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justanotherthrowaway1950 · 2 years

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Why It Makes Sense No One Wants to Help Azula

A lot of people when watching ATLA, or reading the post-Sozin’s Comet comic books, bemoan the fact that no one really wants to help Azula, who, underneath the outward exterior of snark, smugness, and exuberant confidence, is someone who is well aware that she is a bad person, but wishes that it did not have to be the case, especially after after Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, and Ozai “abandon” her, and thus she had to face the consequences of her actions.

For if she just had a rescue parent or even a friend who won’t ever give up on her, as people often say, she could have either dealt with the emotions and thoughts she had repressed so long and not fallen into long-term madness, or, even if her childhood schizo-???? disorder manifested, she could have learned how to deal with it while also becoming a much healthier and better person than what she ended up becoming in the comics.

Especially since it seems pretty clear, at least in my opinion, that Azula emulated Ozai and fully bought into his toxic ideologies and beliefs due to feeling she had no choice due to being the fire princess and not wanting to end up like Zuko (burned and banished by Ozai after spending his life being verbally abused by Ozai), Iroh (lost his birthright and nation's respect due to being “soft”), Azulon (Azula is way too smart to not have realized at one point that Azulon was most likely killed by Ozai and/or Ursa), Lu Ten (died presumably due to doing his “duty” to his nation, something that Ozai would mostly likely make Azula do in the future as well, but not having enough martial prowess to survive), or Ursa (banished or killed as far as Azula knew).

However, as sad as it sounds, it makes complete sense that no one wants to help Azula.

For part of the problem is that, at the very least, she is coded as suffering from schizophrenia or something of that nature, which requires actual antipsychotics (as far as I know) to treat the symptoms, and therefore it seems highly unlikely that the fantasy equivalent of 19th century Asia is going to be able to treat such symptoms without the necessary medication, especially when IRL 21st century Asia, or humanity in general, can't do so despite having way more mental health knowledge than the humans in ATLA.

And while Azula is attractive, and thus might on paper be able to attract someone willing to “fix” her (yes, I know this trope is toxic, but there is a point I am trying to make), The Beach showed that, despite said attractiveness, her personality makes her so revolting that no one would be around her willingly.

And before before people say, “Ty Lee willingly choose to spend time with Azula at Chan’s party,” that can easily be explained by Ty Lee being harassed by boys, and thus wanting to be next to a “friend” so the boys at the party would stop trying to get with her, especially since Zuko and Mai weren't nearby and Ty Lee at that point knows that Azula is boy repellent.

Also, let's be real now, if Azula was real and we didn’t have the benefit of the third person omniscient view that we as viewers have, would you want to interact with her any more than you have to? Well, I don’t think so, explaining why no one really makes an effort to help Azula in the time period post-Sozin’s Comet, but pre-The Search, despite Azula hitting her lowest point, and thus being most receptive to change in addition to being safely restrained with no political power whatsoever.

For Iroh thinks she is crazy, and in the Legacy of The Fire Nation blames her for her own abuse and her response to it.

Zuko, while he does put her in asylum and doesn't get her bending removed, even assuming Aang was willing to take Azula’s bending in the first place, is fine with never checking up on her until he needs her to extract intel from Ozai about Ursa’s possible location.

Ozai is in jail for life, and besides, it was not like he was the reason why she ended up the way she did. No, not all all…

All of the Gaang except for Aang see her as the devil and want her locked away for good.

Meanwhile, Aang is too busy helping rebuild the world after a hundred years of war to engage in the intensive and very long meditation/therapy Azula needs. Not to mention, Aang helping Azula assumes that Katara would allow Aang within lightning blast range without a sizable contingent, or the rest of the Gaang around, which is a little too much for one to believe considering the anger Katara has towards Azula for killing Aang as depicted in The Bridge.

In regards to Mai and Ty Lee, Azula bullied them, turned them into child soldiers against their will, put their loved ones in danger multiple times, and when they finally stood up for themselves and/or their loved ones, were put in jail for life by Azula. So why would they want to help, in the rosiest interpretation of their relationship, their life-long frenemy who already forsook them first, or, in the harshest interpretation of their relationship, their life-long abuser who they think no longer has any redeeming qualities, if she ever had them?

Lo and Li are missing in action after the events of Sozin’s Comet and probably wouldn’t help even if they weren’t considering they were Azula’s secondary abusers after all.

The other world leaders, including the White Lotus, hate her, view her as a threat, and probably disprove of Zuko and Aang's leniency towards her.

And in regards to the rest of the Fire Nation, including the general population, they seem to only care about serving the crown, so it is not like they would care to break her out and risk the wrath of their Fire Lord and a fully realized Avatar. Especially once word spread of her breakdown, the banishments she issued during said breakdown, and the fact that she lost to her weaker, traitorous brother and a snow peasant during Sozin’s Comet.

For does the Fire Nation in the early years of the post-war era seem like the type of place to be understanding of mental health issues, and how the circumstances behind Azula’s mental deterioration would break most, if not all, children? Or would they be the type of place to shame for her mental illness and resulting “weakness”, and therefore treat her like a broken tool, even after praising her as a war hero not even a couple months ago?

And once we get into the comic storylines that involve Azula, it becomes even more painfully clear that no one wants to help Azula, and that no one really cares for Azula.

For Mai and Ty Lee have rightfully disavowed her, especially since Azula, as of current canon, has never shown any contrition towards them, and Azula decided to kidnap Tom Tom as part of a spirit larp motivated by Mai’s nightmares as child in an apparent attempt, at least partially, to get back at Mai for her “betrayal".

Ursa doesn't seem to show that much care outside of a short conversation with Zuko as they are sailing back to the palace and when she finally gets to berate Ozai after all the years of torment he put her through, which sadly makes sense. And this is because for most of Ursa’s time with Azula, she probably saw Azula, and not Zuko, as the successful result of Azulon’s eugenics experiment that had caused Azulon to have her kidnapped and forcibly bred by Ozai.

Or in other words, Ursa most likely, at least subconsciously, sees Azula as basically the reason why her life went to hell. And why would anyone want to help someone who is basically responsible for your life becoming a nightmare, even if it is your daughter in Ursa’s case?

The Gaang outside of Aang thinks she's a psycho, something that is not helped when they, with their limited as hell mental health knowledge, have to deal with Azula’s actions caused her hallucinations and delusions, including her attempted murder of Noriko. And Aang, again, is way too busy to actively help Azula.

Ozai only sees her as a tool to facilitate his return to power, hence why he told her about the “bastard” letter since he was probably hoping Azula would use it start a civil war after she either made sure that Ursa was no longer alive or killed her, eliminating the one person who could credibly say the letter is a lie.

Her fellow cosplayers Fire Warriors are already losing patience with her, as evidenced by Zirin’s annoyance with Azula’s mass kidnapping plan, and will probably leave Azula like everyone else does once they realize that Azula’s plan basically turned them into seditious, child kidnapping, domestic terrorists for no apparent benefit other than to stroke her ego and mask her lingering insecurities.

And while Zuko outwardly says that he wants to help Azula, I don’t think that is the case since, even if the characters say they believe in certain things, what they do in practice is what we should use to judge them since actions are greater than words.

And what do Zuko’s actions say?

Well, when pushed to his limit, which causes people to express their true feelings, Zuko blames her for everything bad that occurred in his life, like the real reason why his early life was so shitty wasn’t due to Ozai and Azulon.

Even after agreeing to Azula’s terms to go on the search for Ursa, Zuko never once thinks to ask Azula’s asylum healers what her symptoms are like, what might trigger them (cough*Ursa*cough), and what might he do to make sure Azula doesn’t slip.

And this pattern of negligence continues even after Zuko finds out about her bonkers plan to remold him into Ozai 2.0, despite the fact that if he actually took the time to investigate Azula’s treatment, and thus why it went wrong, not only would he have found out about the Fire Warriors escaping, but also would have found out about the abusive nature of the asylum, and how it was behind comics!Azula’s deteriorated mental state, thus giving him a chance to get Azula the help she needs once she is back in custody.

Finally, as a general point, if it was a mentally ill Katara that ran off into Forgetful Valley, what do you think the Gaang would have done? If it was a mentally ill Suki that ran off into the Forgetful Valley, what do you think the Kyoshi Warriors, Ty Lee, and/or Mai would have done? If it was a mentally ill Iroh that ran off into the Forgetful Valley, what would Zuko and Ursa have done?

Well, I feel pretty confident in saying that they would not settle for a half assed search where they didn't get Toph, and her OP, miles wide seismic sense, and/or June and her shirshu to search the valley. Especially considering the last time anyone saw Azula, she was deep in a psychotic breakdown and did not seem in the right mental shape to survive in the wilderness, let alone a valley noted for its dangerousness like the Forgetful Valley.

(Though I admit the above argument assumes that a psychotic Azula was not good enough to avoid detection by Toph or June’s shirshu, or that she was not able to escape the Forgetful Valley before Zuko could call for more help.)

But to wrap things up, it makes complete sense why no one wants to help Azula, and thus she will never be able to redeem herself. For who the hell is going to be her rescue parent or friend who will never give up on her?

For the only reason why Zuko, who was subjected to similar, if not worse, abuse and indoctrination, was able to redeem himself was because he had arguably the GOAT parental figure in Western Animation give him unconditional love and guidance, even after he helped put him in jail for life.

But alas, that same figure thinks Azula is crazy, and Azula’s relationship with her mother is too fucked up for Ursa to serve that role.

And while maybe someone from the White Lotus could have stepped in, it would have already happened in the year to two years she spent in the asylum. But it didn't, and now most likely will never happen. And no one else, other than Aang, who due to his Avatar duties can’t give Azula the help she needs, would work because she would view them below her station, and thus wouldn’t be receptive to their help, and/or they despise her.

Thus, while it is sad, the reality of Azula’s situation is that no one really cares for her, or at least not enough to help her. And while maybe in some future version of the Fire Nation, their version of CPS could have stepped in and removed Ozai and Azulon from her life before they really damaged her, the sad reality is that she lives in the fantasy equivalent of 19th century Asia.

Hence, why I believe that Azula’s story will continue to be a tragedy short of Azula miraculously turning herself around or one or more characters, preferably Ursa and/or Iroh, having a change of heart. And why I think ATLA viewers will have to live the grim reality that the conclusion to Azula’s story will most likely not be a happy one.

#azula #atla #atla comics #azula meta #atla meta #atla comics meta #asylum abuse #justanotherthrowaway1950meta

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kaypeace21 · 3 years

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Stranger things is about mental health & trauma- deal with it!

I’ve seen a lot of people claim anyone who mentioned this topic immediately be gaslit and told they’re “just crazy” and “rudely projecting their own issues on to the characters.’ Like- no you don’t have to believe my Will DID/Lonnie theory ( I could be wrong). But to claim one of the show’s central themes isn’t about mental health/trauma (screams either complete lack of lit comprehension or denial cause you have your own negative biases towards such people). So let’s just go into what’s literal text-not subtext/symbolism. Just the super blatant stuff. RIGHT IN THE SHOW!

-We have El when she first appears on screen asked by Benny if her parents starved and hurt her and if that’s why she ran away. Benny then calls CPS to say El “may have been ab*sed or something.” After this Lucas says there is “seriously something wrong with her-wrong in the head. She’s probably from the NUT-HOUSE in curly county.penthurst” We also see El cannonically has PTSD-all of s1 she’ll see something benign (a cat, a coke commercial, a closet) and is triggered to see a traumatic flashback. That’s literally ptsd. There’s also hints throughout the seasons she’s developmentally behind in both language, telling time etc (neglect like El’s irl can cause an intellectual disability-analysis on El/that subject here).The real pethurst in pensylvannia (not the one in stranger things/ Curly county) closed in 1986- it was a facility for people and mostly kids with intellectual disabilities (it wasn’t technically a psych facility like the one in st)-but it was infamous for it’s abuse of these intellectually disabled patients kept there. We also have Brenner be a ab*sive psychiatrist.

- Hopper after suffering from the loss of his daughter. Is popping pills like candy, drinking and smoking constantly. He later says he used to hallucinate and forgot what was real -seeing and hearing sarah and says if he didn’t confront the pain he’d “fall down a black hole he couldn’t get out of.” NO... subtext here about what the void represents nope.

- Both mothers (Terry & Joyce) are dismissed as being mentally ill and simply grieving the loss of their kids . But both end up being right about the supernatural.

- “Terry pretends Jane is real. i mean it’s all make believe. you know the doctors all say it’s a coping mechanism.”

- While with Joyce the whole town pre s1 already questioned her mental health. Jonathan says “She used to have anxiety problems (pre s1).” And Jonathan, Hopper, and Lonnie all assume she’s hallucinating: talking to Will via lights, seeing a man without a face, saying Will’s body is fake -due to grief. Plus Lonnie mentions the fact Joyce’s aunt Darlene also used to hallucinate as a possible reason (terry’s aunt also had mental health issues mentioned in s2 by Becky). Lonnie even says everything Joyce is seeing is “all in her head.” Hopper and Jon both say she needs to sleep and accept reality and Lonnie says she needs to see a “shrink”. Hopper “i’m not saying that you’re crazy”. Joyce : “no, you are.” Joyce also says to Lonnie “Stop looking at me like that... like everyone else like i’m out of my damn mind.” Hopper also says about Joyce she’s “on the edge”. Callahan says in response , “she’s been on the edge for a while now” (referring to her mental health- even before Will’s dissappearance)”. While Lonnie says Jonathan is “feeding into her hallucinations ... you’re going to push her right over the edge.” In s2 Hopper says “ I think everyone is on edge- you, me, Will most of all. (when talking about Will’s ptsd/trauma)”

- in s1 They claim Will just “fell” over the edge of the quarry’s cliff. Later the only other queer coded character (Mike) jumps off the quarry cliff (where Will’s body was found) cause the homophobic troy forced him too jump. Troy even says earlier dead-Will is “flying with all the other fairies all happy and gay” (to Mike). And Troy says to Hopper El made Mike “fly” after jumping off the cliff. Friendship saved him from jumping off the edge metaphorically ( and he’ll prob eventually be happy and gay too).

s2/3

-Will is seeing a therapist . And we are told he has ptsd and will experience the anniversary effect, personality changes,nightmares, having episodes, etc. And things “will get worse before they get better”. Mike also asks if what Will is seeing is “real or like the doctors say all in your head?” And Will continues to see hallucinations of the mf/upsidedown that only he can see initially.

-Hopper also agrees with owens mentioning how he knew guys with ptsd . joyce : “it’s not like he’s describing a nightmare. He talks about them like they’re real.” Hopper: “Yeah, because they’re not nightmares they’re flashbacks.I think he’s right about trauma.I think everyone is on edge (bringing that s1 ref back), Me you, Will, most of all.Nothing’s gonna go back to the way that it was. But it’ll get better.In time.”

-Nancy suffers from survivor’s guilt and drunkingly says she killed Barb. Jonathan says like Nancy he has “a weight that you that carry all the time . i feel it too.” (cough depression). He also says he tries to be there for Will but says about Will “he’s not the same. maybe things can’t go back to the way they were. (mirroring Hopper’s words earlier that season)”

-Jonathan said in s1 Joyce had “anxiety issues” than Nancy says in s3 “you really are your mother’s son... you worry too much.” Then we see him look worried after the comment.

- in s2, Axel & a scientist both call El and Will “schizos” because of their powers. In s3 mrs driscoll isn’t believed about the supernatural cause she’s schizophrenic-but like Joyce/Terry was right.

- Kali saves a woman named Dottie (a british slang term for crazy) from a mental hospital and then compares herself and El to dottie. saying her non-powered gang is “Like us ...outsiders... society discarded them.” In graphitti we even see the title “obedlam” a british poem about discarding the mentally ill and leaving them homeless. El before this sees a mentally ill man screaming “we’re all dead!” Kali’s friend says to El, after this encounter they were “dead all of us” until kali “saved them here” (points to head) “and here” (points to heart). Pointing to the theme of love and friendship helping those with such issues. Similar to the cliff analogy.

-The cycle of ab*se. Max in s2 says she’s afraid of becoming like Billy (her ab*ser). We see Billy mimic his ab*ser neil and inflict pain on max. In s3 we see the roots of his behavior are linked to mimicking Neil- Neil in a flashback says about baseball “what are you scared?” “ did i raise a p*ssy for a son”. So young Billy later in a fight says to a boy “ what are you scared to fight me? fight me p*ssy. (as he beats the boy)” Deflecting his anger of his father on to someone else. In s3, We see as a kid he used to say to Neil “don’t hurt her” (his mom)-specifically after Neil backhand slaps her -but we later see possessed Billy backhand slap Max (just like neil). The resentment to his mother leaving - festered into how he views women and max negatively . And his attraction to mrs wheeler prob is linked to him subconsciously missing his mother. Max in s2 even says he can’t take it out on her mother so he does so to her instead (we even have Billy hallucinate hurting mrs wheeler).We see in s2 the cycle of abuse is there- Billy mimics Neil, and then Max mimics Billy. Billy harrasses Max and yells “SAY IT!” (mimicking Neil). Max like Billy later yells “SAY IT” and uses a bat /violence to stand up for herself against Billy- which earlier she said she was trying to combat … explaining she can be angry like Billy sometimes but she never wants to be like him (her nickname symbolizing this: aka ‘mad max’). Billy’s last dying words were an apology to Max- for becoming her neil. And we hopefully will see Max break this cycle.

- Will says his now memories (that he describes like dreams) are “growing “, “spreading “,and “killing”. While Kali says they need to face their father and (as Brenner) says El has to confront her “wound” or else it’ll “grow”, “spread” and “eventually it’ll kill her.” Kali says she used to be like El . She used to bottle her pain away and it “spread.” But she then says “I confronted my pain and I finally began to heal (from those wounds).” We also see with jonathan and nancy when describing “shared trauma” zoom in onto the scars on their hands. The wound heeled into a scar so to speak.

S2 & 3 ENDINGS

both have Hopper do a speech that delves into dealing with trauma/depression but still finding good along the way.

-s2 Hopper outside the snowball: “how are you holding up? Yeah, that feeling never goes away. It is true what they say, you know. Everyday it does get easier.”

-s3 Hopper monolouge : “ Feelings jesus. For so long, i’d forgotten what those even were. I’ve been stuck in one place,in a cave you might say , a deep dark cave (cough s2 supernatural cave). For the first time in a long time, i started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. Life... yeah sometimes it’s painful .sometimes it’s sad, and sometimes it’s suprising... happy.. And when life hurts you, because it will .remember the hurt . The hurt is good. It means you’re out of that cave.”

BUT YES- St has nothing to do with mental health/trauma, we’re just “crazy” and “projecting”. It’s not like some of ya’ll act pompous when you just have a bias and get pissy at the idea of relating to characters you “other” as “crazy” or “damaged” irl or anything (so attack people for pointing it out). Or (benefit of the doubt) you are just like.... oblivious... or just a kid who doesn’t know better XD

#stranger things #el hopper #will byers #jim hopper #joyce byers #max mayfield #billy hargrove #kali prasad #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler

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student-film-lying-piece-of-shit · 5 years

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dear neurotypicals: if you make a psychotic/dissociative/schizo-coded character the villain in your story you are ableist. your story is bad and so is your character. no matter "how good the rep is!" you are futhering a stigma that we've had since the dawn of fucking time. you're not allowed to do that. no if, ands or buts. you are DEHUMANIZING US to A SLAVE OF OUR ILLNESS. and this has had a LEGIT EFFECT on how we are perceived IN THE REAL WORLD

you can have a psychotic character in a horror franchise but don't fucking take the cheap way out by making them the antagonist. it's disrespectful, poor taste and cheap

#actuallypsychotic #actuallymultiple #actuallymentallyill #lmao ill kill you don't fucken clown #ghost stories #actuallyschizophrenia

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willows-horde · 5 years

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I’m actually really proud of this. I hadn’t touched this in years apparently and I’d been wanting to finish it for a while and I finally did. Basically, this is the first chapter of the game. Written out. So... if you’ve played it you know what to expect. I’ve been wanting to practice writing different types of writing, and still do, so I guess this was practice in writing horror and an overly creepy atmosphere.

the Evil Within: chapter one (literally) word count: 6623

______________________________

It was raining hard when Officer Oscar Connelly picked up the three detectives. There wasn't any thunder or lightning just a heavy rain. Sebastian Castellanos, the lead detective of the three, sat up front in the passenger’s seat. Behind him sat his partner, Joseph Oda, who was currently looking through his notes from their latest case. Next to Joseph, and behind the driver’s seat, was Juli Kidman who sat in silence with her arms crossed. Then someone spoke through the police radio. “All units, all units; 11-99, expedite cover code 3. Beacon Mental Hospital.”

Oscar picked up the comm device and, bringing it to his mouth, pressed the button on the side and said, “184 copy; code 3. ETA 3 minutes.” He replaced the comm unit, than switched on both the police siren and lights.

“Copy 184,” came the response.

After he turned onto the road leading to the hospital, he stated, “Sorry detectives,” as he glanced in the rear-view at the two in the back. Then, as he continued, he turned to the man next to him. “I know you just comin' off a case but I'm afraid we're gonna have to make a detour.”

Joseph, having been listening, closed and rested his notepad on his lap. Turning his attention to Oscar he said, “Sounds serious. Is it a riot?”

“Call went out just before I picked you up. Said it was 'multiple homicides.' Half a dozen units already on-scene,” he informed them. The woman spoke over the police radio again, though, since the message was to a someone else, they didn't respond. Oscar looked in the rearview to Joseph. “Hey, maybe it's the ghost of that doctor who went schizo and chopped up all those patients.”

Joseph sat up straight in his seat and turned to Oscar. “That's not what happened. Some patients disappeared. Some kind of scandal?”

“Still, gives ya the creeps, doesn't it?” Oscar stated. The detective leaned back into his seat again.

Then from the police radio, “127, 124, please respond...”

Sebastian twisted around in his seat to look back at his partner. “Joseph, you think there's a connection?”

“It's a possibility,” he told him. He then lifted his notepad holding it from the bottom and waved it slightly as he continued. “I believe the records were sealed.”

The woman from the radio spoke again. “Anyone on-scene, respond...”

Reaching over, Sebastian picked up the comm device. “Dispatch this is Detective Castellanos in 184, what's the situation, over?”

“184 be advised, some problem...” At this point there was static and she began to cut out. Sebastian started to ask dispatch something when there was suddenly a high-pitched sound emitted from the speaker of the police radio.

Both Sebastian and Connelly cursed at the noise. Connelly accidentally swerved the vehicle as he lifted a hand to her ear to try to block out the noise. Despite that he quickly regained control and kept driving. Joseph removed his glasses and brought a hand to his head. Juli Kidman, who had been quite during the entirety of the trip, showed no response to the noise. “Junior Detective Kidman, any thoughts?” Sebastian asked as he looked back at her in the rearview.

“Nothing yet,” she told him as she looked back at him. Then, as she turned her attention back out the window, she stated, “I'm sure we'll know everything once we get there.”

Connelly hadn't even fully stopped the car in front of the gate to the hospital when both Kidman and Sebastian opened their doors. Joseph waited until they had completely stopped before he exited the vehicle. Closing his door, Sebastian stepped up to the open gate. The other two detectives followed suit. “What do you make of it?” Joseph asked him as he stepped up behind him.

He looked back to the police car. “Connelly.” Connelly pushed open his door and stepped out of the vehicle. “Contact Dispatch and let them know what's happening. Joseph, Kidman,” he turned back to the open gate in front of him as he continued. “You're with me. We're going to have a look around.”

“Right...” Kidman stated as she followed them inside.

Just inside the gate there was a round-about; and all along it were police cars. A few had there lights flashing but all of them were empty. There wasn't a person in sight. Joseph walked around the left side while Sebastian, with Kidman following him, went along the right. “There are no weapons left in their cars.” Sebastian heard Joseph say from the the other side.

With a glance over at Kidman, Sebastian asked, “What do you see Kidman?”

“Rain is gonna wash away any evidence,” she stated without much hesitation. Well, she wasn't wrong.

Sebastian was the first to reach the double doors of the hospital. Cracking open the left door, he flinched away from the smell. “Smells like blood,” Joseph commented as he stepped up next to him.

“All right, stay sharp,” Sebastian told him. With a nod, Joseph removed his handgun from its holster at his side. He pushed the right door open slightly at first, than quickly open the rest of the way as he then gripped his gun with both hands. Cautiously, he stepped inside and, glancing in all directions made his way in. As Kidman, who already had her gun drawn, stepped up to the doorway, Sebastian turned to her. “We're going to check it out. Don't let anyone else through this door.”

“I can be an extra set of eyes,” she told him.

“We don't know what's happening here. You're our backup.” And with that he turned away from her and stepped inside the lobby.

Just from the entryway Sebastian could already see half a dozen bodies. There was blood everywhere and pools of it where some of the bodies lay. On the other side of the lobby, across from the entrance, was the front desk. On the wall above the desk was the words 'Beacon Mental Hospital' with their insignia. As he looked around he spotted a set of double doors on both sides of the room. There were eight benches divided in sets of two. With each set was a circular table sitting between them. Lastly, for decoration, there were some pictures on the walls and a collection of plants around the room with the largest one in the direct center or the room.

They made it about half way through the lobby when they heard a clatter. “Did you hear something?” Joseph asked as he walked around the plant. Not a moment later he spotted an open door next the the front desk and, while keeping his guard up, jogged over. “Someone alive in here,” he called back out to his partner.

Joseph waited at the door as Sebastian hurried over and stepped back and out of the way when he arrived. They were in the security room. Most of the monitors were on and supplying feed from the countless cameras throughout the building. The man that Joseph had found looked to be a doctor. He was slumped down on the floor against a door. Sebastian knelt next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you injured? What happened here?” Joseph stepped over near the doctors other side.

As the doctor started to answer, Sebastian removed his hand from his shoulder. “...can't be real...” After a pause he continued. “Impossible. Ruvik, is...” It was all he could manage before he passed out.

Kneeling down, Joseph put a hand on his shoulder. “I've got him.” Looking to Sebastian, he told him. “The security cameras might tell us something.” Sebastian, with a nod, got to his feet.

Stepping over to the monitors, the sound of gunfire sounded from the one directly in front of him. Sebastian leaned forward on the counter and watched as people ran into view. They were cops, three of them. They stopped and turned around to fire their guns in the direction they had come. Suddenly, a figure all but appeared and struck at the officer furthest from the other two. And before he even hit the floor the figure in white seemingly teleported to the others and killed them as well. Sebastian was so shocked by what he saw he whispered, “What the hell?” The figure in white looked up at the camera and it zoomed in on his face for just a moment before he fazed out and disappeared. “What...?” A chill ran up his back and he turned slightly when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. As he turned all he managed was a 'huh' as he could have sworn he saw the figure from the video feed standing behind him, before he blacked out as the man in white lashed out at him.

- ~ - ~ -

As Sebastian came to, the first thing his senses picked up was music. Next came a faint dripping sound. He groggily opened his eyes. Slowly, he was starting to regain his bearings. He was... hanging upside-down, and there was something running down his arm and hand. He moved his hand so he could get see what it was. Blood. Was he injured..? Without moving much, he looked around. There was a lot of blood on the floor and he thought he saw someone else hanging close by. Than, with what strength he had, pulled himself up to see how exactly how he was hung. By a rope it seemed. He let himself drop back down and instantly tensed up. A man was approaching him from another room. Did he know he was awake?

The man was bald and wore a strange med-evil looking headpiece that looked more like a torture device than a mask. The only other thing he could tell about him was that he was a big guy. Thankfully, however, he only paused in front of him momentary before he walked past. Now that he was much more aware of his situation he noticed a blade stuck in the body he had noticed hanging close by. Suddenly, he heard a sickening sound. Sebastian wasn't sure he wanted to know what was happening; but even so, he risked a glance in the direction of the sound, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arm of big man swinging what could be a machete. Turning away, he hoped he didn't find out he was awake, all the while being forced to listen to whatever was happening.

When it was over, the butcher started walking back to the other room that was in front of him. As he stepped into his line of sight he carried with him the upper half of a man. Blood gushed from where his waist used to be. Sebastian knew in that instant, with obsolete certainty, that he needed to get out of there. Or he'd end up like that. Once the sadistic man stepped into the other room, Sebastian attempted to reach for the knife. It was his only chance of getting free and he couldn't reach it. Desperate, he swung his arm out and tried to grab for the knife again. Though despite not reaching it, he did realize that he was now swinging on the rope. That's good. Maybe if he could get enough momentum he could get close enough to grab it. He sent a quick glace past the body to the man in the other room. The sadist was... preoccupied, with the body that he had dropped onto a table.

After a couple minutes, Sebastian finally managed to get enough momentum in his swing to grab the blade. Immediately after he had it, he curled up and swung at the rope cutting himself free. He groaned as he landed on his back; than quickly pushed himself up into a crouch and looked to the other room. The music must have masked his fall since the man showed no sign of hearing him. The headache started as soon as he got to his feet. He felt for his gun, even though he didn't think he'd have it, and he was right. His trench coat was also gone, he'd noticed. That... was his most distressing loss. He'd gotten that from his wife before his life went to shit. Unfortunately, he didn't have the liberty to worry about that. He had to get out of here.

Sebastian took a quick survey of the area. From just a glance there were about five more bodies strung up, most of which were there a lot longer than he was. Then there was that other room, which he had absolutely no plan of going into. It was a room of death and that was putting it lightly. There was a wide doorway with no doors and a handful of high windows on either side of the doorway. And the smell that came from there; it hung so heavily in the air. Here he thought the smell of blood was bad as he entered the hospital. This was a lot worse.

Crouching down he crept to the left and past the windows towards what he thought was a door. When he past out of sight of the windows, he stood back up and, after only taking a couple steps, the mechanism to his left rumbled. The hatch in the wall opened and a body tumbled out. He paused for a moment suddenly extremely wary. Sebastian was thankful that there actually was a door. Unfortunately, it was locked. “Shit, it's locked,” he muttered under his breath. Well, where the hell would the keys be..? He hardly finished the thought, when realization hit him. They had to be in that room. “...Fuck.”

As Sebastian crept back past the window, he glanced inside. The sadistic butcher was still distracted. When he reached the doorway, Sebastian rested his left hand on the wall and peered around the corner and into the room. Things were strung up from the ceiling, which he assumed were more bodies, though they looked more like slabs of meat than people. There were dozens of bottles, the contents of which he had no idea, stored on countless shelves. But where were the keys? There was another area that lead behind the shelves. Could they be back there? There was no way he'd be able to get back there though. Looking back to the big man, he grew tense as he stopped his 'work' and started to walk around the concrete table to the area behind the shelves. Then suddenly, something caught his eye, hanging off a hook above the table. With a quick glance to the man, Sebastian carefully crept out into the room as the other man walked into the back room. He had to hurry before he came back.

To protect against the nauseating smell, Sebastian covered his nose and mouth with his hand as he made his way forward. He tried not to look at the body at the table, so instead rotated his attention to the keys to looking through the shelves to keep an eyes on the other man. Carefully, he lifted the keys off of the hook all the while hoping the one for the door was on the key ring. Quickly, but quietly he headed back out of the room. He had to hurry, before he realized the keys were missing. As he past the windows he glanced inside again but didn't see the man. After he got back to the door it didn't take him long to find the right key, and, as it clicked and he pushed open the door, he looked back to the towards the other room for a moment before he stepped inside and up the stairs on the other side.

Sebastian followed the pathway. To his right, he noticed he was walking along an overhang of the room he had seen the sadist in. He kept walking intent on getting out of there. When he was just a few paces away from the door he thought he felt something hit his ankle and immediately after an alarm went off somewhere. Startled, he took a couple steps back and looked around for its source. It was the sound of a chainsaw getting revved to life that got his attention. Sebastian spun around. Behind him stood the sadist with a chainsaw. “Shit!” He swung back around and slammed open the door and dashed down the hall. As he approached the door at the opposite end, he glanced back. How could such a big man keep up as well as he was. Especially while carrying a chainsaw.

Throwing open the door he came into a long area with an open door at the other end. Sebastian barely made it six feet in when he felt a sharp, burning pain in his lower right leg. He let out a cry of pain as he fell and hit the floor and curled in clenching his leg. Looking up the man loomed over him for just a moment before he turned to a sort of machine against the wall. Frantically, Sebastian pulled himself along the floor in an attempt to get away. The big man stepped on the pedal on the machine and a steel gate dropped down from the ceiling behind him, just barely a foot away from Sebastian's feet. As he scrambled to his feet, the lights switched on one by one illuminating the rest of the hall as well as the rotating blades that whirred to life on both sides of the room.

With the rotating blades closing in on him, Sebastian hobbled as fast as he could while staying as close to the center of the hallway as possible. Suddenly, a wall of steel bars dropped down blocking his way. Quickly, he glanced around the area between himself and the bars. There had to be another way out... there. A grate in the floor. Where ever it led would be better than the certain death that awaited him up here. As he opened the grate, he glanced behind him and saw the sadist watching him. Just watching. Turning back around, he dropped down into the hole in the floor with only seconds to spare, as the blades were mere inches away.

Unfortunately where he ended up wasn't much better. The floor was at such a downward slant that it was pretty much a slide. There was a lot of blood, most of it was dried on the floor and on the walls. There were body parts and innards clumped up against the wall at a couple points. Also, there were two more sets of the rotatory blades, both of which Sebastian barely evaded before the flooring beneath him suddenly came to an end and he slid down into a pool of blood. Resurfacing, he gagged and sputtered and tried to wipe the blood from his face though it didn't help much. As he started towards the ladder, Sebastian had a sickening feeling rise up in his stomach. The blood was literally dripping off of him as he wadded waist deep in it, as well as a random assortment of guts and dismembered limbs. He seriously thought he was going to be sick as he climbed with difficulty up the few steps. And the squish sound every time he stepped didn't help.

There was some piping on the wall and ceiling that led who knew where with the only exit from this circular room was a closed door on the opposite side of the pit of bloody death. Water dripped from some of the piping at the walls looked run down. He hobbled around the pit and leaned heavily against the door as he pushed it open. There was an open ended hall in front of him that was about twenty feet in length. He could see a large fan slowly spinning on the wall in the other area and more piping ran along the wall below it. Sebastian barely glanced to the left, which led to a dead end, before heading to the right. A sewer. Of course there's a sewer underneath a freakin' mental hospital. Then again, assuming everything he's gone through so far was in the basement, none of this was normal for the lower levels of any hospital. Once he reached the end of the walkway he was on he stopped. Leaning against the railing he looked around. There was no bridge to cross over all the sewage and to the walkway on the other side. He might have been able to jump it but his injured leg made that possibility all but impossible. Which left his only option to drop down into the sewage and trudge the few feet to get to the ladder that led to the other walkway.

With no other choices he dropped down into the water. A fleeting thought passed; made him wonder if he should try to scrub at his clothes to get the blood out. Instead he hurried out of the mucky water and started limping down the walkway with his hand on the railing to help keep the weight off of his leg. The piping continued on the wall next to him and, a short distance ahead of him, there was a path leading off of the walkway and to a door. He couldn't make out what was on the opposite end since, for some reason, it was misty down there. Though despite the mist, he thought he saw someone slouched down in a chair. After checking the door the path led to Sebastian muttered, “Where's the exit?” as he continued on.

He paused momentarily to check on the man in the wheelchair. Unfortunately, as he suspected, the man was dead. There was a scrap sheet of paper at the mans' feet, which Sebastian picked up and quickly read over.

Beside the locked gate at the far end of the sewer, there is a ladder which would take you to the old ward. If you could make it through there, you would find an elevator leading outside. You would be the one who escaped. You might be the one who survived. -R

So, just keep going in the direction he was heading. A loud noise sounded back from the direction he had come from. Looking back, he didn't see anything. Dropping the note he limped past the man in the chair. At the end of the path there were two locked gates. One to his left and one in front of him. To his right, an open pathway, which he shuffled through to find a few storage units and a ladder. So far the letter has been accurate, so with some luck he'd be out of this hell-hole soon.

Slowly, he started to pull himself up the ladder. It was an exhausting task seeing as he only had use of one of his legs. He was breathing heavy when he finally made it to the top. Leaning against the bars, which were the wall of another room, he took a moment to catch his breath. As he recovered, Sebastian looked around. The room he leaned on the wall of only had a desk with a computer and some paper work as well as a metal book shelf. Thankfully the area he was in had a way out. Limping over to the door, he hit the button next to it and instantly the door slid open. He hobbled down the L shaped hallway and pushed open the door at the end.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped through the door was the large window that he can see another room on the other side of. In the room he was in there was a bed with a mattress and a couple carts. Similar to a hospital room. The only light in the room came from the large window and the open door at his right. Beyond it was a short hallway lined with filing cabinets on one side and an old mattress and bed frame were leaned against the wall on the other. Pushing open the door on the other end, Sebastian found himself in the room he saw through the window earlier.

There was a collection of boxes, a filing cabinet and some lockers. Sebastian was barely in the room when he heard that sadistic man crashing into the room on the other side of the window. Quickly he pushed the door closed behind him and hurried to the other door in the room... only to find it locked. “Gotta hide,” he practically whispered as he glanced around the room searching for a place he could likely hide at. There was only one liable place that he could fit in and at first he didn't want to, but seeing as he had no other options, since he couldn't go back the way he came, he pulled open the door to the full sized locker next to the locked door and ducked inside.

Sebastian leaned all his weight on his left leg as he stood, essentially trapped, listening to the crazed man crash about in the hallway before he banged against the door. For just a second he thought, maybe he couldn't break through. Maybe he was safe. Those thoughts were all but thrown from his mind as the door crashed in the room hitting the light hanging from the ceiling. Jerking back, Sebastian bumped the back of the locker than clamped a hand over his mouth. He watched him stalk about the room, chainsaw revving, through the vent in the locker. This lasted maybe a minute before the sadist swung the chainsaw in a fit of rage breaking stuff in the room before barreling through the locked door next to Sebastian's hiding spot.

Slowly, he moved his hand from his mouth and clambered out of the locker. He did a quick once over the room. The boxes that were stacked in the corner were now broken as well as the hefty dent in one of the filing cabinets. Going back wouldn't get him to an exit. No matter how much he didn't want to follow after the sadistic man, it was the only direction he could go. Turning, Sebastian hobbled through the doorway.

The door lay on the floor a couple feet in front of the doorway. In front of him a hallway laid before him. At the far end there were more lockers and the hall turned to the left. Next to him were windows looking into the room the sadist was in, slowly walking away from him as he looked about the room, likely looking for him. Cautiously, he made his way forward looking through the window, both to keep an eye on the man as well as trying to find an exit. Just as Sebastian reached the entryway, the man turned around.

He slouched down and leaned against the wall hoping he was out of sight. There were different options laid out in front of him and he had to think fast. Which way was he going to go? Either way was a risk. Should he chance the hallway and hope that didn't lead him to a dead-end? Or should he attempt going through the room to the one beyond it? There was a stack of boxes he could hide behind if he decided on that option but he would still have to find a way past the sadist. He grew tense as he heard him come closer. A decision had to be made. Risking a glance around the corner showed the sadist slowly making his way back to the other side of the room. It was now or never.

With one final glance down the hall, Sebastian, with a hand bracing him against the wall, hobbled into the room. Ducking behind the stack of boxes he almost kicked a glass bottle. Resting his hand against one of the boxes, he bent down to pick it up. It was a slim chance but if he could use it to divert attention away from him he might be able to get away. He could hear him on the other side of the boxes. Taking a deep breath, Sebastian threw the bottle out into the hallway and watched it shatter. And to his relief, and surprise, the sadist turned and charged into the hall.

Quickly, Sebastian hobbled out from behind his hiding spot and towards the other room. He didn't dare look back. There were windows looking in this room as well so he had to try to maneuver his way through the medical clutter and boxes while ducking and slouching to stay out of sight. Just as he was exiting the room on the other side he heard the sound of the chainsaw getting closer. As he entered the short hall he could hear boxes being broken inside the room. He had to hurry. With some luck he'd waste time searching for him.

Pushing open the door he found, Sebastian winced hoping the whine of the door wouldn't be heard. He took a second to close it behind him. The room wasn't large and seeing as it had a desk with paperwork scattered across it, it could have been a type of office. He made his way to the door across from him. The revving of the chainsaw could barely be heard. Even so he grimaced as the door creaked as he pushed it open. The hallway was a cluttered mess of wheelchairs with a stretcher or two. Sebastian tried to keep quiet as he hobbled down the hall. He didn't get very far when the door behind him was suddenly kicked open and clear off its hinges.

Sebastian didn't dare look back as he was filled with panic. “Oh shit!” He pushed past one of the wheelchairs and staggered onward. The sound of the teeth of the chainsaw slamming into the metal on the wheelchairs gave him the tiniest bit of hope that he'd make it. There was only a stretcher blocking his path which he attempted to climb over top of only to topple off the other side. The elevator door slid open as he managed to scramble to his feet and hurried those last few yards to the elevator.

Just as he reached the doorway of the elevator, he practically threw himself inside. He pushed himself against the wall furthest from the door and held his breathe was he watched the big man swing his chainsaw... only to crash its roaring teeth into the steel bars of the elevators door that closed mere seconds before. As the elevator rose the sounds from the man and his chainsaw disappeared, and only then did Sebastian release the breathe he held.

He'd seen and experienced some messed up things during his career, but this, this was seriously fucked up. Who was the psycho-path? But more importantly, what the hell was going on around here. Sebastian pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket but crumpled and discarded it with a scoff when he realized it was empty. This stress was going to kill him, if his lifestyle didn't first.

As he sat there, he finally noticed the droplets of blood on the floor. That was probably how the sadist was able to find him. Though maybe that was giving him too much credit. At this point he didn't really care too much. He was in pain and just wanted to get out of this hellhole and to a hospital.

The elevator seemed to go on forever. After he recouped a bit, he looked up at the bar above his head and, reaching up with his left hand, struggled as he got to his feet. He leaned back against the bar once he was standing while putting as little weight on his right leg as possible. Finally, the elevator stopped with a ding. As the door slid open, Sebastian noticed he was back to something normal. Before him lay a hallway of the hospital. The only light came from the series of windows on the wall to his right. There were a couple abandoned wheelchairs and from the look of it three bodies. Slowly, he made his way down the hall towards the double doors that sat ajar at the opposite side. As he got a bit closer to the first body he realized they wore the KPD uniform. Wait, was... was this the same hall he saw on the live feed monitor? He looked around for a security camera when suddenly the ground shook beneath him and he had to fight to keep his balance. Dust and bits of dry wall fell from the ceiling. What ever it was that caused that, whether it was an earthquake or something else, Sebastian knew he had to get out of here.

He hurried to the door only to stumble and almost biffed it into the wall as the building shook again. Instead he caught himself on the wall before he made a beeline for the door hitting it open with his left shoulder. Sebastian found himself back in the lobby and shot a quick glance to his right and spotted the front door. He grimaced as he ran for the door, pausing only to pull them open, before he stepped outside and stopped in his tracks. Despite the rain stopping, there was smoke and fire rising from the a few buildings. There was a loud rumble to his left and he turned only to watch in shock as one of the buildings started to collapse. He was too shocked to truly process a coherent thought on the matter.

Suddenly, the siren from an ambulance belonging to the hospital sounded. It was brief, it's sole purpose was probably to just get his attention. Sebastian took a couple hobbled steps forward. The ambulance backed up hitting, and pushing a police car out of the way, and coming to a stop just before the deep crater in the road. “Detective!” Recognition and relieve crossed his face as he recognized Connellys' voice over the loud speaker. “Get in! Get in!”

The ground shook again and he looked up just in time to see all the windows above him shatter. He spun back around and bounded down the stairs pushing off with his left leg... and almost toppled down the remaining few steps when he dropped all his weight on his injured leg. With a sharp breath he continued towards the ambulance, this time however, much more aware of how much pressure he put on his leg. The ground shook again, though not bad enough to throw him off his feet. The crater, however, was only growing in size. Connelly slammed his foot on the gas pedal in his attempt to free the vehicles back tires from the couple inch drop that that part of the road fell.

Sebastian barely managed to grab hold of the door via the opened window as the ambulance freed itself. After running a few steps along side it, he managed to heave himself inside the moving vehicle and fell into the passenger seat in a disheveled mess. He righted himself just moments before Connelly slammed through the gate leading back out onto the main road. Sebastian braced himself on the dashboard as he was roughly bounced around. The people in the back seemed to have it worse than he did as he heard them cry out. Glancing back through the window to see who was back there, be spotted three people. Kidman, the doctor Joseph found disoriented in the control room and lastly a patient from the hospital. “Hey,” Sebastian turned back to Connelly. “Where's Joseph?”

“Man, I'm sorry but he never came out. I'da waited but...” Connelly was stressed, that was obvious enough, and just focused on the road in front of him. 'Joseph...' Sebastian glanced down at his leg. It throbbed and hurt like hell. He was going to have to get that checked out and soon. There was a loud rumbling. “Shit... There's no going back...” Looking behind them out the window, Sebastian saw the road falling out behind them. That wasn't good. Looking back out though the windshield, he braced himself against the dash again as he saw some construction equipment collapsing.

With a couple quick minute decisions, Connelly managed to keep them alive and turned onto another road. Finally, both Sebastian and Connelly relaxed a bit. And Sebastian even leaned back into his seat a bit and sighed with relief. ...Wait a minute. Were... the buildings shifting? Like the ground on one side was moving while it stayed stationary on theirs. “Shit...” he muttered with disbelief. This was getting ridiculous. But Connelly didn't stop, if anything he picked up speed. They barely made it in time as they sped through the gap that was just big enough for them to fit. Once through, Connelly glanced back and, turned back to the road, sighed and visually relaxed. After a couple minutes, he slowed down to a more reasonable speed.

When they put some distance between them and the craziness they just experienced, Sebastian attempted to contact dispatch. But all he got was some static. “Dammit,” he muttered, as he replaced the transmission radio. “Are we cut off from everyone?”

“Everyone must be dead...” Sebastian looked over at Connelly. That was a pretty pessimistic of him. Though realized soon enough that with all the chaos that's been going on he might not be far off with his statement.

Whatever the case, the best thing he could do right now was focus on what was in front of him. Focus on what he could do. Sebastian pressed the button for the speaker and looked to the back. “Everyone alright back there?”

Kidman, who was crouched down by the other two, turned to face the front. “Just a few bumps, we're fine.”

The patient was staring down to the floor, while the doctor had his hands on the younger mans shoulders. Turning to face Sebastian as well, the doctor told him, “We will be once we're far away...” While he said this the young patient was repeating the word 'fine'.

Turning back to face the front, Sebastian told them, “A little further and we'll be fine...” A moment later he glanced back at them in the rearview and saw a man in a dirty white cloak looming over them. Startled and concerned, he twisted around to look back through the window but the man was gone. A bit of static sounded from the transmission radio and the vehicle swerved and grazed the wall of the tunnel they were driving through. Sebastian grunted as he barely stopped his head from hitting the dash. Looking over at Connelly, he jerked back away from him. He watched in shocked horror as boils appeared all over his face. His veins became more prominent and deep red. Blood dripped from his nose. And the sounds he made... groans and wheezes, like he had difficulty breathing.

Suddenly, Kidman slammed her hands on the window startling Sebastian. Quickly, he looked over. “Look out!” she shouted. Looking back out the windshield, he saw the end of the road. The last thing he heard was the mental patient's muffled voice saying 'fall' before the ambulance plummeted over the cliffs edge.

#The Evil Within #Sebastian Castellanos #Juli Kidman #Joseph Oda #Oscar Connelly #the sadist #Willow's writing

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marinsawakening · 5 years

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figured I should probably put my lgbt+/neurodiversity headcanons for fma together in a list bc I like making lists:

Ed: nonbinary/genderqueer and aro-spec (nebularomantic or my specific type of aromantic, I can’t really decide), autistic and ADHD. The ADHD is so heavily coded that it’s honestly just canon as far as I’m concerned, the autism is there bc I’m autistic and I like him. I also think he’d be mostly non-dysphoric (bc again. projecting).

Al: intersex and aromantic. I don’t currently have any real neurodiversity headcanons for him.

Winry: bi trans girl. I kind of like playing with an autistic headcanon for her, but it’s not really set in stone.

Mei: genderfluid and lithromantic. I think she’d mostly be fluid through agender, demigirl, binary girl, and maverique, but I could also see some partially masc nonbinary genders in there like demiboy, although those would appear less often. Lithromantic is there because when my faves get unnecessary romance subplots I WILL headcanon them as arospec and you cannot stop me. No current neurodiversity headcanons, although she does give good neurodiverse vibes, I just don’t know what type of neurodiverse to make her.

Scar: genderqueer and aroace, with autism and PTSD on the neurodiversity front. Autism is very much coded in a lot of his mannerisms and general personality, and the PTSD is pretty obvious because, you know, genocide survivor. I originally headcanoned him as nonbinary (quoigender specifically) and while I do still think that’s a cool idea, I also think that on second thought, he’d prefer to label himself as genderqueer rather than nonbinary (if he’d label himself at all with any of these labels; I think he’d probably be more of a ‘no label’ person, or otherwise stick to cultural Ishvalan labels). Uses he/him and zie/hir pronouns, and rejects all ties to the binary (singularian). He’s aroace bc I’m aroace and I like him.

Lust: asexual because I think it’d be funny and ironic and honestly I think it’s a fucking powermove to headcanon the personification of lust as ace like come on.

Paninya: transfem and queer. I keep switching my LGBT+ headcanons for her because I really can’t decide which ones I like best (though some combination of aro and lesbian pops up often). The only consistent thing is that she’s definitely not straight and definitely transfem (whether a trans girl or transfem nonbinary person I keep switching on). Also don’t really have any set neurodiversity headcanons, though I think ADHD is a good one, although I think there’d be something other than that too (currently playing with a schizo-spec headcanon, maybe?).

Olivier: trans aroflux lesbian (and maybe polyam). IDK she just gives me big aro, lesbian, and trans energy. I like to headcanon that she kept her first name (bc as a trans person who is keeping feys birth name it makes me happy) and only changed her second name, and that she’s mostly non-dysphoric. I kinda like the autistic headcanon for her, but I’m not really actively invested.

Izumi: bi, polyam, and depressed, as well as maybe some other neurodiversities/mental illnesses.

Riza: bi, no current other headcanons.

and uuuhhh I think those are most of my headcanons for my faves and some others thrown in there bc they’re stable (like Riza’s, I’m not really invested in her or the headcanon but it’s stable so it’s there).

#my posts #fma #im not tagging all these people #nonbinary headcanon #autistic headcanon #i guess #they're just tags i'm trying to keep consistent

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kissedgoodbye · 6 years

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Some thoughts on fanon portrayals of 6

DISCLAIMER: I want to stress that I’m not trying to be rude or disrespect anyone’s ideas or headcanons. This is just a personal post about my own thoughts and feelings about things I observed that I don’t personally agree with. So it’s just an opinion- please don’t get mad.

So without further ado: I have some thoughts on fanon interpretations of 6 and why I feel like they’re not just incorrect, but inappropriate.

People have talked a good bit about canon 6 in the past (and probably much more than I’m aware of since I’m pretty new here) and from what I’ve seen, most tend to agree that he’s mentally ill/neurodivergent-coded. Obviously, in canon, he’s more or less a prophet and may or may not have been intended to be actually mentally ill or nd by the creator but that doesn’t stop some folks in the fandom from calling him “the crazy one” or whatever, so, as far as I’m concerned, he’s definitely coded regardless of intentions (as coding can be unintentional).

Now, at this point, I’d like to point out that I am both autistic and on the schizophrenia spectrum and these things color my views immensely. I probably wouldn’t even be making this post if it weren’t for that. I can relate to 6 in a personal way so I’m more sensitive about him, I think.

I’ve seen two main (mis)interpretations of his character that I’d like to discuss here. 1) he’s basically a child because he displays childlike traits and 2) he’s incredibly violent. So here’s my response to both of those fanon characterizations.

1) He’s a child/very childlike.

This one is the least harmful of the two in my opinion because it takes more strongly from canon. It’s canon facts that he acts a bit childlike at times (i.e.- him chasing around ashes like they’re fireflies) but, at the same time, since he is arguably neurodivergent-coded, I’m going to address it anyway. As an autistic person, I see a lot of autistic or autistic-coded characters being reduced to children or just overtly-childlike and it’s a troubling pattern. If he wasn’t neurodivergent-coded, no one would be portraying him as a child while the rest of the characters stay adults (case in point: I’ve never seen another character from 9 being portrayed as a child unless it was specifically done as a plot device and none of the other characters are nearly as nd-coded as 6). So, it isn’t honestly the end of the world when people do this, but, as an autistic person, it still makes me uncomfortable and doesn’t sit right.

Now, onto the one that honestly troubles me more...

2) He’s extra violent.

I’m gonna start by saying, I know this one is probably a joke or at least started as a joke. We’re all having fun here and I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade. However, I have some thoughts on this that I feel are very important anyhow. As someone on the schizo-spectrum, I have seen so many mentally ill/coded characters made out to be violent and I take issue with it. Even in real life, people with severe mental illnesses are made out to be violent or even killers for no reason other than that people don’t understand and fear mental illness and this leaks into fandom as well.

In canon, I’m pretty sure 6 wouldn’t hurt a fly. He doesn’t react when 8 ruins his drawing except to sigh sadly and he literally lets himself be taken and “killed” by the machine to protect his friends who’s soul fragments are trapped inside the talisman. Like most fictional prophets, he’s the ultimate pacifist.

So, in a way, I can definitely see the humor of making a pacifist character extra violent for the shock value but, since he is mentally ill-coded, I feel that there’s some nuance here that needs to be respected. I’m sick and tired of seeing mentally ill characters made out to be violent when they aren’t. It isn’t funny and, in fact, I’d even go so far as to say that it hurts real life mentally ill people like myself in the long run because it contributes to a culture of fear and misunderstanding.

SO, now that I’ve gotten all of that off my chest, I want to stress again that I mean no hatred or disrespect towards people who portray 6 in these ways- I simply mean to educate from the perspective of an autistic and schizo-spec person who deals with infantilization and assumed violence in real life.

Thanks for reading all my silly rambling if you even made it this far!

TLDR: Child/child-like and extra violent portrayals of 6 make me uncomfortable as an autistic and schizophrenia-spectrum person because they contribute to a culture or ableism and misunderstanding of autism and mental illness regardless of intentions.

#9 movie #shane acker's 9 #shane ackers 9 #6 #BLEGHHHHHH #aNYWAY #like i said- no disrespect intended! i love y’all!#these are just my thoughts #i didn’t proof-read this so sorry for spelling mistakes

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creativelyschizo · 3 years

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...been theorizing about this since my first chemistry class and hear me out cause it makes sense if you think about it.....This is my only safe place to share what on a good night I dream about....I dream of coding and Science when my nights aren't all terror or paranoia telling me I won't be allowed to sleep.

I can even share my big ideas, my complex hypotheses with even my coworkers or boss because no one wants to acknowledge that I HAVE schizophrenia but I am NOT just that...I still can wonder, intake knowledge, and formulate new ideas. Once they know, that's all you are, all you can be, just a paranoid schizophrenic...If they helped me focus my paranoia into paranoia of a failed experiment bet you our labs clinical studies wouldn't be deficient in areas that need to be explored, it wouldn't be filled with a lot of L's lately because hey I'm paranoid already considered it....I'm constantly thinking about science, about the bigger picture and the road map to get there...I don't care about first or last authorship...I care about good science that is meaningful and impactful, THAT'S my passion...reproducible, good data, well-designed with not just the next step in mind or a single goal but the windy road and pitfalls that come with it...I trip over words, as my mind tried to torture me into giving up I lost not only my inner voice but my outer too. 2 years ago before this started I could eloquently talk for hours about my theories, our labs studies, I still can it just takes me stampering for a few minutes until my confidence returns because I'm being heard and listened too. Sadly, I've been reduced so much to this hard but life's given me harder, mental mind disorder that I don't think any one remembers the girl before the diagnosis....I wish I never let it show that I was crumbling from hearing everyday sounds as voices, and believed that people we lying talking mad shit that wasn't even remotely true all around me....Cause now even knowing these thoughts....the voices whispering or "in the wind" aren't real....no one will see me as just HK. (legit use to hear my schizo voices as so external that they were in fire, wind, water....at the worst of my disorder every sound caused an episode....twisting a bottle cap? Yep. Sliding across the bed? Ya got that right!)

I wish people would see that I'm still me...schizophrenia tried to change me but I'm still me...nerdyness and all. Stubbornly being the stubborn girl whose been though lifetimes over of pain but still chooses to see the world with kids eyes because true discovery comes from amazement, wonder, and curiosity.

#science #theory of life #hypothesis #crazy ideas #schizophrenia #creative #ideas #protein #world #crazy schizo scientist #hear me out

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dreams-for-the-apoplectic · 4 years

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something i will probably never finish but like enough that im posting it anyway

Bro leans in the doorway of your room,

(and you see him from your periphery: boxers loose on bony hips and patterned with hearts, no shirt, can of orange soda in hand with shades neatly tucked on the bridge of a strikingly crooked nose)

and tells you,

(over the sound of the fans, three, overclocked on some jury-rigged upgrades he threw together last year when the air conditioner went schizo cherry apeshit, just like now, again, for the second time this week spewing out mad fumes all grey-black and choked from its old, dusty vents)

that you and he should just ollie outie of this midsummer popsicle stand and move somewhere the sun don’t actively to attempt murder you in the crispiest degree, KFC style.

And you jokingly tell him sure, fuck it, anything is better than clawing my way up Fire Death Concrete Mountain aka Texas Mordor, clutching this bitchin’ ring of power and muttering all manner of rapturous obscenities and salacious innuendos for my precious. Sign me up Major Douchenozzle, I’ll shimmy my fine ass up this fabled air-conditioned igloo any day.

A week later and you've packed your shit, grabbed your ticket, and are hopping the next flight to Vermont.

(four hours, fifty-one minutes, seven seconds, and Bro practically jumps off the plane hyperventilating when you touch down. you didn’t know how much he hated flying. you’ve never been on a plane before; if you didn’t know better, you’d think he hasn’t either. and if you quirk an eyebrow just over the rim of your aviators, and the side of your mouth makes a confused downturn for a second or two at just how fucking strange that that is, well, that was just a trick of the light, and the light is a dirty liar.)

He and you stick out like sore thumbs here

(with Bro in a crumpled white polo and asshole jeans and dumb fucking anime shades, one hand in his pockets with an impassive, calculating kind of expression that you’re more used to than the panic, checking through tabs on Complete Bullshit for god knows what reason; you in the same shirt you wore yesterday, hair a meticulously crafted unkempt, posture slouching something awful as you bop right the fuck along to some sicknasty new bassline Jade dropped on you the night before, thinking of ways to remix it into this new beat you’ve been working on)

among a crowd of home-grown New England faces haughty white and upturned and staring down at you and Bro like some trash that just rolled in from Doesn't Fucking Belong Here, USA.

(the luggage belt is moving so slow, so, so slow, it’s like watching a retarded crippled snail attempt a marathon against the goddamn salt shaker, and you wish you could just shake off the lingering, disdainful stares these people give the two of you, and you can, and you do)

(except you don't.)

You’re rolling through Montpelier an hour later, crammed up in the shotgun seat of an old, dirty, piece of shit pickup Bro apparently had nesting in the airport storage unit,

(it’s a rust hulk straight out of the early eighties, all torn up vinyl and engine rattling, with tacky, outdated bumper stickers on the back and a pine air freshener that does nothing to mask the smell of two-decade old cigarettes, and somehow you aren’t surprised this is his car because it is exactly how you imagined it.)

(you want to ask why he had a car in bumfuck, vermont and not in houston. you want to ask him if he even knows how to drive, but you hold your tongue nice and pretty and settle into the split vinyl seat cover)

moving past the city limits and into the countryside, over the state border and into New York. You give Bro the ‘what the fuck are we doing out here, man, is this the setup for a horror movie or some shit, because I’m not down to being the unwilling accomplice to some new echelon of fucked up smuppet snuff’ look, your fingers tapping in 4-4 on the dash, not really nervous so much as habitual.

(he ruffles your hair with a smirking, mean kind of half-smile, all teeth and teasing and unnatural. you swat at him uselessly.)

And then the road is quiet, and the sky is misting grey. It’s all evergreen and shrubbery and dark soil here, and small towns by clear water: fishing ponds, creeks and rivers, and more wildlife roaming these secondhand backroads than you’ve ever seen in Texas. It starts to rain a bit, ghosting against the glass, and over the soft creak of the windshield wipers Bro asks you if you wanna put on some music, little man, heard you were working on a new track and can I get a sneak peak at that delirious biznasty? And fuck yeah you have, even if it isn’t quite done yet, and you plop your phone on the dashboard, and the drive is comfortable,

(and you cannot shake this feeling that something is wrong.)

---

It isn’t an apartment, it’s a house in the goddamn woods; no, a fucking mansion in the goddamn woods, the design of it ripped straight from the personal architectural smutjournel of Frank Lloyd Wright, complete with white-foam waterfall and neo-American art deco pretension. Your mouth hangs open, and you know, you just fucking know a fly is about to buzz in that shit and set up a cozy little cottage, but you don’t care. This is straight wack, man.

(it looks vaguely familiar too, like something nostalgic stuck in your mental gears, cracked and rusted from disuse; something you saw once, a long time ago, in a place you can’t quite remember.)

Bro gestures you along along the concrete path, and you tell him no, wait, put the fucking brakes on Anime Goldilocks, what the fuck are we doing here, because this sure as shit can’t be where we’re living now, and I don’t wanna piss off the three bears. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and tells you in that deep southern mumble of his that, shit, kid, did you expect we’d just take a plane and end up in the same shitty apartment? And of course you didn’t

(even though you kind of did)

because that would be ridiculous, but-- you don’t know, you’ve been sharing a seven-hundred square foot living space with him for the past fifteen years. How are you supposed to react to a fucking mansion that just suddenly up and settled before you on delicate foundational popliteals and a stark-white concrete strapless all alluring and sultry? Just stand there stone-faced morose and stoic and fuck, that is exactly what you should be doing, isn’t it, because that was what he taught you, to

(stitch up the cuts slowly, careful with the needle and don’t fucking rush it, lil’ bro, even if they’re shallow you can’t just take it and jab that shit in, and for the love of god you gotta work on your dodge game, how the fuck do you expect not to get your ass served up sunnyside in a real fight?)

(̶̥̘͗̉̾̊͝ ̷̦̙̦͌͊̒́̍͛̀̀̈́́̚͘̕̚n̷̨̜̲͓̹̪͎̒͋́̊̎̐̍͌̆͘͝ͅͅͅ ̸̤̥̏́̌̑͒̈́̿́̃

̶̧̝͎̝͔͔̣̬͈̗̥̠̔̀͌̈́͆̒̇̋̋́̈́͐̈̚͝ ̷̡̛͕͚̰͉̦̼̤͍̘̝̹̮̩̈́̑̇̃̔͝͠ơ̷̡̧͔̘͇̖̫͉̳̳͖͇̰̻͗͛̿̋̾̏͘͝ ̸̨̧͈̱̫̩̲̦̭͖̿̃́̔͛̓̓͌̌͗̍̔̾͜ͅ

̷̢̮̮̠̠̬̖̙͈͋̍͛͆̔̈́̓̌̂̀͌̽͝͠ ̸̨̗̯̓͐̿̇͂͊̓́́̄̃̚͘͜͜.̷̲̙͓̮̮̬͓̈́̋͂͒̓̃͘͠͠)̸̧̖̪̦̥̪͙̫͍͙̩̻̺̩̒̌̈́͒͋͝ͅ

̵̬̯̪͛̓̈́̎̒́̂

It isn’t our house anyway, he says,

(and your mind slams on the brakes so hard you think you might flip this shit frontways, slam the roof on that motherfucker into the burning asphalt and skid off the edge of this brutal synapse fuckup.)

(you can’t remember what you were thinking. it’s blurry, and forgotten, and everything is normal again)

moving forward in long, atypical strides that you scramble to follow. The rain is still coming down, you realize, in a softer drizzle that dampens your shirt. Friend of mine lives here.

Holy shit, he has friends?

Yes, I have friends, you little shit, and you flinch when you realize you must have said that out loud. His arms flex, shoulder blades audibly popping with the contraction of muscle, and you flinch, and nothing happens. Her name is Roxy.

And shit, you guess that’s all there really is to say on the matter, because he doesn’t provide any further explanation and you sure as hell don’t ask. You duck under the porch roof and he raps a fat bar of knuckles on the door.

---

Roxy isn’t anything like you expect.

You don’t know what you were expecting, actually, considering you’ve only just heard about her, but she is perky and kind-eyed and so fucking sincere that the saccharine emotional font of exuberant delight that straight up sparkles from her is making you real uncomfortable.

She hugged you.

She hugged you and you liked it.

(and she hugged Bro too, made his spine go all weird fucking c-shaped wrongness as she crushes him against her chest, calls him Dirk like she fucking owns him.)

You’re ushered in as she turns on heel and sways away with a tipsy strut, sauced and sauntering and high stilettos tapping on the dark hardwood. She tells you to drop your things by the door, she can set each of you up with a room in a bit, and Dirk, honey, we have got so much catching up to do, I haven’ seen you and the lil’ guy in ages, and god yer both so fuckin’ tall I forgot about that bit,

(christ on the cross, she can speak at a mile a minute, accent a thickly laced New York staccato that matches Texas about as close to the intersection of nil and fuckall as you can get without running head-on into traffic.)

and Dirky, Dirkle, Dirk-a-licious, oh my god come here right now, I gotta show you this badass shit I‘ve been working on, it’s fuckin’ lit as hell, it has got switches and gizmos and all of the cool techy shit I know you swoon over, and you need to check out this code I wrote because you know I’m not about to trust anyone else to parse my sick lines, so come ooooooooooooon and there they go, Bro dragged stiff as cardboard across the floor by the hem of his fucking shirt. He gives you a side-eye look that says crosses somewhere between ‘don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back’ and ‘help me.’

You shrug and flip him off and leave him to his fate. His death glare could kill a lesser man.

(holy shit.)

And then, quite suddenly, you are alone.

It’s not quiet, you notice - just a more subtle murmur than the scream of a city, made emptier without Roxy to fill up the room. Slow, churning movement below signals the languid rush of water as it tumbles beneath the floorboards and off the cliffside. Some woodland creature skitters in wet dirt beyond the window pane, which filters in ghost-grey light and shakes a bit when a particularly heavy set of raindrops hit.

You shuffle about awkwardly, and glance around for a second,

(the interior is lavishly decorated, you notice. posh white starkness for fineass digs. sir asshole the stone swamp wizard sits plainly in the foyer, nested in arcane robes of the dimwitted and tacky. a cat is nuzzled up at the foot of some kind of bronzed vacuum. the whole place smells like perfume and vodka. it’s kind of intoxicating.)

before deciding the panicked, lingering gaze is kind of stupid, and waiting for Bro to come back like a pining factory girl in the nineteen-forties writing sappy missives to the brave boys in Okinawa was lame as shit, so you flop down on the couch, all loose, gangly puberty limbs and feigned indifference and the muted light of your phone glaring back at you. You pull open a pesterchum window, shoot a few messages to Harley,

(some off-the-cuff rap cooked slow on these sick fires, like just put some whip cream and a goddamn cherry on that shit and call it a sunday. you also make sure to attach a file for the new sbahj comic you’ve been working on. you’ve lovingly dubbed the new arc ‘the spaztastic furry hatesex maelstrom,’ and you hope know she’ll love it.)

and Egbert,

(and you admit, muddled up in tangents and similes that take forever just to get to the goddamn point, that you actually took his recommendation and stuck through the bitterly tasteless cinema assassination of the week. you even wrote a shitty review for it on one of your ironically maintained critic blogs, and send him a link)

(you won’t admit you laughed at groundhog day. he will never let you live it down. never.)

and Lalonde,

(who is on, surprisingly, because you know she has school right now, and fuck if the flighty broad doesn’t take every swat of the educational ass whooping with a snide, condescending seriousness that has a way of getting just under your skin. she wants to go to Harvard, or Cornell, or Oxford, because she is smarter than you, and John, and maybe not Jade but damn is she close.)

(she doesn’t respond either, though, so you cast the thought away and send her some custom made memes deep fried in a hundred layers of crystalline jpeg illegibility and wait, fuck, holy shit)

and then someone is standing over you, peering with an appraising interest, like they’re looking at a slab of beef splayed out dumb on the chopping block. And you don’t flinch, you really don’t, even though you’re about five seconds away from flipping this shit backwards and kicking dust up as you run for the hills.

You can tell this girl is nasty. She is stygian lips and white-blonde hair and violet eyes that politely inform you that this is indeed the fucking slaughterhouse, that you guessed it right, and you’re about to get served up with a side of collard greens and barbecue sauce.

So of course the first words out of your mouth are 'sup, Rose.

Wait, wh

(you see her past the glow of a verdant sun, because even a double universe killing superbomb can't outshine her. cascading orange silk stitch wrapped in a star-shimmering supernova of violet eyes and pallid skin. it's like a goddamn angel come from the heaven; a smirk beneath the hood and fire in her belly. she is the fucking sun now, and nothing can even fucking compare.)

at.

(what the fuck.)

What the fuck.

(what the actual fuck dude.)

Do I know you? Her voice is just dripping contempt.

And you don't fucking know her. She isn't here. Rose is a billion lightyears off in the gay space commune, deep encoded digital vaporware that went out of style twelve fucking years ago. She is a string of chat logs and embarrassing Fruedian slips that didn't happen, no, Rose, you don't have undercover mother-lust.

And she is here.

You've never even seen her picture, but you know. You know far beneath the skin, something deeper than blood or bone or anything else seething something above that spiritual core. You know on a fucked kind of metaphysical. It's self-evident. It cannot help but make itself true.

Uh.

Shit.

Shit dude fucking say something. She’s just standing there, and the downward curvature of those lips is about to break out of the spatial plane and into some hyper paranoid fourth dimension. You guess she has a right to be weary. Your gangly ass is seated firmly in her territory.

#homestuck #dave strider #bro strider #rose lalonde #mom lalonde #decided i should probably fulfill the whole 'occasionally write things' part of my blog that has kinda been neglected since like 2017 or so #and this has just been sitting abandoned in a google docs since like early 2019 or so but i like it enough that i figured fuck it why not #so here you go #my requisite one writing thing that i post a year #it will probably never be finished #enjoy i guess?

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trh · 3 years

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>proprietary technology requires advanced training almost there but not quite, it should be >proprietary technology requires proprietary training makes a lot more sense no? and perfectly encapsulates the issue imagine being so colossally goddamned fucking incredibly retarded and fucked up, delusional, schizo or maybe just paid by "the right people" that you end up conjuring such strawmanning. RTR leads to shade-tree mechanics repairing PET scan machines? FUCK WHAT? BITCH?!?!? Allowing me to replace a fucking $100 stick of ram instead of paying $500 more for a Laptop with a few more gigs of RAM is what'll happen. Me replacing a fan instead of polluting this gay world with more consumerism and saving up more money is what'll happen. Fighting income inequality, allowing people to repair instead of replacing everything. FUCK. Tom Giovanetti. Every 5-10 years EVERYTHING starts failing in your house. You heating, your car, your PC, your phone, your TV, the pipes, your oven, EVERYTHING is slowly breaking apart and this isn't just some buddhist anicca bullshit NO BITCH it's the REAL WORLD. Imagine having to pay like 10k every fucking year buying new ovens, new computers, new everything just because a fucking capacitor failed and you can't even fucking unscrew the case because the Money grubbers glued it and inserted miniature bombs inside the case a la Ted Kaczyinski, which blow up when you try to open the case, maiming you and requiring you to both buy a new Crapple(tm) AND go to the nearest Crapple-owned hospital that specialises in mailbomb-type facial and hand injuries. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK THIS SHIT turns me into some kind of schizo raging bastard. Open source is a thing and it's not like I won't use a math or crypto library just because, theoretically, EVERYONE is allowed to modify the code. I trust qualified people

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terencehawkins · 6 years

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Copy of ROSEANNE, PIZZAGATE. TRUMP--and now QANON

Yesterday, adherents of the QAnon conspiracy theory appeared front-and-center, self-identified with t shirts and signs, at a Trump rally. Future historians will consider this to be an inflection point as stark as the Reichstag Fire. QAnon is a disordered Messianic fantasy in which Donald Trump and elite units of the military are poised to strike--in a countercoup called "the Storm"--against a globalist Deep State conspiracy comprising not only the Clintons, Obama, the Democratic Party, the diplomatic corps, and the media, but also many Hollywood figures, and in its more baroque manifestations, Freemasons and of course Jews. The Deep State's objective? World dominion and protection of its network of camps, farms, and bordellos stocked with brainwashed children for their pedophile Satanic orgies.

I am not making this up.

That these mental defectives feel comfortable publicly acknowledging their delusions at a Presidential rally marks another several turns in our tightening spiral down history's drain. The post below originally appeared June 4 and addresses not only the underlying tenets of the cult, but the Administration's ties to it.

Lovable caricature of a blue collar mom--though oddly I don't recall my own blue-collar mom ever comparing black people to apes--Roseanne Barr is notable not only for racism, Islamophobia, and antisemitism, but an affinity for conspiracy theories. Leaving aside the question of whether the former are characteristic of Trumpism, there's no doubt that the latter is.

Barr herself latched onto some deeply troubled storylines long before her faceplant last week. Her posts on 4Chan--a message board that seems to be peopled by the kind of guys with homemade tattoos that you see running rides at carnivals--approvingly reference not only the now-well-known fantasy that liberal billionaire George Soros is a former Nazi zonderkommando, but the more obscure notion that Donald Trump has secretly liberated hundreds of children a month from sex slavery. (A later post will address the alt.right's obsession with pedophilia.) Ask yourself who could believe that Donald Trump could do a good deed in secret and wonder how Barr is allowed to have a driver's license.

The conspiracy theory is, of course, an element in the Trump toolbox as essential as the hammer. After all, his political career was launched in Birtherism, a racist fantasy that seemed to be predicated on the assumption that no black person could legitimately achieve the presidency. As we've spun further and further down the Trumpworld rabbit hole, many of us have forgotten the rallies in which he gleefully announced to cheering goobers that he "couldn't believe" what his "investigators" were "digging up" in Hawaii. We have also forgotten the press conference, during the campaign, at which he proclaimed that Obama had been born in America, without explanation or apology.

That's all been buried under the mountain ranges of brazen bullshit he's shoveled out since--historic inauguration crowds, massive voter fraud depriving him of a popular vote win, Spygate one week, Mueller tampering with the midterms the next.

There are two alternative explanations for the primacy of the conspiracy theory in Trump's public worldview. One is a cynical recognition of the gullibility of his trailer-park constituency and the ease with which its resentment can be directed at elites. The other is much, much darker.

PIZZAGATE

As noted above, Roseanne is fixated on child sex trafficking. This is nothing new on the fringe right. But a year ago, it spawned a theory so bereft of supporting evidence and connection with consensus reality that it may have killed political satire for a generation. And almost wound up killing real people as well --Pizzagate.

It's impossible to recite the elements of the theory with a straight face. But here they are: Prominent Democrats, including John Podesta and Hillary Clinton, are pedophiles.

Wait. Really. There's more.

Being pedophiles, they need a steady supply of children to rape. (Please imagine Hillary Clinton having sex with a child or adult of either gender and tell me whether you still want to live. Bet you don't!) So they're part of an international ring of pedophiles that kidnaps children and sells them into sex slavery.

But wait--you said there'd be pizza!

And there is. Several of the hacked Podesta and DNC emails referred to a nice family place in the Chevy Chase neighborhood of DC called Comet Ping Pong Pizza. Apparently some DNC staffers liked to hang out there. For reasons still unclear, elements of the alt.right, being apprised of those references, decided that must have been where Podesta, Hillary, and all their Democratic chums were violating kids in the basement.

Well, duh. Where else, right?

The first Facebook posts on the "story" appeared in late October 2016. Yes, just before the election. Almost immediately it went viral, spraying across the twitterverse like projectile diarrhea. Later investigation found that many of the originating accounts were owned by what we now know were Russian bots. But many of the likes and retweets came from Trump operatives, including Michael Caputo. For a brilliant and very detailed account of the original story and its social-media-abetted spread, see these articles in Rolling Stone and Reveal.

Of course it didn't stop with a couple of kazillion retweets. Celebrated fantasist and bankrupt-in-waiting Alex Jones lit up Infowars with new and improved versions of the story that included Satanic blood ceremonies; apparently, once Hillary had satisfied her desires with shrieking tween girls--not making this up--he slaked her bloodlust by chopping them up for convenient disposal.

Other outlets informed their breathless consumers that Comet Ping Pong's menu contained coded clues as to what was going on in the basement--"CP" stood not for "Cheese Pizza" but "Child Pornography."

Oh. Right!

Shortly mottled marsh-dweller Steve Bannon stirred in his sodden weeds and got Breitbart onto the bandwagon. Not to be outdone by other sites touting confirmation by entirely imaginary NYPD investigations, Breitbart Radio went right to the top in an interview with Blackwater Security founder and major Trump donor Erik Prince--remember that name--who not only confirmed the story but expanded on it, adding details like multiple trips to Caribbean sex islands on a private jet owned by Clinton-pardoned financier Mark Rich. Hoo boy--is that Hillary evil, or what?

But things worked out as they worked out and the Russkis nudged the Electoral College Trump's way. The story, unfortunately, did not end there.

A couple of weeks after the election a sad addled man named Edgar Welch armed himself with an AR 15--the Schizo Special--and drove up to DC to free those poor kids from the Comet Ping Pong basement sex dungeon.

But Comet Ping Pong doesn't have a basement.

One can only imagine his frustrated rage as he bounced around the kitchen flipping open doors in his desperate search for freshly-violated children and still-engorged Democrat Satanists looking for more. Luckily he didn't go the usual crazed-gunman route and shoot up the place before turning the weapon on himself. He did let one round go, though, before surrendering to the SWAT team, which I'm sure for the people who were there was plenty.

TRUMP AND PIZZAGATE

Remember when I told you to note the name of Erik Prince? There was a reason for that.

Erik Prince delivered a full-throated and highly detailed endorsement of the Clinton pedophilia fantasy on Breitbart Radio. Breitbart is controlled by Steve Bannon, who in addition to tireless advocacy for a healthy lifestyle succeeded Russian vampire Paul Manafort as Trump's campaign manager. Breitbart is bankrolled by Robert and Rebekah Mercer, who, with Bannon, control the now-bankrupt Cambridge Analytica, the datamining and psychometrics firm that microtargeted Facebook ads--possibly with Russian assistance--during the 2016 election.

But that's beside the point. Prince is the brother of Betsy DeVos, the famously uninformed and inarticulate Secretary of Education. But wait--there's more! Not only is Prince the sibling of a member of the cabinet, but also an apparition that appears Zelig-like every time the Trumps are doing dirt. For example, Prince met with a Russian plutocrat, Kiril Dmietriev, in the Seychelles a week before the inauguration in what now appears to have been part of the effort to set up a Washington-Moscow back channel. He's also separately proposed that the war in Afghanistan be privatized and the President create a separate spy network reporting directly to him, outside the normal intelligence structure, and presumably beyond oversight.

So to recap: You have a Trump contributor, the brother of a Trump cabinet member, going on a media outlet owned by Trump's campaign manager, to support the claim that the Clintons are pedophile sex traffickers.

But wait--there's more! In addition, Prince has been circulating the truly crazy notion that George Soros--the billionaire that antisemitic nutters love to hate--is financing a Clinton-backed coup against the Trump administration. It's called the Purple Revolution. Why? Are you blind? Because both Clintons wore purple when she conceded the election!

Christ, do I have to paint a picture? Draw a map? All the evidence is right there!

TRUMPWORLD AND CONSPIRACIES

As I said earlier, there are two potential explanations for Trump's penchant for the conspiracy theory. The first being the more benign--his people like them. The rubes who continue to support him feel as though their rightful place in the world has been usurped by mysterious forces beyond their understanding or control---China, immigrants, globalists, tree-huggers, black presidents--why not tie them all together? And God knows he never pays a price for it--we've forgotten Birtherism, which is about as crazy and blatantly racist a slander as has ever disgraced American politics. Yet there he is in the White House.

But there is an explanation much darker. And that is that Trump believes these mad fantasies. Not because he's insane. But because he knows they can happen. If the bare essentials of what's out there so far are true, it is entirely possible that the Russians used an already-compromised American businessman to launder money and spread nutty lies about a popular President. They encouraged him to run for President himself as a vehicle for further disinformation. They hooked him up with a campaign manager already in their pocket, who in turn led him to a social media consultants they could work with. And much to their surprise he won.

Trump really believes in conspiracy theories. Because he's deep in a conspiracy himself.

#QAnon #Trump #Roseann #Deep State

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terencehawkins · 6 years

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ROSEANN, PIZZAGATE, and TRUMP

Lovable caricature of a blue collar mom--though oddly I don't recall my own blue-collar mom ever comparing black people to apes--Roseann Barr is notable not only for racism, Islamophobia, and antisemitism, but an affinity for conspiracy theories. Leaving aside the question of whether the former are characteristic of Trumpism, there's no doubt that the latter is.

PIZZAGATE

As noted above, Roseann is fixated on child sex trafficking. This is nothing new on the fringe right. But a year ago, it spawned a theory so bereft of supporting evidence and connection with consensus reality that it may have killed political satire for a generation. And almost wound up killing real people as well --Pizzagate.

It's impossible to recite the elements of the theory with a straight face. But here they are: Prominent Democrats, including John Podesta and Hillary Clinton, are pedophiles.

Wait. Really. There's more.

But wait--you said there'd be pizza!

Well, duh. Where else, right?

Other outlets informed their breathless consumers that Comet Ping Pong's menu contained coded clues as to what was going on in the basement--"CP" stood not for "Cheese Pizza" but "Child Pornography."

Oh. Right!

But things worked out as they worked out and the Russkis nudged the Electoral College Trump's way. The story, unfortunately, did not end there.

But Comet Ping Pong doesn't have a basement.

TRUMP AND PIZZAGATE

Remember when I told you to note the name of Erik Prince? There was a reason for that.

Christ, do I have to paint a picture? Draw a map? All the evidence is right there!

TRUMPWORLD AND CONSPIRACIES

Trump really believes in conspiracy theories. Because he's deep in a conspiracy himself.

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