrists.

Dean was ready to jump out and kill her right then, but Sam’s arm across his chest kept him at bay. For now. “Don’t hurt me! Please, spare me. Killing you is the key to getting everything I’ve ever wanted! You’re the one who kept telling me to do what I wanted for once!” Dean watched as the large bonfire cast an orange glow over your terrified features, and his chest ached that he couldn’t quell that fear. It made him think back to Lisa, how much he cared for her. Only after a week, wasDean absolutely enamored with you.

It didn’t take long for the brothers to swing into action, killing the witches with surprising ease. They were plenty in number, but their skill couldn’t rival the brothers’ experience.

As Sam cut your ropes, Dean was chasing after Rebecca as she chanted out a string of Latin. By the time he killed her, the damage had been done and you were writhing on the forest floor, water coming out of your mouth like there was a well in your lungs.

You collapsed into Dean’s arms, grasping at your throat as your eyes watered, chest heaving through the pain.

“Find the fucking bag!” Dean yelled, maneuvering you on your knees, face pointed at the ground as you drowned in open air. Sam dropped to the ground, fumbling through piles of leaves and dirt to find the offending item. In the scramble, the hex bag was kicked near the fire, causing Dean to yank his gun out and shoot it, breaking the spell.

You gasped for breath like a fish out of water as you coughed up the last of the water wheezing and panicking from the fear. “It's okay, you’re safe.” Dean comforted, holding you to his chest as your body was wracked with sobs.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.”

When they were leaving town, Dean made one last stop to visit you in the hospital where you were recovering.

“How are you feelin’, Sweetheart?” He asked, sitting next to your hospital bed. The doctors had decided to keep you for observation for a few days, citing potential damage to your lungs.

“Like hell,” You said with a grin. “Y’all headin’ off?”

Dean nodded. “Gotta head back home. Do you have anywhere you’re planning on going once you’re out of this dump?”

“Not really. I don’t have any family I’m close to, so nobody to couch-surf with. I’m definitely leavin’, though. ‘M not quite sure where I’ll end up.”

He could hear the tinge of sadness in your voice. He knew what it was like to not have a family, a place to call home. He knew it all too well.

“Come with us.”

The rest was history.

Dean couldn’t help but think back to that day often. How lucky he was to have saved at least one life that day. Your life.

He often felt dirty. You were a bright young girl, who could’ve had a great future, had you not been caught up in the mess of their lives. Not once did you ever complain, going with the flow and learning what you could to help them. You were so selfless, almost to a fault; you put up with his temper, his yelling, and when he was feeling particularly annoying. You helped clean his wounds when he was hurt, and when he was once sick, you made him tomato and rice soup, that tasted just like what Mary would make when he still held his innocence.

Dean took his whiskey neat, while you stuck to those same girly cocktails that Sam swore he didn't like.

You were too good to be tarnished by the likes of Dean Winchester.

Dean would always be an eternally bitter man who was constantly angry at something. He rose early due to incessant nightmares, drinking black coffee at three in the morning to stave off his near constant exhaustion. When those nightmares were about you, as they often were, nowadays, he would poke his head in your bedroom just a few doors down, his heart rate calming at how soft you looked, wrapped up in your blankets and a small light on your desk casting a warm light around the room.

Your skin would always glow under the light, illuminating your features and the curve of your nose, how your hair fell into your face and how you would let out a wistful sigh every so often.

You were such a stark contrast to the man who stood in your doorway almost every night. If Dean was marble, you were a flower that could be crushed under it. He was the knife, you were the sacrificial lamb. No matter what universe, Dean would ultimately be your demise, just like everyone else in his life.

As he would gently close the door, he would take one last look at you and whisper one sentence.

“You’re too sweet for me.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #starspyderfics #supernatural #supernatural x reader

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deputyrook · 7 months

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Impressions- 3/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

PART 1. PART 2.

You're a reluctant psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Weren't you supposed to be afraid?)

Word count: 4581

WARNINGS: Child abuse, attempted infanticide, corruption, stockholm syndrome, drug use (painkillers), blackmail, power imbalance, abusive dynamics, overt threatening, general Saw-levels of horror & violence.

You dream about the bathroom again.

Your mother is there, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her hair tied back. It's your childhood home, the bathroom on the second floor just beyond the top of the stairway, painted a garish teal that was popular in the late 70s.

You think you are four years old. Your mother is chattering to you as she fills the tub. She's telling you that she's sorry, but it has to be done- that you're sensitive just like her, she can tell, and that this life will ruin you.

She has to save you from it. You deserve better than this, she says to you, smoothing down your hair with wet hands. Life is too bad, too hard. Too filled with pain and bad people. You're not like them.

The water is cold, and dark. The bathtub seems to expand as you're held underwater- you open your eyes, and they burn. Blurry shapes pass across your vision. The darkness seems to go on forever.

(You were dead for three minutes, the doctors said, before they were able to resuscitate you.)

Somewhere in the haze of the dream, you zoom out to a bird's eye view, and the bathroom starts to decay. You see the top of the toilet crack, the mirror shatter and fall. A chain is attached to the radiator, snaking around your ankle. The light flickers. There is a puddle of blood in the centre of the room.

When you wake up, you are drenched in sweat.

You don't text Mark Hoffman about that dream, instead groggily taking a handful of painkillers to ensure a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

It had only been after your near death experience that you'd started getting flashes, the images and emotions that your childhood friends didn't. At the time, the doctors chalked up to trauma. Later, you learned to keep it quiet.

Maybe, somewhere in the world- wherever she was now- your mother had woken up after the same dream. You are just about the same age now as she was then, and when you look in the mirror, you see the same tired eyes.

She was right about one thing, you think, your recent visions coming back to you. Life is full of pain.

As you lay back down, your cat Prawn crawls up beside you and starts purring relentlessly. He shoves his face against yours, like he can tell you're feeling down. He smooshes against you, and despite yourself you chuckle, petting him softly.

The last thing you wonder before you fall asleep is what your mother would think of what you're doing now. She may have been right about life, but she was wrong about you.

You are like them. Maybe worse.

---

"What do you mean, you haven't had any visions since yesterday morning?" Mark asks as he drives, gloved hands gripping the wheel so tightly that you're surprised he doesn't leave a permanent indent on it.

"I took some painkillers yesterday. They block out the noise, at least for a bit," you answer, sparing a look over at him, "I wanted to be a normal human being for a while."

He shakes his head in what appears to be annoyance, distaste or disappointment- you can't tell which.

"Quit complaining," He says, without even a hint of sympathy. You wonder if sympathy is an emotion he knows how to feel, "Pills aren't going to make you feel normal."

With your senses dulled, you feel cut-off from the world around you, and by extension, Mark Hoffman. Without the bleed of other people's emotions, thoughts, and memories into your mind, you feel more independent, more a person. It comes at the cost of your intuition, but at least you can tell a bit more clearly where Jigsaw ends and you begin.

Still, somewhere along the way, you stopped flinching every time Mark Hoffman looked at you. It's incredible, what the human mind can normalize. How it can change fear to thrill to anticipation.

"It'll come back, it always does. Pretty soon, if my timing is right," You shoot Mark a look, "Wouldn't want to be useless to you."

He sneaks a glance back at you. "I'm sure I could find a use for you."

For a second, it feels like the energy in the car changes. With that insinuation, there's a tension between you that becomes obvious. The air in the car feels tight.

It feels dangerous. Your cheeks flush, and you don't exactly know how to respond to that, so you drum your fingers on your thigh and look out the window.

"It's been affecting me," you admit, finally, changing the subject. "I've been connected to this web of the worst of humanity. I needed a break."

Mark scoffs. "You're telling me that shutting your eyes and pretending it's not happening is going to make you feel better?"

"A little," you lie, before you sigh and stretch. "Maybe when my intuition comes back, I should just go to a dog park, close my eyes, and pet all the dogs."

"You get any hits on the dogs being mistreated, you can send the owners my way," Mark replies, deadpan.

You actually laugh out loud at that, mostly out of surprise. Mark still looks serious- he really doesn't smile all that often. Was that a joke? Probably not entirely, but either way, you can't help but smile as you shake your head at his audacity.

Your suspicion that Mark is at least somewhat serious is confirmed when he continues.

"We could do a lot of good work like that," Mark adds quietly after a moment, "You pick them. I test them. You sense the threats, I deal with them from the inside. A pretty fucking effective team, if you ask me."

"Is that what you want? Us to murder people together?" You ask, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Yeah," Mark replies simply, seriously. A shiver runs across your skin, and at that single word, your stomach drops. It seems too real a possibility, suddenly. That you could actually do it. That you would actually do it. That you could do it, together, and not get caught.

"Did you forget that I'm here under duress?" You reply uncomfortably. The words sound like a lie even to you as they leave your mouth.

"Really? I don't see a gun to your head." He points out. You shuffle in your seat, and pick at a seam on your jeans. He's right, and the guilt of it hits you square in the chest.

What are you doing here, if it's not because you've been forced to be? The answer just makes you feel more guilty, rising like bile in your throat.

You've enjoyed being needed. He's dangerous, and he's taking you seriously, bringing you along. He needs you, he wants you here.

You've been having fun.

He'd kill you in a second if you threatened him, without an ounce of regret. You still like him. Are you insane? Suicidal?

Fuck. It hurts your head. It takes every image you've ever had of yourself and crumples it into a little paper ball. And sets it on fire. You don't even know who you are anymore.

"How would Jigsaw number one feel about that?" You ask instead, trying to hide the sudden waves of turmoil that crash through you, making you feel sea-sick and confused.

"Pretty soon, it won't matter," Mark's voice is dark, and he looks straight ahead at the road as he drives. Once again, you have no idea where he's taking you, but you've been driven well outside of the city centre. The area is dilapidated, and you pass lawn after lawn filled with detritus and garbage.

It didn't even occur to you to try to remember the route to get here.

"I wasn't sure about it at first either," Mark murmurs after a while, with a cruel twist of the corner of his mouth, "Then I realized. They have a real chance to get out alive. Maybe they learn their lesson. Maybe they don't. Well, then, we can just put them back into the games until they figure it out, or they die. It's housekeeping."

"That's fucked up. These are people you're talking about. With their own lives and hopes and dreams," Is it him you're trying to convince, or yourself? Maybe you're pushing your luck, arguing with him as much as you are. It's weightless, regardless. Here you are, tagging along, no gun in sight.

"Nah. You said it yourself- the worst of humanity. Fuck 'em." Mark pulls into a long driveway of an old abandoned school building, driving his car around the back and parking in the grass, out of sight from the road. You can see broken windows, glass scattered around the entrances, and brick walls splashed with colourful graffiti.

He turns off the engine of his car, and then turns fully to you.

"Come on. You wanna find out what you really think?"

Mark has a key to the back door, and the rusted lock opens with an imposing click. Even with the key, it feels like you shouldn't be here. A sense of foreboding edges your awareness, and you can tell the medication is starting to wear off by how deeply you're unsettled in this atmosphere. You seem to be entering through an administration sector of small back offices.

The building smells of mildew and grease, of rust and water damage. As he enters the hallway, Hoffman flips a series of switches just to the left of the entry, which light the narrow back hallways in an uncanny florescence. If not for the light, you would have thought this place was abandoned.

Something bad has happened here, or is happening here.

"Follow me," he murmurs, and with confident strides, he leads you through the administration section and out into the main hallway of the school. You trail behind him quietly, wondering if you would be able to navigate your way out of this building again if you were left here.

He takes you up an old metal stairway, and then into a large room which you can tell used to be a library. Compared to the other parts of the building you've seen, this room is much better kept, clear of rubble and debris. Someone's taken the time to clear it out, at least mostly. Old bookshelves stand empty, and a series of round tables in the room now hold various pieces of equipment.

It's been turned into a workshop, you realize.

Blueprints are spread across the tables, along with a number of cassette tapes and what appears to be recording equipment. A large black television is set up on a TV cart near the front of the room, with wires connecting to a receiver of some kind.

Resting on one of the tables, contrasting so severely with the rest of the equipment on it, there's an old, faded teddy bear.

"See that?" Mark says, pointing to the toy. "I wanna know what kind of a read you get on it."

"Why do I feel like this isn't going to be fun?" You murmur anxiously, but you do as he instructs, approaching the table and picking up the bear. Turning it over in your hands, you close your eyes, and allow the feelings to creep up onto you.

You were right. Something bad happened here.

There was a little boy, no older than six, you think, who had held onto the bear so tightly. You feel his confusion, more than anything else at first. What had he done wrong? Why was his teacher so angry?

Why did it hurt so much?

Pain flashes through you, bright and sharp, from your elbow to your shoulder. You cringe, still holding the bear, trying to piece together what had happened to the boy. You can feel his fear, pure and unrestrained, making you shake.

"Got it?" Mark asks, and you realize he's come up to stand right behind you. He leans over you, his chest nearly touching your back, and speaks low, directly into your ear. It makes you shiver for a different reason. "Now, open your eyes. Watch."

Holding up a remote beside you, you open your eyes to watch as he clicks on the television with it. It crackles to life, and it takes you a second before you register what you're looking at, through the static of what appears to be a live feed.

A man that you would guess is in his mid-60's is restrained to a chair in an abandoned classroom, each of his arms fastened into metal contraptions. Something large is attached to the back of the chair, almost looking like an industrial turtle shell.

"Holy shit," you breathe, your eyes going wide. You drop the teddy bear in shock at what you're seeing, as the man begins to yell for help and writhe in the chair, trying to free his arms

"No, hold onto it," Mark says into your ear, reaching around you. Placing his hands on top of yours, he guides your touch back to the bear, his chest now fully flush against your back.

As you touch the toy again, the impressions come back, stronger this time. Not just the boy, but others as well. Left alone, trapped somewhere, difficult to breathe- suffocating in darkness. Where is my mom, I want my mom-

Anger begins to churn inside of you, so thick and strong it sickens you. You grit your teeth as you stare at the screen.

"Hello, Martin," A distorted voice says. Jigsaw. You can't see the TV from the camera's vantage point, but you can see the person in the chair whip his head toward the sound. "I want to play a game."

The man on the screen whimpers. "No, no, no," he moans.

"You worked at this school for almost three decades before they finally fired you. There were never any charges laid. But there were rumours for years about how you took out your rage on those who couldn't fight back."

You can feel the tears starting to well in your eyes as you stare up at the screen, transfixed in horror. The kids weep and scream in your mind like ghosts, begging to tell you how they suffered.

"You called it your isolation room. A closet hideaway, barely larger than a cardboard box. How many children did you force to stay there, curled up and injured for hours, for the sake of discipline?"

"It was a mistake!" The man yells out, voice breaking, "Please, I'm sorry, I was doing my best-"

"You have two minutes to press down on the peddles under your feet. Doing so will tear away the top layer of skin from your hands, degloving them. Keep your feet pressed down until the process is finished. Once your hands have been degloved, you will be able to pull them from the machine and press the buttons releasing you from the chair."

The man wails in misery. Mark Hoffman rests his chin on your shoulder, and you can feel his eyes watching the footage with you, so intently. The heat of his body pressed against yours, his large, rough hands over yours. The terror and anguish of the children, the shrieking of the man in the trap. It makes you dizzy.

"If you fail to do so before the time runs out, spikes will emerge from the contraption on your back, impaling you. Now we will see how disciplined you are."

The man gasps, and then, as the timer begins to tick down, begins to scream in earnest. You watch as he presses his foot down on the pedal, feeling the reverberation of his panic bounce back onto you.

"I can't do this," you say, squeezing your eyes shut, your nails digging into the fabric of the toy. Your head pounds with the echoes of the children crying, with their shame and embarrassment and panic, and with the howling screams of the man on the screen. It all layers, in a cacophonous symphony of violence and horror that drowns out all other thought.

"It's too much, it's so loud. I can't think, I- I need to shut it out." With one hand letting go of the toy, you dig into your jacket pocket, fishing for your prescription bottle.

"No, no," Mark snaps. He grabs your wrist, tight, and snatches the bottle of painkillers. "No more fucking pills. Watch."

"It's too much," you whisper, wincing. Your mind screams, unable to make sense of all of the information it's taking in. You need to think about this, but all you can do is feel, overstimulated and shaking-

"Detective. I don't think you've introduced me to your friend."

The dry voice cuts through everything else. You realize the screaming has stopped. When you open your eyes again, you see someone has paused the feed on the television.

It isn't live.

Mark freezes, his body immediately going stiff behind you. Although you've never heard this voice before, you recognize it all the same. You drop the teddy bear, as Mark removes his hand from your wrist and steps back away from you. The removal of the warmth of his body leaves yours feeling colder than before.

"Uh oh. You're in trouble," A second voice chimes in, sing-song and clearly elated that you've been caught here, together.

You're hoping Mark will say something on your behalf, but he doesn't. Your head pounds, and your skin feels almost too-sensitive, but if your intuition has ever told you anything, it's that this is not the time to fall apart.

So you turn, looking at the source voices, and muster up all of the courage you can. You are proud that your voice wavers only a little.

"Um. Hello. Jigsaw, and... Amanda Young, I assume." You cast a furtive glance at Mark, who finally seems to have recovered and composed himself, standing up straighter.

John Kramer sits in a wheelchair, wearing a long black and red robe that trails on the ground. Amanda stands behind him with her hands on the handles of the wheelchair, leaning her weight on it

Nothing about John Kramer suggests that he is weak or feeble to you, despite his thin frame and poor health. Instead, you sense a chessmaster, and a conqueror sits before you, a King in a throne. You get the image of a strategist who has been leading his troops through a war, claiming victory after victory through careful battlefield positioning.

"I can explain," Mark says slowly, keeping his voice even and calm.

"Oh, I'm listening," Kramer replies, tilting his head slightly and watching you carefully. His tone is curious and measured, and you sense that he's already re-arranging his plans in his mind, re-evaluating them and trying to determine how you're going to affect things. If he's angry with Hoffman, you can't tell.

"I wanted to test them myself, before I told you, in case it ended up being a waste of time," Hoffman says, shooting a glance at you, "I've never met someone so good at reading people. Except maybe you."

"You've got to be kidding," Amanda says, nearly laughing, "So you took them here, and showed them the footage from our last game? I knew you were an idiot, but this is really next level."

"We already abandoned this place as a workshop," Mark gestures to the TV, sounding irritated, "I sure as hell wasn't going to leave any evidence lying around after I took them home. Place would have been cleared out by tomorrow morning."

"And if they, oh, you know- reported you? Told someone?" Amanda asks. Mark looks like he's about to argue back at her, but John holds up a hand.

"I know you're smart enough not to take unnecessary risks, especially with your identity. But you should have brought this to my attention immediately," John says to Mark. Hoffman actually grimaces, like a kid being scolded.

John turns his attention to you, in cold and calculating interest, "What do you have to say?"

Cherish your life, the wind whispers in your ear. Right now, your life felt pretty fucking cherished, in the it-is-literally-on-the-line sense.

"I guessed that Detective Hoffman was one of your accomplices a few weeks ago," You answer, hoping that you're not going to talk yourself into a corner, "Not that I had any proof, but...he's been keeping a close eye on me, since then."

"And why haven't you gone to the police?" John asks, critical. The big question. Something urges you to just lay all of your cards out on the table.

"I don't... know, to be honest. Sometimes, things just come to me. Pieces of information, like drops of rain before a storm," John looks at you in interest, waiting silently, so you continue. "I feel like... the first one was personal, right? Like tiger stripes across the face, rough, rudimentary, righteous. He took something from you. Like the sun going out," You look at Mark. "The two of you are similar, like that."

Amanda and John stare at you, and you're worried you've said too much. Maybe you shouldn't have called his engineering rudimentary. You clear your throat, and shuffle your weight from one foot to the other.

"Interesting," Jigsaw remains expressionless, tone dispassionate. He looks at Mark's hand, still clenched around your prescription bottle, "...And the pills?"

You swallow. "Dampeners," you answer simply. He nods, like he understands, somehow. Amanda snaps her attention from you, to Mark, to John, like she can't believe what's happening. She makes a noise of clear protest.

"Come here, for a moment," Jigsaw says. You very much do not want to do that, but with Amanda glowering at you, you don't feel like you have much of a choice.

You walk over until you stand in front of him, heart hammering in your chest. With a hand, he beckons you to lean down, closer. Amanda looks just about ready to leap over his chair and strangle you.

As you lean in closer, you feel a prick on your neck. You look down to see John holding a needle, sticking it into your skin. He pushes an unknown liquid into your body.

"Oh," you say simply. Should have seen that coming.

The room goes dark.

---

When you wake up, you have gone from being in a bad situation to a much, much worse situation.

Somehow, you can sense that you were unconscious for a very long time. Now, though, you are wide awake, with adrenaline beginning to flood your body. Good- you're going to need it.

The first thing you register is that your eyes are very dry. The reason for this is immediately clear: your eyelids are being held open by a metal optician's speculum. You glance around your dark surroundings frantically in silent terror, unable to move your head. Some kind of a warehouse? No- a gymnasium. The school.

You can't move your body, either. You seem to be suspended in the air- how high up, you can't say- with your arms and legs locked into some kind of device. The height makes you nervous enough that you don't try to squirm.

Fuck. Stay calm. This is a Jigsaw game, which means there's a way out of it.

As you look back up above you, you can just make out through the darkness large jug of something positioned directly over your head. You catch the scent of something pungent and acidic.

It is becoming significantly harder to stay calm.

Below you, off to the side of the room, a television crackles to life.

"Hello," Jigsaw's voice says, addressing you by name, "I want to play a game." You can't see him, but you can imagine the puppet. Is the voice John's, Mark's or Amanda's through that modulation? You can't tell.

"You have been given a gift. A unique way of seeing the world. But you turn reject this strength. You silence it with painkillers, living in a wilful ignorance when you could know so much more."

So if it's John, someone has told him more about you. You wiggle your fingers. In each of your hands, there is some kind of device with a switch. Never a good sign.

"In your hands are two switches. By flipping each the switches, a single drop of acid will drop into your eyes, blinding you permanently. If you do not do so within two minutes, the restraints on your arms and legs will release, and you will be dropped in a tub of acid. I assure you, you will not survive."

Whimpering softly, the panic bubbles up in your chest, making it hard for you to catch your breath. It's much more difficult to turn inward and rely on your intuition with your eyes pried open- and maybe that was by design. If you could only shut them for a moment, then maybe your intuition could help you find a different way out of this.

"Will you embrace your gifts permanently by blinding yourself? Or will you die in ignorance? This is your test. Make your choice."

As the timer begins to tick, time seems to slow. You think of your mother's hands, holding you under the water, and the last words she said to you before she attempted to drown you.

Life is full of pain and bad people. She was right about that. You think of the kids from the school, forced to wait alone, curled up in the dark by their teacher. You think of Mark Hoffman, who delighted in the teacher's suffering.

You think of your cat Prawn, curled up by your head, and of the last time you grabbed lunch with Allison.

But she was wrong. Life is worth living, regardless.

You aren't going to fucking die here, alone. Not because of Jigsaw.

You flick the switches in your hands.

True to his word, the last thing you see are two drops of liquid, dripping down from above you into your eyes.

You scream as the acid burns you. You scream and you scream, until your voice breaks and your throat aches. You can smell the horrible scent of the acid burning your eyes, and hear something moving beneath you. A machine powers down, and you're slowly and gently lowered to the ground, no pool of acid waiting to swallow you whole.

When the restraints release your hands and feet, you rip the speculum out of your eyes, moaning in pain as you shut them and clutch at them. You curl into yourself, into a ball on the cold ground, and try not to cry.

And then, as you lie there in the dirt, panting and moaning, your awareness explodes. Your sixth sense replaces your fifth and crystallizes, smoothing out and filling in the gaps.

When you hear feet running to you, you already know whose they are. Detective Mark Hoffman, followed by Allyson Kerry. Detective Rigg isn't far behind.

You don't need to see to know.

"Kerry! Get over here, now!" Mark's voice barks out. You feel him lean in close to you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and holding you to his chest.

"You did it," he murmurs into your ear, only for you to hear, "You fucking did it. I knew you'd win."

You reach out, clinging to him. It still feels comforting. It still feels protective.

Lies upon lies.

---

yes. I accidentally nuked my blog. 🥲 but thank you for the support on this fic series! I would love to hear what you think- comments help me figure out what people are enjoying about the fics and what people want to see more of 💕

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban

NEXT CHAPTER

#mark hoffman #slasher fic #saw franchise #slasher x reader #saw movies #sawposting #costas mandylor #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman x oc #my writing

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californiannostalgia · 28 days

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Processing identity as a child abuse survivor

Recently I had a huge revelation. Come with me on this childhood trauma realization journey (if you want).

This post was written for those wavering on the 'was it abuse' question.

Fair warning, each of these revelations were a whammy. I recommend you keep in mind that these revelations will transform the way you see yourself and the world. This took me out of commission for hours at a time.

Revelation 1: Was I Abused?

Read this Tumblr post. Go down the list. Check the 'yes'es and 'maybe's.

'Was I abused' is a yes or no question. I need you to really think about this if your answer is 'kind of'. If you could be truly honest with yourself, what would your answer be?

For years I've gone to the logic of 'it wasn't that bad,' and 'at least the worst didn't happen,' or 'others have had it worse'. This is such a low bar. You deserve better than the bar your parents set for you. The socioeconomic circumstances and the normalization of violence in your living area? Yes, influential. But not a justification.

At the end of the day, the veracity of these statements don't even matter. It's a yes or no question: 'Am I a survivor of child abuse?'

It may take a really long time to truly process, and even then it might feel uncomfortable saying it like it's truth. I need you to know your truth is truth. It's a yes or no question.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress further until you've processed Revelation 1.

(Shameless plug-in of my fandom blorbo interests: Rick Riordan's Trials of Apollo series really helped me with this first revelation. It made me feel seen and less alone. It may not be perfect, but I personally liked it!)

Revelation 2: What does this mean? (health-wise)

Listen to this Ted Talk by an expert (medical professional).

youtube

This is the part where I got angry and really fucking sad. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be furious. Our life is not our fault and we're still stuck with this lot.

Genuinely this was such a shock for me to realize. The thing that has the biggest impact on my life is not my anxiety, depression, ptsd, insomnia, blood pressure, immune health, etc. The root cause of my physical and mental illnesses is Adverse Childhood Experiences.

ACE is more common than you'd think. Acknowledging that what happened to you was bad will be beneficial to humanity's survival in the long run. Like any illness, ACE can be fought at a societal level.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress to the next revelation until you've processed Revelation 2.

Take your time to be angry and sad. Take forever. You never have to forgive your abuser, even if they change their behavior. The chance at a civil acquaintanceship you might be willing to extend to your parents doesn't require your forgiveness.

Revelation 3: Why is your therapist recommending you retell your life story?

This one is mostly for when you have steady access to a therapist. Here are some things I wish I'd known before seeking out therapy in the US.

(Is it shitty that you can't get therapy on your own terms when you're underage? Yes, it fucking is. To those of us who survived to adulthood: holy shit y'all. At 19 I felt like absolute fucking bullshit, like my brain was a burning ball of tangled barbed wire. It does feel absolutely shitty. But reaching 19 is an achievement.)

The thing is, I do or say a lot of things that I later come to think of as embarrassing, inappropriate, or in certain circumstances, potentially abusive. Genuine trigger reactions happen. I will always have to live with a piece of my parents in my head. But I don't want to do to another person what they did to me. Self-awareness is what separates me from my abusers.

What to do about this? Number 1: chill out. You're not gonna be your abuser. Humans are unique and imperfect. They have not replicated themselves in you. It's okay to make mistakes when you're talking or reacting. Your brain is fucked up. You can do something differently next time.

Number 2: read this article about Overthinking, Over-apologizing, Oversharing, and Overwhelmed as trauma responses.

Then read this article on how to deal with Unresolved Trauma.

Yeah. It be like that. Isn't it fucked up? Recognizing the four Os in my behavior helped me realize I'm not an antisocial asshole by default.

Unresolved trauma is the root cause for my behaviors that I think of as unhealthy. This revelation happened very recently for me. Before this point in time, I couldn't understand why I would want to recount traumatic events in therapy.

At this point in time, I have regular access to a therapist I'm okay with. Going over memories and deconstructing the blame system seems like a reasonable thing to try.

What happened to you as a child is not your fault. You're not the one who landed yourself in your life. You've been given an unfairly difficult situation to be responsible for. You did not create your coping mechanisms for shits and giggles.

So yeah. Number 3: figure out your life with the help of a therapist. Let's see where we are ten years later or something.

Nothing is easy and everything is confusing. Take a break, hydrate, eat, sleep, do something nice for yourself. Do something you like doing. Thanks for reading.

#child abuse #domestic abuse #trials of apollo #mental health #life advice #my thoughts #resources #therapy #Youtube

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lavandulawrites · 3 months

Note

Hey!! Could I ask for H, I, J, and S for Atsushi? Thank you if you can🙏

Yandere Alphabet H, I, J and S with Atsushi

Atsushi is such a sweet man<3 (Yandere alphabet request here)

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence

Word count: 527

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Your worst experience with Atsushi was when he found you after some of the enemies of the Detective Agency had kidnapped you. He was shaking with anger after he had slain every one of your kidnappers. Blood coating his face making him look like a feral animal. The soft and kind Atsushi you knew where gone and replaced by a wild beast. He had yanked you up from the floor and threw your over his shoulder. The trip back to the small flat you shared had been awfully quiet. He had filled you a bath with gritted teeth. While you soaked in the warm bath water you couldn’t get the sight of Atsushi tearing out your abductors throat like a real life tiger, out of your mind. His fangs had been blood red accompanied with a sicking grin. He had dried you with a towel with a sad expression. It didn’t take long before he fell to his knees with tear soaked cheeks, apologising over and over again. He promised that you would never see that frightened side of him, again.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Atsushi wants to have a seemingly normal relationship with you. He only wishes for you to love him back. He will do anything for you, all you have to do is ask. After a while he wants to marry you. He had seen pictures of beautiful weddings in Yosanos’s magazines. After some years into your marriage he wants to have some kids. Only if you want too of course. He gets all giddy inside thinking of little mini yous and mini he’s.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He gets jealous quite easily do to his insecurities. His jealousy is rather quiet. He doesn’t lash out at the ones making him jealous, instead he grips your hand tight and staring said person down. When you get to a more scheduled place, he will tell you how he doesn’t like when other men are looking at you or talking to you. He explains to you that he is afraid of you leaving him for someone better. He doesn’t deserve you after all.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He have always been told that he doesn’t deserve to live so much that he started to believe it himself. You had shown him that you really cared for him and you told him that he did in fact deserve to live. It didn’t take long for him to develop a deep obsession with you. He followed you around everywhere and daydreamed of you when you couldn’t be with him. The other members of the Agency quickly caught on to his obsession, but didn’t do much. Instead they gave him advice on how to get you to feel the same for him. Atsushi is confused by his emotions at first, but quickly embraces them. He makes himself a promise that he will always protect you and that you will never part.

#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere atsushi #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #bsd atsushi #bungou stray dogs atsushi #nakajima atsushi #x reader

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zuffer-weird-girl · 10 months

Text

Is there a reason why I decided to remake a fic of my family au? No, not really, but I wanted to.

Why did he agreed on this? Why?

He could be free of any eyebags,. He could have more time om his work, projects to get the hassaikai back to their glory... more PRIVATE time with you.

But no. No, no no. Have a kid Chisaki they said, it will be a great experience they said.

"Daddy I threw up." The four years old boy mumbled in the door of his office and he could only grimace at the hint of the puke on the corner of his son's lips and all over his shirt.

It wasn't a fucking great experience at all when it came to this.

Kaito had came down with a lot of bad case of colds recently... ever since he was put into a pree school at least. It was normal for kids to get easily sick when they get introduced to a new environment with lots of children in it.

But he swore to all above that sometimes he would even beg to you, ON HIS KNEES EVEN, that if you guys just could home school your son since it was getting him sick like this VERY single time.

But you refused.

At first he was enraged but then you came with a very valid point.

'Kaito needs to interact with more people outside the yakuza... I don't have anything against the precepts, but I think our son deserves to have a normal childhood with actual friends close to his age at least.'

He hated when you were right...

He also wouldn't particularly enjoy that his son got too close with precepts either... he did killed Mimic for teaching Kaito the word 'shit'...

It also didn't help that YOU WERE OUT. You had went along with Chrono to retrieve the medicines the doctor had prescribed on the last visit so now he was basically alone with his kid.

His very dirty and sick kid.

"Good lord..." he growled and stood up from his chair as the boy bounced back and forth... despite being sick, Kaito was still fairly acting like it wasn't a big deal...

"Where is mommy?" The boy as he leaded him to the bathroom to get him cleaned, grab some towels..... and a new pair of gloves.

"Out." He groaned while carefully sliding the shirt off his son and immediately dumping into the basket of clothes ... the smell was almost making him wanting to throw his guts out as well...

"I want mommy... " the boy grumbled "You don't know how to do this..."

"Excuse me?" He breathed out in offense at this kid basically telling him he can't do something right "Get in the shower Kaito. Now."

"No."

This brat....

"Get in there before I make you." He growled and the little boy, already used to his father's attics, just had the audacity to show his tongue at him and turn his back to him.

"You dont how to wash my hair." The four years complained and Chisaki's right eye started to twitch.

"What do you mean by that-"

"Mommy does it better than you."

He groaned... his son was just as stubborn as him and he swore this was karma sended by the old man himself that ALSO was the one that proclaimed he wanted grandkids.

He just took his gloves off and went to grab Kaito's by the waist but the calm and collected kid started to trash around and making a fuss and even yelled when he was put under the water...

He also got splashed as well.... his dress t shirt and black pants now completely soaked.

Kaito when he got sick he acted like it didn't bother him, but he also would get extremely annoyed, clingy and even bossy...

And the fact that the kid also made a fuss to GET OUT of the shower he DIDN'T want to enter at first also started to pick on his damn nerves...

"What did you even ate before you threw up?" He growled while drying the kid who was sniffing for both being sick and crying out earlier about his father taking him out of the water.

"Just some sliced apples... and a chocolate bar uncle Rappa gave me-"

"WHAT?!" He accidentally yelled, immediately feeling like a dick for making his son flinch from the sound..

It reminding him of... her.

"... you can't eat those things when you got problems on your stomach." He said more calmly and drying his son's hair way gentler than usual "It just makes things worse and it ends with you throwing up."

Kaito's (E/c) looked up to his father and nodded, more calm than earlier as Kai sighed... The kid wasn't dumb, he knew when his father was out of patient or just tired... he could even sense it when the yakuza leader was down in the dumb.

Call it whatever you want. But the kid swore it was a talent that only him and his mother could have. The ability to understand Chisaki Kai.

His grandmother always told him that so he believed it.

"Sorry." The kid finally mumbled catching Kai's attention... usually golden cold eyes softening a bit.

"... is fine." He patted his son's head... he resisted the urge to smirk when his son's closed his eyes with a small giggle.

"Hey! I'm back from the- oh." You immediately stopped on your tracks in the living room as soon as you saw Kai, holding his son like a dog, making him take a liquid medicine.

"MOMMY HELP HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!" the boy whined and immediately got out of his father's death grip to run into you while sobbing a bit...

"He just threw up minutes ago." Kai growled while pointing to the culprit you had just picked up.

"He threw up and you didn't made a fuss out of it?" You teased your husband who only growled at you "I'm shocked."

"No. He was bad at it. See mama?" Kaito pulled a bit his hair "He forced me to take a shower and my hair is now weird... daddy also mentioned he would kill uncle Rappa."

"Listen here you little sh-"

"KAI!"

"He is asleep.." You sighed in relief before closing the door to your son's room and but soon catching your husband unusual expression of... worry? Dread? You couldn't exactly tell.

Apparently sensing your gaze on him he just stayed with his arms crossed over his chest before sighing.

"I don't think is normal for a infant to get constantly sick like this..."

Ah... so that was it.

He was worried. Worried that his son would only get worse on his health, worried that Kaito would be sick like this all of time.

Kai wouldn't ever say that out loud.. he would never express it with words that he was worried or cared for either Kaito or you... his actions though, express it louder how much he actually cared. From offering small acts of service to satisfy your wants and even allow himself to get out of his comfort zone to touch you...to protecting his kid on the playground like a angry wolf protecting his cub only because the kid had pushed Kaito with a bit more strength than usual.

Chisaki could be very bad with emotions... but he had them, and believing it or not, he felt them strongly.

"Is alright... the doctor already told us it's a common cold... Kaito is still young and is still developing his immune system..." You mumbled, offering to touch his arm as a warning to not make him uncomfortable.

He simply sighed, a sign you could touch him as you started to carres his upper arm...

"... is not a very... pleasant sensation to see him... on this state. I mean, not only is a mess and this brat gets even more audacious as usual but..." he stopped himself from talking with a scowl before widening his eyes when you made him turn to kiss his lips.

"I'm worried for our son too. But he is strong, just like his parents." You smiled up at your husband before he scoffed, turning to look back to his son's room. A faint blush present on the tip of his ears.

He didn't liked the feeling of his chest contracting in a painfully way every time when Kaito sobbed a bit that he was feeling weird and went straight to you as a comfort... he despised the idea of possibly getting whatever Kaito had but he also felt that it would hurt less if he got this damn cold rather his first born...

It was a very complicated feeling.

But...

Whenever he spotted his son. Giggling, laughing, running... playing with you, Chrono or Pops... it meant that he was well again... he was indeed health.

So yeah... things like seeing your smile and his son's smile... was worth all the nights without sleep or even the worst feeling of deep worry...

.... he didn't regret it. He would go back in time and agree all over again with you to have that brat he swore he would protect you and with his life.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #bnha villains #bnha x reader #bnha villains x reader #kai chisaki x reader #zuffer writings #chisaki family au #kaito chisaki

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buff-muffin · 4 months

Text

Thinkem bout… the ASL brothers and their relationship with clothing. Admittedly this is leaning more to head canon but fuck you.

I was just sorta thinking about the fact Makino would come visit and bring the boys clothing and what that must have meant to them. Like sure. Luffy was with Makino for the first few years of his life so this is normal. But he’s a (semi) growing boy living in the mountains they didn’t have clothes to spare so there was a good chance Luffy mainly started to wear hand me downs from Ace (or at least any that hadn’t been worn thread thin) so Makino was probably the only chance for him growing up to have his own shirts.

Which is cute and all. But then you get to Ace and Sabo and it gets so much sadder

Cause like. Sabo is the only one who never wears a different outfit and we KNOW Makino gave him some. He was wearing a different shirt when she visited. And and we know Ace would 100% let Sabo use his shirts. He’s not materialistic about fashion. Yett he doesn’t. And sure, Sabo may just prefer to dress more distinguished from his brothers. But he hates being a Nobel. Wouldn’t he have lept at the chance to be more normal? Or did he feel he couldn’t be. That he didn’t deserve to? Not someone with blood like his…

And then there is ACE. He grew up with Bandits that definitely cared… to a degree, but clearly were not prepared to raise a kid. And it wasn’t like they could just, take him shopping, I get the feeling Ace never really had clothes that fit him right. Always two or three sizes too big or shoes too tight. He was told he would simply grow into them and not much of a whiner, he simply just accepted that. But we SEE Makino actually making sure his clothes fit right. She makes sure to hold it up and get him clothes in his size. And sure he may have had a childhood crush on her or something. But that may as well also be the first time someone’s ever actually measured him for clothing and the first times he’s ever been given a shirt that fits just right. A new experience for him and something I truly think he would have treasured.

#none of these boys have a good sense of fashion and I love them #Makino is a blessing to the earth #if there’s a spelling or grammar error suck my digital dick #one piece #asl brothers #asl trio #one piece sabo #portgas d ace #monkey d. luffy #curly dadan #one piece makino #headcanon #thoughts #rambles

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ninadove · 10 months

Note

Hello, all respectfully, may I ask, why do you want emilie to be dead? I mean adrien deserves to have his mom back, don’t you think? You can answer it thru private chat if it makes you more comfortable.

No that’s perfectly fine! I love getting a chance to overanalyse and write down my own thoughts! 📝

So, I have a complicated relationship with Emilie as a character, but I don’t hate her by any means. I do believe she is a lot less pure and innocent than we were first led to believe, but that makes her much more compelling, so as far as I’m concerned it’s a great writing choice.

The reason I think she should be dead, or more accurately, stay dead (the nuance is crucial), is simply storytelling.

As fun as the show is, it is also pretty serious when it wants to be, and these 5 seasons were written with a couple of core messages in mind:

Part of the experience of being human is to accept that there is no magical solution to our problems. Sometimes things don’t work out, sometimes we lose the people we care about; and actions bring consequences, always. This is why using the Peacock carries such a heavy toll, even after it is fixed, and why the Lucky Charm primarily relies on Marinette’s intelligence and creativity (characteristically human qualities) rather than being an automatic problem solver.

Whenever these losses occur — you have to move on. Staying stuck in the past means depriving yourself of a chance to enjoy the present and plan for the future. All of the events of these 5 seasons were triggered by Gabriel’s inability to accept the concept of death, and by his attempts to drag all of Paris down the pits of grief (symbolised by the akuma attacks) with him — starting with his own son.

Of course, Adrien deserves to be happy and loved! And Emilie herself explains how it can happen:

By letting her go.

Adrien is an extremely strong and loving kid who, unlike his father, is able to shoulder the pain while still opening himself up to the world. Gabriel trying to bring Emilie back did nothing to fix the sorrow his son had to deal with; in fact, it cost him his other parent and a normal childhood in the process.

But the thing is — Adrien does not need Emilie anymore.

He has a girlfriend who loves him so much she gave his dad one last chance to make the right choice, despite all the pain he caused (and will likely continue to cause from the grave). He has a cousin who loves him so much he was willing to burn the world down, then help fix it to protect him. He has amazing friends who supported him through this entire ordeal (special shout-out to Nino, who has been on Gabriel’s case since S1 E9), even when he did not feel comfortable enough to share the full extent of the abuse he was going through. He has Amelie and Nathalie, who will provide him with the motherly love he needs in his life, and Tom and Sabine, who are already packing him his breakfast every morning because they’ve carved him a place in their family and hearts. Also, he has a cheese-eating demon who lives in his pocket.

No one is entitled to raising the dead, and Adrien would never even consider it. But he does deserve love and care and happiness, things his father deprived him of in his senseless quest to defy the laws of nature — things he was able to build for himself because he chose to be kind and vulnerable despite his grief.

Season 6 will be terrible on him, but he will come back stronger on the other side. And in doing so, he will send an important message to the core audience of the show: young children who will sooner or later have to mourn a loved one themselves, but will know they can be OK thanks to his example.

And you know, sometimes us adults need a little reminder too. 💚

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lizzardthing · 7 months

Text

uhm uhh i started talking about this and then i thought about it too much so i’m writing a post now about dethklok members and their childhood trauma and what it means to me yeah ok sorry it’s long, tw for basically like everything i guess

I really like how aside from animals and forces of evil and stuff each of the boys represent a very specific kind of childhood trauma that makes fucked up adults. And it’s not super explicit in the show but yeah we get into it.

First of all, Pickles is smart. And his entire problem is he’s too damn smart for his surroundings. He’s not book smart or school smart. His family has this plan lined up for him- you go to school, you get a job, you get married etc because that’s what NORMAL people do. But he’s not normal and that makes him not good enough. He’s not an addict because he’s stupid, he’s an addict because the kind of intelligence he has isn’t valued by his family or community, he’s a middle class midwestern average looking guy. He’s supposed to follow a set of rules. Being able to play basically any instrument? That’s not a VALUABLE skill. So he drinks. Cause that’s what you do in suburban hell, when there’s nothing left to do. And in Dethklok, the reason he finds true family is because they’re the ones that tell him in their stupid way, fuck that! We think you’re fucking smart! It doesn’t matter if you’re not good enough for those normie douchebags. You’re good enough for US. Fuck those assholes. You are valuable. I think Pickles represents people that were really devalued their whole lives because they were in the wrong place, with narrow-minded people. If you’re in his shoes, you need to remember, you do have value. You just need to find the family that sees that in you. You aren’t nothing. You matter.

Toki obviously has a lot of religious trauma, but also isolation. He’s made to believe from the beginning, it’s your job to serve. You will NEVER be important. You’re a worker. You lift heavy stuff. You organize. You pray. You lay down and take it because it’s what you deserve. You aren’t god, so you don’t deserve love. You should be seen and not heard. You should be invisible. And he’s so desperate to escape it that he never really gets to be a kid. He’s just a workhorse, and being childish or having fun is something that he can only do in secret, ashamed, his personality just stuffed down as small as possible. And when he finds Dethklok, this family that bullies him, yeah, but they LAUGH while they’re doing it, and they call him lazy, but yeah, they’re lazy too, he just. Wants to be a kid again. And then after he’s kidnapped he fully regresses because that experience fully threw him back in the hole he crawled out of, unexpectedly, back to the place where he feels he should be punished just for existing. He’s a good representation of how exhausting it is to be forced to be an adult before you’re ready. How much people don’t realize they should value their freedom to just PLAY and be SILLY, because not every kid does.

Skwisgaar has a couple things going on. He doesn’t have a dad, but that’s not really the issue. He thinks it is, but really, it’s more like he’s never experienced that people can care about each other without sex being involved. That’s why sex means nothing to him. He’s an endless void of sexual dissatisfaction, because he can’t actually connect with anyone he bangs. It’s just like playing his imagined frets- just energy he needs to get out, one way or another, anxiety and anger that needs any kind of release. Skwisgaar just loves music and being able to play whatever he wants, but also, I think Dethklok are the only people he can really care about, because they’re the only people he would absolutely NEVER have sex with. He’s forced to actually value them as people. He has no choice but to connect with them. He’s pretty narcissistic too, even more than the other members, and I think a lot of that comes from not being given enough attention as a kid. He has to put himself first because even his own mom was never going to. It wouldn’t really fit with the show, but I think Skwis is a good representation of people with sexual trauma, especially people who’s trauma makes them hyper sexual instead of the reverse. And Dethklok is a good family for him because they really don’t care how much he fucks, as long as he can play. His sexual prowess has zero value to them.

Nathan’s kind of fascinating because his trauma is just. One really messed up thing that he saw happen. That’s it. But that’s REAL, like it happens to a lot of people. You just experience one thing that was really horrible and it messed you up for life. You watch one accident or one train crash and it fills your mind so much, replaying over and over, it totally consumes you. He also has visions, which I think is a good metaphor for OCD or other disorders that mostly manifest internally. I think Nathan represents everyone that’s gotten sucked into darker stuff without really understanding why. Or people who are just born with depression or anxiety and there’s no “reason” behind it. And Dethklok LOVES that darkness in him. He’s the king, baby. He releases all that darkness into his lyrics, and because he has that release, in his regular day he’s able to be somewhat normal. He has an outlet that’s actually pretty healthy.

Murderface has my favorite backstory of all the boys, because his trauma is poverty. He lives in a trailer park in New Jersey with his grandparents (great-aunt-and-uncle? i don’t remember but it doesn’t matter.) He says that his big traumatizing event was his parents murder-suicide, but that’s not really what messed him up, he was an infant. He’s messed up because of how his life played out after that, totally out of his control. He had to with his geriatric family that completely didn’t want him. He was bullied in school because his grandma didn’t do laundry. He was gross and rude, because no one taught him proper hygiene or how to talk to people. He was a little shit because everyone treated him like shit. He never had a chance. He isolated himself because it’s easier to be alone, when you’re pretending that you chose to be alone. And he’s the best in regards to his found family arc, because he hates himself so much he fully didn’t realize until the very end of the story, that’s WHY Dethklok loves him. He sucks! He’s negative and bitchy and they need that! He has a home with them. They value his grossness, his whinyness, his bad attitude, how much he just hates everything. He’s such an annoying asshole that it’s actually really nice. He has a perspective that none of them have. He SUCKS. No one else in the world sucks the way he does.

Anyway. I just. Really like them. I really like that they’re all fucking messed up weirdos that found each other and love each other only the way that people who really can’t stand each other do.

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #william murderface #mtl

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altocat · 5 months

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I have a question.

I think Genesis' parents were one of the best people in the game, they were rich people who decided to adopt a victim of child experimentation and falsified reports to shield Genesis from having ShinRa's interest, thus risking their lives. Also, Angeal said he didn't steal from them, not because he was afraid of them punishing them, but simply because he was a friend with their son. As far as I understand, all canon info about them is pointing to them being amazing people, though it's possible I missed something.

Why do you think people write/hc them as shitty people who deserve to die? What canon info says they're bad?

You often say Sephiroth is a horrible monster with absolutely no hope for redemption for killing people in Nibelheim, which is true.

Why do you think Genesis is a cute baby boy for killing everyone in Banora, including his parents, who earned his redemption with his virtuous acts? Were people in Banora all monsters?

Sorry if it's a weird question, but I keep wondering about it and curiosity got the best of me. Genesis and Sephiroth killed people when they were blind with their desire for revenge, but Sephiroth didn't kill his family. What makes it a redeeming act for Genesis?

It's very likely that Genesis' parents were fully aware of the experiments and were in on it the entire time. Genesis hints as much when he claims that they betrayed him, much in the way of how Shinra betrayed him. Additionally, they did not lie on behalf of their son WILLINGLY, only because Genesis threatened them. They probably would have readily given him up to Shinra, despite the fact that he's their son.

Add to this the very odd fact that Genesis keeps a collection of his childhood accomplishments OUTSIDE of his old home, as well as the fact that Hollander, Hojo, and Gillian were ALL in the know about the experiments, it's very, very likely that Genesis always felt disconnected from his parents and that they were very much in league with his abusers. If it happened with Angeal, then there's no way Genesis' parents didn't know. And I highly doubt they took him in out of the kindness of their hearts considering that he just enlisted in SOLDIER the second he came of age. Likely he was being groomed since childhood into joining Shinra's ranks.

I think that Genesis probably had a very good reason to be angry. And to feel betrayed by his parents. I'm sure there are plenty of people who can add extra details to this to polish up what I'm trying to say, but Genesis is just as much of a victim as both Angeal and Sephiroth. He was still being integrated into Shinra and there was no way they were ever going to let one of the top specimens of Project G live a normal life. Angeal's family was not rich because Gillian refused to let Shinra/Hollander compensate them. Who's to say that Genesis' parents weren't rich partially because they were high status allies to Shinra? Why else are they in Shinra's contact list?

And another thing to note:

When Genesis kills his parents (offscreen), he is suffering from the effects of the Degradation Process. He is literally performing an act as a result of mind-altering internal decay and possible brain damage. I'm not doing to pretend that killing one's parents is a cool and okay thing to do, but this is a scenario in which an effectively dying man being ravaged by sickness is killing his parents out of the perceived likelihood that they were in league with the people who did this to him. And probably had more than enough reasons to confirm that his suspicions were true.

Compare to Sephiroth, who killed other people's parents, who were completely innocent and had nothing at all to do with what Shinra did to him.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #sephcanons #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley

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clouds-of-wings · 7 months

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I read a text by Varg Vikernes yesterday where he talked about his childhood and how his experiences in school made him into the Marxism hating Superaryan he is today. It's actually pretty interesting - turns out he spent part of his childhood in Iraq because his father was an engineer who got a job there and took his family with him. He had to go to Iraqi public school because the English school was full. (Is that true..? Does that mean he speaks Arabic..? I can't imagine that would have been possible otherwise?)

But he was only there for a while*, mostly the text was about his experiences back in Norway. Kindergarten was already Marxist far-left feminist HELL because you weren't allowed to be alone, you had to share all your toys (which probably, as in other hell-kindergärten, means 'If another kid takes away the toy you were playing with, you aren't allowed to complain'), it was boring, it was collectivist and so on. Same story in school, of course: He was finished with his tasks after five minutes and had to wait for the rest of the lesson until even the dumbest kid had finished. All because of this Marxist Socialist approach that everyone deserved help, everyone was supposed to reach the same level of attainment. He eventually started skipping school a lot and taught himself everything.

It's interesting to me because my own experiences were so similar, yet I came to completely different conclusions from that. It's just so clear to me that the real problem wasn't that the kids around Varg got too much help, it's that he got too little. I strongly believe that smart and talented kids are special needs kids too. They need extra help every bit as much as a deaf or dyslexic kid. Failing that, it's normal for them to become bored, frustrated, depressed or aggressive, just as he describes himself becoming, to even do badly in school despite being more than capable of keeping up.

Smart kids need exciting challenges, food for their minds, personal mentoring, help with the parts of life they are bad at (often social stuff). It's not a coincidence that the people who make a name for themselves as artists or intellectuals are usually from families of artists or intellectuals or otherwise come from an environment that encouraged and rewarded certain behaviours and interests, for example special schools or cultural hot spots that allowed talent to flourish. It's very hard to realize your potential when no one encourages it.

Varg eventually discovered the black metal scene of his day of course, but I wish he had grown up in a place that was even more "Marxist", even more about giving everyone the help they needed, a place that had evolved enough to realize that just because a kid is smart doesn't mean that it's okay to leave them to their own devices. It's basically neglect to just throw a gifted kid in with everyone else and not give them any help. The Marxist axiom "to each according to their needs, from each according to their ability" comes to mind.

I actually agree that collectivism can keep a talented person down. Egalitarianism is often used as a virtuous excuse to make sure a clique will triumph over an individual. I think this is a problem that egalitarian and collectivist spaces generally have, I've even seen it in ethnographies about otherwise pretty paradisaical societies. But clearly this is a blatant waste of talent, and quite cruel. Societies that allow for positions like "shaman" have a better idea: this person gets special training, but in return they perform a service that few others could perform. That way, there's reciprocity. Isn't that the true Marxist way..?

\* It must have been at most a year - they went in 1979 and the 1st Gulf War started in 1980 - given that the text is about how he triumphed against adversity, I think he would have mentioned if he'd been there during that time

#varg vikernes #music stuff #politics #that all assuming he's telling the truth #but the larger point stands regardless

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qsmp-lore-dump · 5 months

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Have we finally found who is using the black shulkers????

An abandoned Fed lab of experiments:

Many books written by "E". Up until now i could only think of ElQ, which never felt right, but was really all i had to go on. But now... NOW we have Elena.

Elena says that she knows the experiements the Fed does are unethical but says they are justified by a "greater good". So... is the abandoned Fed base where she first worked? are these her notes before it was shut down? its possible.

The black shulkers have left me so god damn confused for ages. and for the purpose of this starter theory, i think i need to lump in the regular chests that are found with cellbit through out his missions using black shulkers as well. (or we can go down further side theories of other parties intercepting his missions, which... another time..) theres going to be some loose parts here, just stick with me and well say hopefully the unanswered parts line up in the future. Day 106:

after the final election debate when cellbit takes himself out of the running, he finds book in a regular chest outside of his house.

NOTE: "us" . this is why i thought it had to be the rebels for so long. but the Rebels use black chest, which cellbit never got during this time. the Rebels on-going report of cellbit state they hadnt contacted him until just before purgatory. this was not from them.

Day 107/108

a chest apears in the Fear room, taking him to the ship the Brazilians arrived on.

Now, the color of this shulker is very much in question. i could not see it pop up in cellbits WAILA. there is a day Forever find it later on but i have not found that vod again to see if it shows the color.

this puzzle deciphers to follow the blue bird blah blah or lose your sone forever. we all know this stuff. then, day 109, The Jaidens. we know all of this. Jaiden is sent by Cucu to deliver the items. Cellbit is sent to follow behind and collect all the evidence.

so why send cellbit to collect this evidence? was the purpose for him to read it? to learn something? im not exactly sure yet.

Day 128: here is where it confirms for me that the black shulkers and these normal chest ARE the same person(s)

The use of "interesting performance" is a clear call back to day 106. And "common enemy", we can look to my old "Cucu secretly wants to escape the fed", and now update that to ELENA instead. anyway, this long trail ends in finding the code sword and as we know, "no trrace left behind" ultimately rewards Cellbit with a home office presented by Cucurucho!

Delivers the evidence to a chest on black wool or concrete, not sure. and then the coordinated for his home office appear. ... plan all along, intercepted, or... one of my theories of cucu wants to escape the fed, a double agent Rebel cucu, a code cucu. anyway, getting distacted here.

But now, Baghera. Baghera is where it seems strongest that Elena is tied to these black shulkers, which makes stronger the questions on what her purpose is with cellbit. ...

Day 165: Bagz finds a black shulker along with a flower that leads her to her childhood room on the island. flowers on shelves, just like Elena.... Elena who knows all about the unethical experiments done by the federation. like human hybrids....

Day 199: baghera arrives at coordinates for BioLab 3 (led here by info in her childhood room). She finds reports on hybrid experiments, herself specifically, and reports written in french.

i thought these were written by kameto, because we had learned he was a french translator for the fed. but do you know who else is french, Elena.

Day (???) spefic date unclear, but the day christmas decorations began, Streamed on Day261

Elena has a warp for biolab 3. huh. interesting. So, Elena feels guilt about the experiments she been part of but see that the means justify the end. Did she feel Bagz deserved to know the truth about her past? Is that why she was sent to discover these things? We know it wasnt the rebels, Bagz's on-going report in crabro mention no knowledge of the hybrid experiments. They are not the ones who sent Bagz to recover her memories, the way they sent Bagi to recover her memories.

And if the rebels are recovering Bagis memories..... why are they not the ones doing the same for Cellbit? Does this mean Cellbit also is a Federation test tube baby -- this would mean bagi is too then?? And does that mean Follow the Blue Bird, and the long mission ending with the Code Sword are related to HIS past?

~~Happy Loring~~

#qsmp thoughts #qsmp theory #qsmp cellbit #qsmp baghera #qsmp bagi #qsmp resistance #qsmp rebels #qsmp federation #qsmp cucurucho #qsmp elena #qsmp osito bimbo #qsmp lore #qsmpblr

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should-have-been-at-the-club · 2 months

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Round 1 Match 17: They Should Have Been At The Club Tournament

Propaganda below the cut.

Propaganda for Delia Ketchum:

Okay, timeline wise, she must have had Ash when she was pretty young. Still an adult, but going off of her son being eternally 10, she must have been 19 based off what the Pokemon wiki says. Her husband went off to go be a trainer sometime, so she was also a single mom. I think she absolutely deserves to have been at the club just for that, since she didn't really get to experience adulthood for more than a year before she had a child to raise. Also based on more scattered lore for her she also had some big dreams of her own that she put aside both to run a restaurant she inherited and to raise her son. She should have been pursuing those dreams AND at the club.

Propaganda for Lewis Smith:

(Spoilers for Bang Brave Bang Bravern)

One: He's just been through so much. He's so young (tumblr would tell you that 24 is old but that's a lie). He needs a break, he can't keep going through all this without some time off to have fun. He deserves to relax and flirt. I'm removing him from the battlefield and putting him in a club where he can drink Kona beer and dance badly and flirt with other men before realizing that the only man he wants to flirt with is the one he's been pining for since the beginning of the show. That's it, that's what the explosion did, it just brought him to a normal club without homicidal giant robots. He's fine.

Two: Big spoilers ahead! Also this is still an ongoing story!

First of all he's 24, prime club age. Second of all he just cannot get a break: during a normal military exercise he was part of, the Earth was attacked by aliens and a big part of his unit just died. Then the super robot that showed up to save the rest of them rejected him (Lewis is a big fan of super robot shows and tried to pilot the robot instead of the guy who was having a panic attack trying *not* to pilot the robot again). Then he gets his ass kicked by a comatose girl. Then he gets rejected by another super robot (he tried to play the role of the rival since he couldn't be the protagonist) and almost dies in the process. Then he realizes that the only way to save his friends from an evil super robot is to blow it up, and blows *himself* up at the same time. He might not be really dead, we don't know, there's some time travel bs going on. We're all still very sad. Also he apparently had a rough childhood (strongly hinted at by staff, should be shown in the series in a few episodes at most). Third of all he's very gay, I've rarely seen a character yearn so much for another man. We all think he'll end up being the love interest.

#should have been at the club tournament #round 1 #delia ketchum #pokemon #lewis smith #bang brave bang bravern #brave bang bravern #bang brave bang bravern spoilers

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