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doctor-glitterbomb · 1 year

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OOC: So who is Glit? (Headcanons <3)

So in case it's not fully clear, in my AU, Glit, Howlback and Ravage are siblings. There were originally twelve siblings, and they were built to operate in cat & bird pairs: Ravage and Laserbeak, Nightstalker and Buzzsaw, Howlback and Garboil, Glit and Squawktalk, Stripes and Sundor, and Pounce and Wingspan. Each pair had its own colour scheme. They were all intended for pre-war Cybertronian black ops. The birds are fast, can see far far away, and can plug into your system and steal your information easily. They don't interact with other mecha as much as the cats do.

The cats were trained to be not just deadly spies and assassins, but also for psyops, including seduction, friendly interrogation and entertainment. As beastformers they were disposable, but in their root modes they looked like other small bipedal robots (like Minimus or Cheetor) with beast-like features. Those who were forced to become cassettes were locked in their beast modes until that was reversed.

This project was defunded, and they were all supposed to be terminated, but they weren't, because the people who made them sold them under the table as slaves to get their investment back.

Ravage and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw and Nightstalker (the latter of whom died) were bought up by Senator Ratbat, Pounce and Wingspan disappeared into the Warworlds, Howlback and Garboil were bought up by Iaconian Metaforensics (they learned to be cops from Prowl), and Stripes worked in the Censor's office with Sundor where they made friends with Blaster, which is why they chose the Autobots.

But this is about Glit. Glit and Squawktalk were bought by a noble Vosni house and sent to accompany their unconventional medic daughter Pharma in Iacon as servants and bodyguards.

It was Pharma's conjunx Ratchet who noticed that Glit had the capability to become a medic, made sure he passed the Ambus Test, and trained him--he wasn't very employable in the greater world, but he worked beside Ratchet in the Dead End clinic where he reconnected with Ravage and met Drift and Soundwave.

Anyhow, if you know the whole Glit story, you know that he became the best of the Decepticon medics, the kindest and most impartial--and yet, IDW shows him working at Decepticon death camp Grindcore, which was managed by Tarn before he was Tarn.

Megatron and Glit had issues even in Kiss Players because Glit will heal anyone and cares more for how much help a patient might need than their rank. So it was Megatron who sent him to work there as a punishment--if he wanted to heal Autobots and aliens, he could do it there. This is how Glit acquired a lot of information about the worst war crimes, an addiction to drinking high-grade and alcohol, and also a shit ton of frozen sparks that he 'liberated'.

Glit eventually let the Autobots into Grindcore but he absconded rather than take a red badge; he still remembers what the system they were trying to defend was like and doesn't believe a peaceful reform was possible.

Anyhow he fled to Earth where he thought he would be safe, and he was for a while. He married a bar hostess in Kyoto and learned to sing enka music. Helped her with raising her kids, and everything else. Sang in bars. Did a little furry porn on the side with her. Whatever he could do until he got his medical licence back.

Then Megatron took over the planet, oops. Rosanna heard Glit singing and that's how he ended up in her "interspecies friendship" band rather than turned over to the DJD.

Shortly before the end of the war his wife Naoko died, leaving him a mess. While Soundwave made him the Chief Medical Officer of Sanctuary Station (and Chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee), and while he did have a medical licence in Japan, he still maintains his OnlyFans site, where he gets a respectable stream of income from former Kiss Players fans, furries and robotfuckers.

And in his thread with Fortress Maximus, he's gone to Luna-1 to help him and Cerebros restore the Tebris VII survivors using the domestication reversal protocol developed by Spinister, because he may be an entertainer and a denizen of the 'mizu-shoubai' (and has no shame about it!) but he is also still one of the best Decepticon medics in the galaxy.

#ooc #headcanon #cw: alcohol abuse #cw: sex work

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uenier-unieest · 1 year

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I used to lurk here so much in my early teens. Back then, I only ever looked at ed shit. I'm in my late teens now, the latest teen, which is kind of devastating. not excruciatingly so, but devastating still. I don't mind aging as much as I regret the time I lost, which is so much time. I don't really remember much between the ages 12 and 17. I don't think there's much to remember, only bulimia and embarrassment. I kinda was doing everything I could to avoid having to pay attention, so it's not surprising I don't remember shit. I'm still trying to avoid having to pay attention. I don't think of myself as an alcoholic, but I have drank every day for the at least the past the month, usually starting before noon lmaoo. It's so fucking funny that legitimately don't think myself an alcoholic. "it's just champagne and it's usually less than 4 glasses a day. It makes my daily viewing of Jesus Christ: Superstar (1973) soo much more fun." The feminine urge to sedate yourself in a desperate, pathetic attempt to avoid, or even just belate, having to facing your reality. I think it's unfair that I have to be present for every moment of my life. I thought it was unfair then, too. Im working on fixing my life, though. "I didn't even fuck it up too horribly", she types, alone in her room, after spending twenty minutes crying because she's doing poorly in the pre-calc class she has to take at her junior college. And all because she too scared to tell her professor, who explicitly asked to be told this, that the proctoring application isn't processing her state-recognized accommodations for her developmental disability. I just did a lil' tumble out of all public life. Now, I'm a socially inept young woman who is now having to make up for having spent her entire teendom afraid and alone in her room. autism in women and girls✨ I just want gal pals. This probably isn't enough information to go off of if somebody was interested in talking with someone. Also, I think this post does a dog shit job of characterizing me, but it's where I'm choosing to start. hmu if you wanna talk about something, literally anything (´▽｀) I'm so lonely, holy shit. I promise I'm not as insufferable as my typing makes me sound

#personal #vent #girlblogging #femcel #cw: alcohol abuse #another day another slay #vent diary

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therisingphoenixden · 2 years

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Prompt #18: Of Losses and Learning how to Love Again

Prompt: Free Day! (Anniversary)

Characters: Urianger Augurelt, Berude Eijinn, Thancred Waters

Content Warnings: Standard spoiler warning for just about the whole dang game applies here. Blood, death, grief and mourning, alcohol abuse.

Author Notes: Sometimes it’s fun to be self-indulgent and write that angst with a happy ending! This one is heavy, showing off several ways grief can manifest. But happiness does come, in the end. While not required reading, yesterday’s prompt will heavily tie into where this one leads.

The first anniversary of Moenbryda’s death came and passed with little fanfare. None save Urianger were present, the Scions still scattered to the wind and Berude dealing with troubles in Ishgard. He approached the symbol of Thaliak on the outskirts of Mor Dhona, carved ages ago into a large boulder by Louisouix as an anchor point for his grand plan to stop the elder primal, Bahamut.

And just like Louisouix, there had been no body to return to Old Sharlayan, no final respite for her soul, no healing balm for her grieving parents.

The wound was still fresh on his soul, and he blamed himself for her death.

If it hadn’t been for his summons, Moen would still be alive.

He still remembered their first meeting - him scrawny and underfed with too-long limbs tucked in a corner of one of Sharlayan’s many libraries, reading a tome regarding prophecies far more advanced than a young elezen of his age ought to have been reading. Her taller than he was, loud, and elegantly dressed with her hair in braided pigtails as she walked up to him and declared him her new friend.

They had stayed together ever since, until fate’s cruel hand intervened.

He lowered his hood and removed his goggles, allowing the humid breeze wafting from Northern Thanalan to soothe him. He thought he heard a familiar giggle dance upon the breeze for a moment, and placed a hand on the boulder.

“My moon, thou art forever in mine thoughts,” he murmured into the breeze before silently praying.

“I will honor thine sacrifice and seek a way to bring our foes low. For thee.”

The first anniversary of Haurchefant’s death came while Berude was home in the Steppe. She had been busy preparing Lyse and Hien for the Naadam when she caught sight of how Yugiri and Hien looked at each other. The love reflected in Yugiri’s gaze as she sparred with Hien reminded her far too much of how Haurchefant would gaze at her with love as they sparred. A wave of grief crashed over her unexpectedly and she dashed for the nearest ger before it drowned her.

She fell to her knees and clutched at her necklace - a simple cord bearing a ring with the crest of House Fortemps. It had been one of his last gifts to her and a promise for the future. A future that had shattered when a lance made of pure aether pierced him. She had killed his murderer, Ser Zephrinian, when she faced Thordan, but it hadn’t eased her pain. She found comfort in being adopted into the Fortemps family as they mourned and threw herself into her work as she always had. She could have easily stayed in Ishgard as an honorary daughter of the family, but it was not to be.

After Ilberd had sparked war between Eorzea and Garlemald, she had been busy packing her things at the manor to depart for battle when Edmont visited. “He would not bear to see you alone, my girl,” he said plainly. “I think he would be glad if you find someone who makes you smile as he once did.”

It seemed almost impossible to smile then, and it still did thousands of malms from Ishgard. “I am sorry I am so far away today, Haurche,” she whispered to the ring, as if he could hear her through it. “You know how it is, the duty I bear,” she managed a mirthless chuckle. For the briefest moment, she thought she smelled hot chocolate on the wind, just the way Haurchefant had made it. Rich and creamy with just the barest splashes of brandy to help fight Ishgard’s infamous chill. “Know that I love you, and I always will.” She delicately kissed the crest on the ring and tucked the cord back under her armor.

The first anniversary of Minfilia’s departure to the First hit Thancred hard. He had withdrawn his linkpearl and left it in his quarters with the intent of being completely unreachable. He had given his everything to the Scions, and all he received in turn was pain. He had lost the ability to manipulate aether after spending time adrift in the Lifestream. He had lost Minfilia to another world. What more would be demanded of him? His own life?

The world blurred around the edges as he sloppily dodged a punch thrown his way from a Garlean soldier. He had no business being this far afield and inebriated. But today of all days, he felt the rage, bitterness and loneliness more keenly. And Garlean soldiers made for excellent outlets for every single one of those feelings.

With a roar, he lashed out with his left fist that connected with the Garlean’s jaw. “This is for Louisoix,” he growled. He followed up with a right hook to the gut. “That was for that auroch-shit business with Lahabrea.” One last primal roar of rage left him as his fists grabbed the Garlean’s shoulders to force him down as he brought his knee up to connect with the man’s nose. “And that was for Minfilia!”

Breathing heavily, he scanned the crowd of terrified onlookers.

“I…I think he killed that soldier!”

“He’s gone mad!”

“Quick! Someone call for the guards!”

At that, he ran. The world around him was dark, blurry, and wouldn’t stop spinning. He would most definitely wake up in the morning with no memory of the fight, save for bruised and bloodied fists and the mother of all hangovers. Probably in an alley, also with no memory of how he got there.

But it was what he deserved, wasn’t it? He had failed in his duty to protect the person he loved, the one who was the very heart of the Scions.

He lost his grip on the hazy circle of self-loathing spinning through his brain when he crashed into something very warm and very tall. Before he knew it, he had been slung over its shoulder and his flight from the town continued.

He caught sight of a tail, or at least he thought he did, as he was carried. Whoever captured him was definitely larger than a miqo’te.

“I am sorry, small one.” The speaker was male, with a thick accent.

‘Ah, hrothgar.’

“I witnessed your fight against the Imperial soldier. We have a use for one like you.”

Well, not death then. Being used as a weapon against the Empire was definitely more preferable than death. With a sigh, Thancred closed his eyes and willed his head to stop spinning. No matter how much he tried, the world still spun on.

After all, it was what he deserved.

The anniversary of Moenbryda and Haurchefant’s deaths fell while the Scions were trapped on the First. The rest of the Scions (aside from Thancred, who had taken an attack meant for Lyna and was still recovering) had taken over tending to the Crystarium’s residents after the Eulmoran attack, telling the pair to take a night off.

Apparently what day it would have been on the Source hadn’t been forgotten by the others.

Urianger and Berude found themselves in each other’s company for the first time on the anniversary of the loss of their loves. She had cooked a simple meal of Steppe dumplings. He had brought a bottle of wine to toast with. The night turned from a somber affair of remembrance to something both of their lost loves would approve of far more - a night of storytelling and laughter.

Urianger was regaling her with a story from his youth in Sharlayan, on a day when he and Moen had been asked to look after a very young Alisaie and Alphinaud. It ended with the roegadyn stuck in a tree after the ever daring Alisaie had somehow climbed up and started throwing chestnut cockles at the young teens and him nursing a black eye sustained from trying to stop Alphinaud from treating a book like a chew toy. Despite feeling the tips of his ears burn, he felt a measure of pride in making Berude smile and laugh. Even if it was at his expense.

The laughter died when both were hit with a sudden understanding. It was rare for Urianger to open up so easily, save for around Moenbryda. The pain of losing Berude’s trust several years ago had shaken something in him, and now he found himself sharing parts of himself he had thought long-forgotten, as hidden as he was in his role as lorekeeper and occasional undercover operative for the Scions. He was letting her in, to see the man under the prophetic musings, and it shocked him.

Edmont’s words echoed in Berude’s memory - “I think he would be glad if you found someone who makes you smile as he once did.” It had been so godsdamned difficult to smile in the time since Haurchefant passed. She managed a few here and there, but they had always been polite and never quite met her eyes. Yet here she was, smiling and laughing with someone she cared for, genuinely and wholeheartedly.

Whatever it was that had blossomed between them since their reunion in Il Mheg seemed to be growing, and the hurts of lost loves slowly healing.

It had been two years since they had saved the Star from the Final Days and one year since the three of them decided to commit to a ceremony of eternal bonding.

Urianger’s proposal was spontaneous, riding high on adrenaline and relief when Berude finally awoke. She had returned to the Ragnarok bloodied and unconscious and his mind trapped itself in a loop of despair. The sole thing that kept him plummeting further had been Thancred’s vice-like grip on his shoulder, knowing that he was fighting against the same spiral. Fate was cruel, indeed, if it saw fit to rob them of their happiness so close to the end.

Then her crimson eyes opened, bright and alive. Urianger was the first to pull her close, mumbling the words against her horn with all nerves forgotten. She kissed him passionately in response, the most resounding yes he could have ever hoped for. Then he saw her wicked smile as she asked the same of Thancred, if he would join them on this adventure. The gunbreaker’s response had been just as enthusiastic as the three embraced.

They had taken to traveling together after the Final Days, intent on seeing all the sights the Star still offered. This trip, however, was special. She brought both of them to see her homeland and meet her tribe, as both men had been assigned elsewhere while she helped track down Lord Hien. She had visited Old Sharlayan and Limsa Lominsa often; it was only fair of her to return the favor.

She had chosen an apt time to travel, as the tribes had gathered for the Tsagaan Sar. She ducked through the crowds, carrying a basket of dumplings and boortsog for them to enjoy when a large hand clapped onto her shoulder.

“Tell me.” She knew that voice. The ugdan of the Oronir, Magnai, stood behind her, wearing a proud grin. “Will the former Khagan compete? Your men seem more than capable, provided they prove themselves by following in Bardam’s footsteps.”

Berude snorted, but was saved from replying when she heard Cirina’s voice. “Enough, Magnai! She is here as a guest. Not to compete in the Naadam.” The conversation faded into the noise of the crowds as she made her escape, mentally thanking every god she could think of for her dear Ciri’s interference.

She found Thancred and Urianger tucked behind one of the buildings dotting Dawn Throne’s perimeter. No doubt hiding from the bracing winds and suspicious glances from the tribes. With a smile, she lifted the basket. “I hope you’re both hungry!”

Together, the three of them remained cuddled together in their little hiding spot as they ate and listened to Berude’s stories.

Thancred stared at the dumpling in his hand for a moment, contemplating the events that led them here. Of the losses of dear friends and loved ones, yet they were afforded a second chance at the joy long-thought lost before they found each other.

He saw Urianger’s eyes crinkle with mirth at Berude’s story - her first time taming one of the wild horses that roamed the Steppe - and it hit him. After everything, this was what he needed. He may not have truly deserved it, but being with them was the first time he felt truly at peace.

He really was getting sentimental in his “old” age, he thought, as he hugged both of them tightly. “Happy anniversary, my loves.”

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #cw:death #cw:grief #cw: alcohol abuse #urianger augurelt #berude eijinn #thancred waters #urianger x wol x thancred

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johnfkennedaddy · 8 months

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The over coverage of that teacher who came to school drunk is really making me sad. Like obviously she shouldn’t have done that but she’s still a human being and her addiction deserves sympathy and honestly being a public school teacher has sucked for so long I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often

#cw: alcohol abuse

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sadgirlbadpoems · 2 months

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I think that the Supernatural fandom doesn't give Dean Winchester enough credit or hold John Winchester accountable nearly enough. I would argue that John's abuse (mental, emotional and physical) and its constant effect in both boys lives is constantly downplayed by a majority of the fanbase.

The parentification of an elder sibling has been proven to cause lasting issues and we see this throughout the show; when Dean is overly protective of Sam, treats Sam's life as more valuable than his own, can't picture a life where he's not needed, and his dismissal of Sam as a valuable contributor in an equal partnership. Dean is often criticized both in canon and by fans for being overbearing and codependent on Sam. This is a direct result of John Winchester's inability to parent.

Dean's emotional repression is shown to be caused by his father's militant behaviors and approach to parenting. Dean doesn't see his feelings as valid or important and thus turns to repression or unhealthy coping mechanisms as illustrated throughout the show. His alcoholism, violent outbursts, and unhealthy relationship with sex are all coping mechanisms he uses not to feel.

Through flashbacks (and some dialog) the viewer is show that Sam is more resentful towards John than Dean, and that he even holds resentment towards Dean for being the "perfect little soldier".

That's part of the reason Castiel is such a great foil for Dean, both are loyal to absent fathers' but while Dean was born with free will he follows his father's orders unwaveringly until sometime after his death, Cass a being created without free will breaks free of the command of his father and from his father's mission, becoming for all intents and purposes a Prodigal son like Sam.

Dean's adherence to his father's word is, much like Sam's rebellion a response to continued and repeated abuse, neither brother is perfect. And their father was the furthest thing from it.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #john winchester bashing #cw alcohol #tw abuse #cw sex mention #am i really talking about this in 2024 #spn #castiel #dean deserved better #sam did too #parentified child #sorry for the rant #i have so many thoughts #and feelings

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yournewlodger · 2 months

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A post about Edward Nygma and touch.

#lodger speaks #dc #dc comics #batman #the riddler #edward nygma #cw child abuse #cw alcoholism #cw gore #cw ableism

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professorcalculusstanaccount · 1 year

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he’s the adult supervision, he’s the voice of reason, he’s a cringefail king, it’s Captain Haddock! Quite a few people asked for a timeline post for Haddock after I posted one of Tintin.

I found the whole idea of the Haddock family curse to be very interesting, and the implications behind it to be pretty dark... cw for alcoholism and childhood abuse. Let me know if you need anything tagged.

To figure out the timeline the evidence for Haddock’s age I found was in an animated adaptation of Explorers on the Moon where Haddock mentions he has around forty years of sailing experience. I doubt he was running around on ships as a newborn so that places his age during the canon comics at around 60ish, give or take a few years, which in my timeline places his childhood during the late Victorian era!

Left to right, top to bottom:

Child - Archibald Haddock had a pretty rough childhood and family life. The legacy of the “Haddock family curse” weighs heavily on him, and so does the alcoholism that runs generationally. His father is often drunk, taking his anger and frustration out on Archibald. Fully believing the family curse, Archibald’s father drills the idea that he is destined for failure into his head.

Archibald’s only respite is his grandfather, who tells him stories of Sir Francis Haddock and other tall tales from the sea. His grandfather also would take him out on fishing trips, the lochs and the sea being his refuge.

Teenager - It’s the 1880s and Archibald is left aimless after his grandfather passes away, passing the time by hiding from his father and drinking during the day. He fully believes he has no real future and lets himself get swept up by whatever will come along next.

Young Adult - Archibald decides to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and becomes a sailor, feeling at home at sea. He cleans up somewhat after befriending George Chester as the two train on the same merchant vessel. Chester drags a reluctant Archibald along into all kinds of crazy antics, with Archibald wanting to stay on the straight and narrow.

Archibald is drafted during the First World War, serving in the Grand Fleet. He is stationed at the Orkney and Shetland Islands with Chester.

Canon - After the war Archibald relapses on his addiction again, but is able to hold onto work in the merchant fleet. He eventually becomes a captain of a merchant vessel where his mental health issues are taken advantage of in the Crab with the Golden Claws.

Seeing his crew mutiny, kidnap (and attempt to murder) a boy on his ship was a major wake up call - Haddock is now imbued with a sense of responsibility for Tintin (even if Tintin seems to handle things better than Haddock!). He doesn’t understand what Tintin sees in him but he’ll be damned if he proves him wrong. He’s not above calling him an idiot when the time is right though.

Post Canon - After Tintin loses his job Haddock does his best to support him. He uses his wealth to further causes he believes in, donating money to artist collectives and scientific research that was repressed by fascist governments. Before Belgium even joins the Second World War he and the Marlinspike team proactively go out and foil various Nazi plots. Marlinspike Hall is firebombed by the Nazis in retaliation, but after the war Haddock funds various housing cooperative projects. Coming from a working class background he hasn’t forgotten the hardships a lot of people face.

Elderly - At this point Haddock is secure in his found family. He’s been living with his partner Ramo Nash, and has taken up various arts and crafts as hobbies. Looking back, he never expected to be a father, but is incredibly proud of Tintin. He never officially adopts him as a part of him still fears the family curse (plus they both agree “Haddock” as a name definitely does not suit Tintin)!

#fanart #tintin #adventures of tintin #captain haddock #archibald haddock #photoset #headcanon #historical fashion #alcohol #alcohol tw #abuse mention #nazism cw #death mention

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smilingcrittersfanatic · 19 days

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SLOP

^^^ made this one for international ace day!!! happy asexual !!!!!!

cw for self harm , discussion of self harm , drugs / alcohol , substance abuse and KISSING!!!!!!!!!!! under the cut !

i want them DEAD i hate THEM i HAAAAATE THEM

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jadenvargen · 2 years

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ok my demons have been exorcised we can resume regularly scheduled programming

#daniel plainview #hw plainview #mary sunday #eli sunday #there will be blood #twbb #myart #alcohol abuse cw #blood cw #ableism cw

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electric-friend · 24 days

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video mentioned in my previous self-reblog. sorry abt this it’s like… idk. idk what it is. it’s Upsetting, is what it is. it’s Fascinating? by that i mean the parallel i’m trying to make, not the video itself which is kinda meh. but like…. just… hear me out on this one it’s about the angst.

to clarify: love edward teach. angsting him in the way people do blorbo angst, not condemning or attacking him.

forgive me for captioning this post with the textual manifestation of my anxiety disorder but that felt like a relevant note to make. i do love izzy also of course. it’s very um. telling. here. but. yeah.

#izzy hands #edizzy #sort of!! not really!! but the edizzy fans i know are into this edit so #i feel like i should tag edward teach but gentlebeard fans might hate this and block me and i like gentlebeard content and seeing it so #fuck ok #ed teach #cw abuse #cw alcohol

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wxnheart · 1 year

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𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

note: I'm expanding on what I call my Just Be series (which started with König/Just Kingly Things) and what better way to do that than to do one for Babygurl? heads up, this list touches on some sensitive subjects, too. hope y'all enjoy it!

Ghost vividly remembers his father’s words, spurred by misery and an alcoholic rage. He remembers the times when the wretched bastard would tell him that he was unlovable and would amount to absolutely nothing. And surprise, surprise, Simon believes believed this.

He remembers his mother’s smile, strained and… and lifeless. He can count on one hand the number of times it reached her eyes. It was never around his father.

Simon also thinks of his brother, anxiety and tension fueling their fights; they fought each other because they couldn’t fight anyone else. Not the ones they wanted to fight, that is.

Ghost remembers the day when he took matters into his own hands and stood up to their father. He remembers the abject fear in the miserable fuck’s eyes and finally—

He remembers the hopeful smile his mother gave him later. He remembers seeing the tension and stress literally leave his brother’s body.

Even if he didn’t show it often, Simon was damn proud to see his family’s life turn around for the better. Simon remembers his brother pledging his life and love to new his sister-in-law. He remembers swallowing a bitter pill to support him and the singular thought running through his mind the entire time: ‘Where’s my happiness?’

And despite his upbringing, Ghost is very much a marriage-minded individual (to his surprise). You’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise because he keeps to himself.

A relationship with Simon is best described as a slow burn. Your attraction to him would be more apparent than his desire for you. Simon would be extremely hesitant in the beginning to pursue you for a plethora of reasons, the main one being a hidden fear that he’ll turn out like his father. He internalized every single thing the miserable shit told him. A close second one is, well, his profession. He figures that not many people can stomach the things he’s seen and done. Gotta have a certain strength of will to deal with everything that comes with him. You have to have patience as well.

You’re up for the challenge but Simon is still skeptical hence why your relationship with him will develop fairly slowly. Funnily enough, Soap will be your wingman and biggest supporter because the way he sees it, Ghost is just as deserving of love and happiness as the next person even if he thinks he isn’t.

And yeah, Ghost can give credit where it’s due. There are a lot of things he’s learned about himself thanks to you.

For starters, he’s learned that he’s a much more territorial person than he thought. Simon remembers the way his father would do his damnedest to hoard his mother’s attention and he does his best not to do that with you.

It’s hard to make him laugh but he always finds the sides of his mouth quirking whenever you tell a shitty joke. From anyone else, he wouldn’t be impressed but you… yeah. Offbeat humor suits you. It doesn’t hurt to chuckle after all.

When you first called him handsome, something new, something different aside from all the bullshit insults hurled at him or Ghost or Simon, he was immediately on edge if only because he’d never felt so… flattered before. Yeah, that’ll take some getting used to but he’d be a fucking liar if he didn’t think your compliments made his day. Or that he feels some type of way when you compliment someone else.

You two can agree to disagree. Civilly, might I add, and without the theatrics. What better way to pacify a mean fuck than to agree with everything they said, even when it was loud and wrong? Simon’s glad to not have to walk on eggshells, to realize that there can be peace even in the midst of conflict.

He can never forget the joy in your eyes that day when you two crossed that bridge and made your relationship official (“About damn time, Lt.” “Shut up, Johnny.”). You’re practically glowing and he allows himself to feel, to believe that he’s everything his father said he’d never be. You hug him tightly and yeah, Simon figures he’ll be just fine.

Your smile reaches your eyes and he thinks he’s found his happiness after all.

Just Ghostly things, amirite?

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty warzone #call of duty x reader #task force 141 #just ghostly things.#cw: mentions of abuse #cw: mentions of alcoholism #cutie 𝓠.#request fill.

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irrealisms · 10 months

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PERPETRATOR TRAUMA - a c!quackity web weave

[IDs and sources under cut]

Image 1: What Torture is Used For -To Punish or Humiliate: this seems to occur when the victim is perceived as guilty either by action or association.

Image 2: A painting of a slaughterhouse.

Image 3: A drawing of Quackity from behind. He is holding a pair of pliers.

Image 4: Similarly, by becoming an abuser, someone who has been abused can play the role of the more powerful person in the relationship in an attempt to overcome the powerlessness they felt. Unfortunately, this is not effective, and they may repeatedly dominate others in a futile attempt to get over the weakness they experienced.

Image 5: A picture of a calendar. Each day is labeled "Visit Dream".

Image 6: I had his arms tied up behind him We were together all day

Image 7: QUACKITY: Yes sir, yes sir.

Image 8: DREAM: Yes, sir.

Image 9: The word "REVENGE", repeating over and over.

Image 10: There’s a growing body of evidence that torture has a negative psychological effect on the torturer.

Image 11: people who carry out executions or torture,

Image 12: His work already finished by 8am, he slowly sipped on a brandy

Image 13: Associated substance use disorders

Image 14: a picture of a pair of scissors, open and somewhat rusted.

Image 15: three pieces of blood-soaked, dark red cloth, on top of a red-brown canvas.

Image 16: with a sound that mimics the heartbeat of the victim, and with the narrator driving aimlessly through the desert, trying in vain to find peace.

Image 17: SLIME: Is it ever worth it? QUACKITY: No. No, it’s not.

#mcyt #dsmp #quackity #c!quackity #web weaving #torture cw #abuse cw #gore cw #alcohol cw #web weave #collage #my edit

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dajo42 · 2 months

Text

long post about substance abuse and addiction

the thing about me is i was dependent on alcohol for a few years and refused to admit it to myself forever until one morning when something clicked and i stopped but for the past three years its been... difficult. like. i still have dreams where im drinking but justifying it to myself like "this one doesnt count". i hate them

but im sober!!! and thats amazing of me

the other thing about me is i was also smoking whenever i could for a few years but also stopped doing that because i recognised it was another unhealthy dependency and... yeah the dreams happen with that too. the buying a pack of cigarettes and being like well these dont count these are a treat or whatever

but i still dont!! and thats also good!!!!

a third thing about me is for a while i was reliant on self harm to process feelings and i stopped that over a decade ago now!!!! thats so amazing of me

but

the most important thing about me for the sake of this post is that throughout uni i also developed an addiction to painkillers and would take numerous different kinds in dosages way above the recommended numerous times a day and it took a life changing conversation with a best friend in a train station for me to realise how unhealthy it was and how it was affecting people who cared about me to see me basically destroying myself like that

and thats

still ongoing!! i havent drank i havent smoked but i have at numerous points relapsed into full painkiller addiction and it fucks me up and my family still think i went to the hospital for food poisoning this time in 2022 but in reality i had been regularly near fatally overdosing for weeks

and its not like i can cut them out entirely because. they are prescribed to me for chronic pain. like. theres this painful line between taking the right amount to function and... feeling like i have to take more because i cant function without them. its like having an addiction to fucking.... water. i need it to live but its so often hard to tell if thats a real thought or if i think i need way more than i actually do in order to live and i fucking drown because the metaphor is about water

and right now i feel like im on the edge of relapsing again!! recognisable feelings and behaviours are creeping in!! and i dont want that!!!!!!

so im just posting about it on the internet i guess? to get the thoughts out of my head? to vent? to hold myself accountabld by screaming into the void? to ask for advice or reassurance? for somebody to tell me gently but firmly not to take more meds than i should. i took my normal dosage today. taking more would be bad and i recognise that but. i dont know. i dont know if i can trust myself not to tonight without being directly told not to by somebody who cares

#substance abuse #alcohol cw #medication cw #self harm cw

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helpimstuckposting · 8 months

Text

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

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