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prettysweetprettysweet · 8 months

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I spend so much time dwelling on whether there was any sincere sorrow from Lestat in the story we were told, which is almost certainly pointless but I'm vindictive and hold grudges and always crave vengeance and feel an enormous amount of righteous indignation on Louis' behalf, so at this point for me the single most spiritually and emotionally satisfying thing that could happen in season two is Lestat truly recognizing all the pain he's caused and becoming completely dismantled by the weight of his guilt (and in a way that affords him absolutely no sympathy!!)

on that note...the show has us assume that Lestat stowed Antoinette a town away 'by design' in a bid to be discovered and catalyze some sort of passionate reaction from Louis, that Louis' actual reaction of numbness, dissociation, and suicidality was near immediate and kept completely inside, that Antoinette was listening in during this period, and that Lestat was aware of it enough at least to opine to Claudia that Louis couldn't pick an apple in his current state and that he is in worse shape at that point than he ever was during Claudia's absence. Sam mentioned that by this time Lestat was able to hear their thoughts.

I wonder with his chronic self-absorption if he had managed to draw a line from his own actions to their impacts, if it truly registered for Lestat that through his machinations and manipulations he bent Louis so far that he broke in half, that Louis was hurting in a way and with an intensity that he had never hurt before, and that Lestat more-or-less extinguished the flame that made Louis so beautiful in the first place. Did he feel any responsibility and did it cause him sorrow? of course from the story that we've seen so far, its nearly impossible to ascertain Lestat's genuine position emotionally and mentally at any given point.

one moment that causes me to stop is the bench scene when Louis thinks to Claudia 'every night i feel a little crazier' and Lestat makes this face and rapidly jumps up to leave:

with the assumption that Lestat heard this, this could be any number of emotions: exasperation, rage, denial/evasion, fear. but i want it to be at least somewhat sadness and guilt and painful recognition of the ways he is responsible for his husband's devolution into a crazy and suicidal state, his husband who is suffering exactly like Lestat's first love Nicolas, and is increasingly indicating that he will end up exactly like him.

I'm inclined to think he is feeling guilt/sadness/worry because of the way he parts with an earnest and understated declaration of love. to me it just seems like the subtle quietness of it would be the best way to reach Louis through the fog. it's also really delicate and caring in a way that reminds me of how you might talk to a child who has the flu.

the dead look on Louis' face is devastating. I think that because Lestat knows his husband is sick, he's trying to offer warmth and reassurance and encouragement. keep going because i love you. please remember i love you.

#Make Lestat Suffer 2024 #i know they're gonna give it to me good they HAVE to #iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #loustat #yo mismo #yomismoiwtv

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eldritch-spouse · 11 months

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Probably impossible, but I thought what if whenever you die, your soul talks to dorem, keeps him company. Until you go onto your next life. In every life you had, your soul, without any memories of the previous interactions, came back to dorem and just gave him someone to talk to. To give him just a little bit of peace.

I highly doubt that it works like that, but I just thought it'd be interesting. Another way his obsession could be sparked perhaps.

Also the angst of you constanly leaving him to start a new life. Not like you have much of a choice.

[Good idea! <:0]

It's more likely that your soul entices Dorem in general.

He likes it. He can't describe why, but it's a beautiful soul to him. Most of the time, he hardly looks twice at the selves he passively collects, nor does he care too much about what state they go back to the living, but yours catches his attention completely.

Dorem holds it in his gaunt, spidery hands, caging it, stroking over it ever so gently. You're a gorgeous shining hue and it makes the blackness of his torso flutter in some desperate desire to have more. Sometimes he thinks about absorbing you, but he knows it would mean never seeing such a peculiar soul again. Ever needful of stimulus and happiness, Dorem becomes greedy, making rapturous sighs when he realizes you've died, that you've come back to him- Like you always do.

Was your life good, little one? Did you do everything you wanted to?

It felt longer than the last time you left him. Just his luck, you might have been a monster with an incredible lifespan... Welcome back.

In his growing addiction, the spawn would cling to your soul for as long as he could, whispering to it, murmurs of foreign words and calls. Things you'd remember hearing in your next life without knowing who spoke them to you or when. At one point, his depravity would have him lick you, though very quickly retracting that gluttonous tongue as soon as its darkness reached out in corrosive tendrils.

Much to Dorem's immense sadness, these heavenly moments are only just that, moments, you have to leave him. You always leave.

He can feel everything around him fade to gray, shapes blurring past him, days blending into weeks and months and years- All of it nothing but one wispy drawn-out sigh until you're back once more.

It gets unbearable really. His life is cyclical by definition, but this one cycle he's established with you, in a very one-sided manner, is tearing him apart. Dorem can't bear it anymore.

He starts making sure you die early.

It's cruel. It's disgusting. But he sends you back with small ailments, thorns. Illnesses.

Through the midst of his endless apathy, the ruler of Limbo finds enough compassion to ensure your untimely deaths aren't traumatizing in nature. You die peacefully in your sleep, organs shutting down one by one. Sometimes you'll just feel slightly dizzy out of nowhere, and that's the end of your journey.

Dorem realizes things have gone a touch too far when he hovers inside your bedroom. He likes to be there when you're about to die, to welcome you back with open arms... But this time, he doesn't want to.

He knows, boy does he, that lessers aren't supposed to have contact with him. That he's not to be seen or heard from among the living-

But lords above, he would rot entire continents just to have you acknowledge his presence for a single second.

You wake up with a freezing touch to your cheek, the scent of smoke making you sneeze to awareness. The first thing you see are his eyes. Those unmoving, glowing, sunken pits of decay- And you scream, because of course you would. Instincts are unavoidable.

Dorem's entire spine shakes in a violent shudder of satisfaction. Even your terror is perfect.

You're clutched, embraced by his freakishly long arms, kicking and squirming for less than a minute, as a sensation of fatigue takes over every one of your limbs. You feel mildly dissociated from your form, hearing distant whispering about how he's sorry. It must be frightening.

But he just needs to have you with him.

Alive this time.

#Dorem oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x reader

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bunnidid-reviews · 1 year

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DID(Headcanon) Book Review

Facts -

Book Title: Still Life with Tornado

Author: A.S. King

Publication date: 2016

Fiction or Nonfiction: Fiction

Was there a diagnosis of DID? No

Was the person with DID presented as evil for having DID? No

Major Trigger warning list:

- Descriptions of domestic violence, at times somewhat graphic (mentions of hitting, punching, breaking bones and threatening

- Witnessing a spanking (at least audibly and then mentioning it by name, which I personally cant stand)

- Emotional abuse, general tension and unrest

- Gaslighting (? Is it? I don’t like misusing the word)

- Very vague mentions of witnessing sexual misconduct on a minor (a teacher having kissed a student and the main character witnessing it)

- Medical stuff that can sometimes be a bit graphic? (the mother is an emergency room nurse)

- The police show up and make an arrest in the end (its not violent)

Subjective Review(this is how I felt about it) -

Personal triggering scale from 1 to 10 (1 being not triggering at all, 10 being a badly overwhelming experience that might cause personal harm): 5-10? (not too graphic but hit a bit close to home for me personally)

Personal relatability scale from 1 to 10 (1 being unrelatable, 10 being OMG THAT’S ME!): 10

Personal avoidance scale from 1 to 10(1 being eager to get on with it, 10 being impossible to finish): 7

My interpretation of the media(Includes spoilers):

Aaaaaaahhh this book was a hard read. Okay let’s go

The basic premise is about the 16-year-old Sarah. She’s an artist, but suddenly finds she suddenly can’t create anymore, and this is obviously distressing for her. It’s hinted at that the art teacher is suspicious, and something had happened in the art club that sparks this initial avoidance. Sarah was seemingly a good student with fine grades and on her way to being an artist, when she suddenly decides to drop out.

It’s clear by the tension she comes home to, that this is not a household that communicates with one another. Her mother is a night-shift emergency room nurse who’s always exhausted, her father is a sinkhole of a man. He has a job I don’t remember, he takes up a certain space that makes everyone around him very wary. The older brother is completely out of the scene and has been for 6 years. No one talks about it. Or anything, for that matter. These aren’t people Sarah can depend on.

There’s something wrong and no one ever talks about anything. Nothing is original.

In the steady decline of Sarah’s mental health, we start with her deciding to get her name changed to Umbrella, something of a nonsense choice that becomes symbolic of her favorite umbrella, one that shields her from the raining Bullshit as she ponders on whatever’s making her the way she is.

At the bus stop she meets 23-year-old Sarah, who clues in that even though life is hard, it gets better. And 10 year old Sarah, who’s sole existence surrounds the trip to Mexico and the traumatic events that transpired. Then 40 year old Sarah, who pushes for Umbrella to talk about what’s all going on here. The Sarahs all exist in the world as real people that others can interact with (which other characters find uncanny), but also seemingly show up out of the blue around Sarah. You can see how I feel this is heavy DID-coding, right?

As Umbrella traverses her existential crisis, we get flashbacks that piece together what’s going on under the surface, going over the trip in Mexico several times with more and more truth to it. This is all chock-full of confusion, denial and obvious dissociation; a tornado. Every now and again the chapters are in the point of view of Helen(the mom), who’s resentful and full of loathing for her life and her rat of a husband. Sarah also makes contact with her estranged brother to find the truth.

The hard truth we find out, is that the father had been regularly violent to his wife and son for years and years, up until Sarah was born. The incident Umbrella can’t remember was the same thing happening again on their trip to Mexico, that pushed the older brother into deciding to leave.

When Chet(the father) is confronted with the sight of his son coming back home, he has a violent rage and completely wrecks the house. When Umbrella confronts him, he destroys things dear to her, like the very umbrella she named herself after.

The cops are called. Chet the rat puts on a pathetic display as he’s he’s hauled out by the police. A divorce is sorted out and no matter his attempts to come back, all four of the Sarahs personally pack up his belongings and kick him out of the house for good.

Everyone lives a hopefully happily ever after with their sights set on healing. 10-year-old Sarah fuses with Umbrella, and it’s assumed the other two do too

This book is very difficult for me because the only difference between Chet and my own father is a couple of letters in the name and the lack of the bitter irony of being a “Loving Pastor". Everything about this book really resonated deeply with me, from the way he was intentionally unresponsive in a way to bait others into starting fights with him, down to completely not recognizing my own face. Chris is just as perfectly pathetic as Chet was in the book, and it shook me to the core to read such an accurate description of my own father.

I recall having a similar mental breakdown from 14-16 as well, and it went very much the same way. Nothing is original, after all.

A big part of Sarah’s trauma too is the betrayal of the Helen choosing to stay for the sake of ‘the girl needs a father’. Helen lost her son over her broken marriage. She didn’t leave, despite knowing all this, despite knowing it could happen again. I understand that she’s a domestic abuse victim herself and its very hard to get out of these situations in real life, but the absence of violence is not love. Sarah is betrayed and traumatized by it, and rightfully so. Her viewing 10-year-old Sarah as a ‘second chance’ for HERSELF hits really hard.

This book reads like a teenager going through all this who will later find out about her DID, because she doesn’t have the words for it at this point in time. The fragmented, unfeeling or only-feeling nature of her memories feel a lot like what memory recall is like with DID. Her unwinding into Nihilism and unreality is very dissociative in nature. The betrayal of being lied to all her life is palpable and complex.

What I found interesting was that the author clarifies that there are four Sarahs (10 yr old, Umbrella, 23 yr old and 40 yr old), but I’d argue there are a couple other fragmentations. The chapters titled with Tornado seem to almost be another part of Umbrella who embraces becoming a homeless man feels like an introject part. The sudden change in goals at the start of the book feels as though Umbrella is newly split off and taking over for whatever Sarah came before.

The author put a lot of personal details into this book, so I’m assuming a lot of this story is true to her own life. I don’t know how else you write a quietly domestically violent family like this without lived experience. The characters are all flawed and so life-like. The villain is notably human and not evil in the classic Disney villain sense. Evil and vile but in an extremely real way

It’s a really hard read, but it’s a good one. I’m not sure what else to say. If you’ve had experiences like this, traverse with caution, it might take you back like it did for me

Sorry this review is a bit of a scrambled mess also. I might’ve gotten some details mixed up, usually I do extra research for what I’m ingesting and didn’t have the energy for this one by the end

Key features that makes it relatable to the CDD experience:

- Heavy dissociative vibes.

- Depression, anxiety, traumatized spiralling

- The multiple selves that come from different time periods of her life

- Introjection

- Memory loss, memories that unfold slowly and in small details

Key features that deters from it being called a CDD directly:

- 23 and 40 coming from the future

- The Sarahs appearing as physical people other people can see

Would I recommend this to someone with DID to read?: Yes, but it’s very very relatable. You can feel the tension in the book.

#still life with tornado #a.s. king #dissociative identity disorder #DID in media #did in books #complex dissociative disorder #otherwise specified dissociative disorder #CDD #CDD in media #i care a lot about this book #i might buy myself a copy just to mark with marker all the words im not able to say #anni also recommended it to me and it was really nice being able to talk about it with u <3 thanks so much for the recc!!!!#bunnidid reviews

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nomomio · 6 months

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TW: Allusions to SA, CSA, and physical abuse

Something that's been really driving me nuts is the reading of Karlach as a metaphor for healing from years and years of a physically and s*xually abuse, notably abuse that occurred during formative years.

- Too hot to touch + Practically throwing herself at you if youre slightly good: As a survivor myself the impossible to touch just screams how much touch feels like it will legitimately burn after getting out of a situation. The years of *desperately* wanting loving touch but something always telling me it's wrong, that it will hurt, that somehow I'll hurt them even.

And combined with the moments where you feel you can get touch and you jump on it like a poor child in a marshmallow test. It's normal to want touch, love, affection, intimacy. But how often do we jump into it without a single thought prior when traumatized, because of that near desperate want. In my second playthrough romancing Shart, my sweet angry baby did her little "hey soldier, you awake?" scene second night of being in my camp, with the only companion approval level lower than hers being Lae'zel. Legit just be nice to her, and get the first upgrade for her heart, and she wants more. And lawd I relate.

- Dammon's upgrades: To me these are early understanding in healing. Early jumps in therapy. Finally finding a medication that works. You feel so elated, ecstatic, alive! You can be fixed! You can be okay! You get told by professionals that C-PTSD, BPD, dissociation, whatever. It never truly goes away. Just managed. But you don't care, you don't really integrate that notion because holy fuck for the first time in years, ever even, you can see a light of fucking goodness at the end of the tunnel.

*MAJOR SPOILERS*

- Getting to Act 3, the "it doesn't go away" catches up and she starts burning hot: Just about everyone I know who's gone through/going through this intense of healing all have a point where we relapse in some way. The dissociation gets bad again. Mood swings get volatile again. SH tendencies creep back in. The reality sets in that you can't distract from things with how good things can be when you're okay. It's *always* there. You're stuck with what happened forever.

- Total meltdown after killed Gortash: This monologue GUTTED me. I hid and the washroom and SOBBED after it. I have had similar internal meltdowns so many times. No matter what happens to my abuser. Despite the fact that I can still go to court and send him to prison if I wanted. It won't change that what was done to you has been done. When it sets in that everyone around you who loves you will get to have a normal life and you *never* will. You can put in as much work, as much effort, as much heart as possible to try to fucking heal, only to realize that some things will never go away. Some wounds simply will not heal. And you get angry. So so angry. And then you collapse. It isn't fair. It's not. Fair.

The writers at Larian did SUCH a good job capturing the sheer degree of pain in her lines. Samantha Béart's performance deserves all the awards and accolades because capturing that nuanced raw emotion is so so hard. I so desperately wish we could fix Karlach properly, let her stay in Faerun. But. Maybe her good ending being returning to Avernus with you is truly her realistic good ending. I won't ever fully be free of what happened to me as a child. Its a naive hope that ill ever be completely free of it. But I know I don't have to go it alone. My husband, my friends, those I've chosen are with me through it. Karlach can't change her past, but with Tav, Wyll. She doesn't have to go it alone.

#karlach #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate spoilers

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willshipanything-blog · 1 year

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Rules of the Game- Chapter 16

Happy Reading (although this chapter is most definitely NOT happy)!

Full Chapter Index here

Or read on AO3 here (more detailed tags there too)

Minors DNI, etc.

Chapter 16- Cold Shoulder

Being left alone with your thoughts only intensified the agony of what had happened. You had nothing but questions, and had none of the answers. Every question you had was a hydra: once asked, two more appeared in its place. You soon found yourself drowning in a quagmire of unanswerable, impossible things. Trying to clear your mind with sleep didn’t help; your blurred dreamstate only conjured up horrific images of that creature lurking above.

It took a whole day for him to descend back into the basement to see you. Was it a punishment for your outburst, adding to your physical wounds by inflicting mental ones, leaving you alone with your thoughts, and without food or water? Or was he hurt by your inflamed outburst, your confession that you thought there was something good between you both? Had he simply avoided you to save you both the anguish of confronting whatever relationship had ever been built (and now broken) between you?

You thought he had been pained by your tearful outpouring and had regretted his actions. He had ceased his attack, after all. But you had to stop giving this man the benefit of the doubt- he was, he is The Grabber. Can the things he’d done be forgotten, the slate wiped clean? Determining the right answer seemed impossible and you were becoming hopelessly tangled in your thoughts, lost in a cerebral maze with no exit. You didn’t know; maybe he didn’t either. Unlike your old games, which ended in pleasure and reward, this had no winners.

As the metal door finally opened, you looked up from your position. You sat, guarded as best you could: back to the wall; your knees bent to your chest and hidden by the blanket; arms crossed defensively. He stood in the light of the doorway, dressed in his usual black attire and donning the full blank mask. He looked hesitant to cross the threshold, as if this was your domain, not a cage he had put you in. Still wavering by the door, he spoke quietly into the silence between you.

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” His voice was as close to sympathetic as you’d ever heard.

You had no words to even begin to answer that question. Not that it mattered: in that moment, hearing his voice, you had made a decision. You were going to numb yourself, dissociate from him completely. It was similar to how you’d forgotten The Grabber and embraced Al. But this time, you would block absolutely everything out. There would be no feeling at all, no emotions either good or bad. Just emptiness. It would be difficult not to recoil at him, or else lean into his affections (both would be easy, and both equally as dangerous), but you had to persist. You wondered how he would react to this strategy, if he'd be hurt or upset, before a realization came: you shouldn't care about his feelings. He doesn't deserve your sympathies.

Despite the lack of response from you, he entered the basement, turning first to collect the plastic tray from the stairwell. He walked towards you, slowly. As if you were the one who might fly into a violent rage. Which, you supposed you had done yesterday. Perhaps he was wearing the full mask to hide the scars you’d inflicted to his face in your desperate attack. You weren’t a violent person, you reminded yourself, you didn’t have those urges like he did. It was survival instinct is all.

He sat by your side (on the floor, not the mattress, you noted). You remained impassive, gazing straight ahead, your blank stare boring a hole into the wall opposite.

“I brought you some food, I knew you’d be hungry.” Of course I am; you’ve left me for a whole day without any. “And I brought you an ice pack, too. For the swelling.” That you caused when you hit me. These retorts went unspoken, and your glassy eyes never ventured towards him. Understanding you weren’t going to speak to him right now, or acknowledge him at all for that matter, he raised the bag of ice to your stinging cheek. It wouldn’t be as cold as you felt on the inside. A hollow, cavernous space in your body. Still, you hissed at the frosty sensation on your skin.

It was a stark contrast to his old, warm caresses, the habitual, soothing stroke he gave your scarred cheekbone. No, you couldn’t allow yourself to compare them, to remember his warmth. But what if Al forced you to remember the tenderness inside of him? You knew it was buried beneath that savage persona. It wouldn’t take much to exhume that side of him.

He must have read this thought on your worried brow, read a hint on your quivering lips. He removed the ice pack and replaced it with a warm, soft palm. He was there. It was Al. You just had to turn and face him, lean into the touch and look into those deep cerulean eyes…

No. You hissed again, recoiling at his heat instead of the cold. His warm touch- a cruel remembrance of the kindness that you refused to see there anymore- stung more than the ice ever could. Rebuffing his touch, you turned your head away from that animal. It couldn’t be Al; he was dead to you. All his tenderness, his passions, his affections- you’d made a deal with yourself to bury them.

“I’ll, uh, leave you in peace for a little while.” He sounded uneasy. He now held out the ice pack for you to take. With no receiving gesture from you, he placed it beside you with a barely perceptible sigh. It wasn’t frustration, no- you’d learned to read these little mannerisms of his. This was worry.

“You get something to eat and get some rest now my- uh, Y/N.” He stumbled as he rose, catching himself using that word. My. But he’d stopped himself- did he no longer see you as belonging to him? That should have felt freeing, though you found yourself at a loss, unassured of your purpose here. Without guarantee of safety or protection. You noticed he’d only used your given name too- no dove, no little bird, no sweet thing. That would help, wouldn’t it? To distance yourself from his charismatic flatteries. Sweet nothings cooed into your ear would only contribute to your inner turmoil, and you were grateful for their absence.

Having reached the door, he held the handle but turned to look at you one last time. Without meaning to, your steadfast gaze faltered, and you flicked your eyes to his. You felt a hot, silent tear rolling down your bruised cheek, and quickly looked back at the spot on the wall you’d been focusing on. He left wordlessly after another moment of silence enveloped the room.

Hunger pangs rousing in your stomach, you allowed yourself to partake in the food and drink you’d been given. It was the most food Al had given you since he brought you upstairs to eat breakfast. A good memory. One you immediately suppressed. Not Al. Not anymore. You wanted to scorn the gesture, to show your defiance in allowing him to care for you, but the pain in your stomach had become unbearable. You sipped the water, not wanting to chug it all down and immediately throw up. In between sips you wolfed down the sandwich. He’d also given you a bowl of sliced peaches in syrup. It jogged another memory. His little quip- “Peachy keen”- came into your head, spoken in his signature lilting tune. Would any inanimate object trigger these feelings? A book, food, something seen or heard that would force unwanted remembrance on you? If so, you were unsure how long your mind might be able to withstand your icy detachment. You pushed away the memory, along with the bowl. You mustered the energy to walk to the toilet, before putting the tray near the door. If he collected it there, he wouldn’t have to come near you. You shoved away the ice pack to the floor as you lay down. Using it felt like a way of remembering kindnesses, whilst letting the pain simmer at your cheek would help to reinforce how truly cruel he could be. It would help build your apathy towards him. You slipped back under the blanket and tried to melt unsuccessfully into oblivion for the remainder of the day.

Al couldn’t say he didn’t deserve this treatment. In fact, he deserved a lot worse than the cold shoulder she’d given him. He knew he was the one fucking things up, losing his temper too quickly. Too reckless, too eager with his fist and the belt when he was angry. Breaking his promise to look after her, time and time again. He thought he’d moved on from that, sating those appetites only when she asked for it, when they played their delicious, dangerous game. Obviously not.

Y/N couldn’t be blamed for the rift that had formed between them. She hadn’t done anything wrong. No escape attempts, no wrong moves. When she had screamed at him, reciting his sins back to him, proving the broken promise- where was the lie? He didn’t even mind that she had struck him. He’d done worse to her ten times over. Sure, the red scratch marks would draw some attention, especially at work. He’d have to say his kid brother had come to stay, and brought that big fucking dog with him. Easy enough.

Al sat in his armchair, holding the horned masks in his hands. Examining every contour and line of it. His disguise, or his true self? What did the mask even mean any more to Al- and who was really underneath it? The separation between the Grabber and Al had seemed so distinct, but now it was like they were unequivocally entwined, indistinguishable from each other.

This was especially true in her eyes. She had flinched at his touch, had become furled inwards and frosty like a leaf in midwinter. His little dove- though he’d hesitated at using the preferred name for his most precious possession. If he scared her further, he might lose her forever. He would be persistent and restrained in the recovery, and she would see he was trying his best. He exhaled melancholically; he might previously have vowed to make her see these things, but things were different now. He was different, and he would prove it.

He wants her to know he would give her anything. Apart from her freedom, of course.

#the black phone #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #black phone fanfic #the grabber #the grabber x reader #first fic

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i-sveikata · 8 months

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I am in love with your fiction. I reread it on repeat while waiting for the new chapter each time. I'm impressed how Pete progressed in accepting his desire for Vegas and asking at the very moment Vegas decided he wouldn't make any moves towards him. It was like an electro shock. And also he admitted to Porshe and Tankun that he has feelings for Vegas! My heart ! I can't wait for the rest of its development! Also, even if it apparently was due to insomnia, are you leaving any clues that Vegas is suffering from depression? I don't know, reading the last chapter, I felt Vegas more and more trapped in his father's grip despite him always wanting to put Pete first. His father no longer seems to even hide the fact that he enjoys discreetly making him suffer in public and I felt Vegas was completely helpless in this situation. He seems completely at the mercy of his father's toxic and vicious cycle of loving him and seeking his attention while never validating any attack on Pete. It's like his dad could do anything to him and all he cares about is that he doesn't hurt Pete. In this chapter, it is clear and obvious that he does not care about his health, I really have the impression that Vegas is behind the curtains in a pattern of self-destruction due to his lack of self-esteem -even. Am I wrong? I have a feeling Vegas is going to have a mental breakdown soon and Pete is going to have to bring him back to his senses.

The psychology of your Pete and Vegas are so fascinating I could talk about it for hours

Ahhh thank you so much!!! Yeah I think it really hit Pete this chap and last just how serious Vegas was about this and they weren’t going to move forward unless it was by his choice. Plus talking with Porsche really helped give him that last push that lightning strike of ‘Vegas wins either way’ so it was always up to Pete to make the next move something that he wants and something he can live with without agonising, regretting or blaming himself later.

Yes we are definitely seeing hints that the situation is completely out of Vegas’ control with his father and though it may seem at times like everything works out for him, he’s largely trapped and always subject to his fathers whims. I’d say there were defs traces of his poor mental state in the last chapter and we can clearly see that he’s dissociating from his body and his injuries. What he did for Pete by wiping out most of the Italian mafia has left him feeling very vulnerable and out of control which is usually where he gets his sense of security from so I’d say yeah he is in kind of a bad way at the moment- which is what Pete picked up on!!!! That boy is slowly learning Vegas language and it’s super important that the first thing he did was try to take care of him- to not use that information to his advantage. Something I would say has happened a lot to Vegas in the past until he learned not to give himself away. Vegas does care about his health in the sense that he wants to remain strong and able and that he relies solely on himself, his strength, and his ruthlessness and his cunning to keep himself alive anything else beyond that I think he learned to disassociate as self preservation with his erratic and impossibly to predict father- a way to protect himself. Which is what’s also making this extremely difficult for him to handle- he can’t control how his father treats him but he has small tastes of power when he’s clever enough to work around him. But right now Vegas can’t rely on himself in the same way being so injured and so sleep deprived- he needs someone else to protect him. But he’s never had anyone else before. And neither has Pete! (I mean his grandma to some extent of course but not in the same way) I do think some of each other’s appeal to the other is that they can be callous and vicious and violent but they in turn see they’re strong enough to protect someone too. Strong enough to be somebody they could finally lean on. That’s a big deal for the both of them who’ve never really had that kind of luxury. And Pete spent a lot of time (unthinkingly of course) proving that he can be that person for Vegas.

Oh you are absolutely right we are going to see a huge emotional outburst from Vegas next chap with the coup! He’s torn between trying to obey his fathers wishes even if he can see the lack of foresight in the plans, and he wants to prove himself worthy whilst also making sure he doesn’t endanger Pete or totally ruin the life that he’s been living in the main family house. Vegas knows there’s the potential of him doing something Pete won’t ever forgive during the coup and that’s just too much pressure for someone like him to handle. Especially not still incapacitated like he is and running on low sleep. He’s kind of in a melting pot of emotional turmoil at the moment and you can bet that’s going to boil over once his father meets his untimely end.

Omg honestly me too!! That’s what got me into this fic the psychology of the both of them is truly so fascinating to me!! Very excited to see how it all comes together when I start writing the next chap!! 💜💜

#fic asks #I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you

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larrikin-is-a-himbo · 1 year

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My thoughts on Russian Doll: Rewatch Edition [Part 1]

I had forgotten how unexpected and jumpscare-y the first time Nadia dies is.

RUTH MY DARLING. HOW I MISSED YOU.

I could be at the best party of my life, surrounded by the people I love and who love me, and yet I would spiral into a sadness dissociation. Nadia is just like me fr. (I know the trauma was very recent but you get what I'm saying)

I love that homeless guy so much you don't understand. I don't care about the ex though.

Nadia, why are you sitting in such a vulnerable position when you've already died once?

It's actually so much interesting to see the people around Nadia slowly lose their sentience as the universe continues collapsing their reality. A great example of it is Maxine. You can see how much this timeloop affects everyone, best through her. There's subtle changes (maybe this needs a post of its own)

Love that she still thinks it's the drugs and not just the misfortune of being the victims of universe's educating spree.

I think something worse than dying again and again is dying in the same way multiple times. These goddam stairs.

Imagine being Maxine and your friend is just acting full on CRAZY crazy.

Giving new meaning to "It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to"

Going to the Rabbi. I think I would start going to priests/pandits/any other terminology used for them, if I was going this insane as well. I can't figure out if she's Jewish me or not though. As much as I can remember from my first watch, she's not. (I don't want to repeat the part.)

My favourite thing about Nadia, as a protagonist, is that she's not a saint, she's not likeable all the time. She has a lot of fuck ups, even if she's suffering at the whims of the universe. Normally, female characters aren't allowed to be raw and messy and human is such manner. Really shows you the difference in a show made by a woman and a show made by a man.

MY MAN IS HERE. Boy, you have a lot of loser energy but I love that so come here, baby.

"Like, if you weren't paying me, I never would've spoken to you" Wow. That wasn't even said to me and it stung so bad.

He has this deep sadness in him. An aching to keep his life in control, to be understood, to keep things as they are. It's an impossible thing to do, to accept that you can't avoid change.

"You fucked the gingerbread man?!" "Don't call him that." "YOU CALL HIM THAT." BAHAHAHA

Love the way Nadia finds Alan's name. Just based on the fact that he's uptight and way too routine oriented.

I HAD FORGOTTEN THE DOUCHEBAG NADIA MEETS ON THE FIRST NIGHT WAS THE GINGERBREAD MAN.

Death by electrocution. Jesus fucking Christ. That's horrible.

YES, MY BOY. Go completely unhinged. [<- Just threw his stuff like a normal person instead of rearranging it like a serial killer]

"Okay, check it out. I gave everybody here an opportunity to tell me I'm a bad person. Nobody did it because I fucking rule, so... there goes your theory." This is going to be my mindset for the rest of my life. Impostor syndrome who?

I love the little details since Ep1 of how this loop is affecting the real world. The people disappearing, the food rotting, the animals disappearing.

Going the route of making the main male and female characters a Weirdo duo >>>>>>>>>>

"I don't know who the fuck you are, I don't know what's going on here, but either you two suck each other's dicks or get the fuck out of my apartment." MAXINE THE QUEEN YOU ARE.

WHEN NADIA DIES BY RUTH'S HANDS IS THE SADDEST ONE SO FAR. I HATE IT SO MUCH.

"Nobody chooses me. I'm the hole where a choice should be." This hurt me. Hit too close to home.

The way Nadia is slowly being consumed by the grief of this reality of hers. Seeing John have his heartbroken again and again. It's just. Your grief just doesn't affect you, it affects everyone, it consumes everything around you. (I wish I could articulate my thoughts and feelings better. I struggle to even form coherent sentences these days)

"You created an impossible game with a single character who has to solve everything entirely on her own. That's stupid." "Watch and learn, baby face." This is what we call foreshadowing.

"I can fuck you better than Mike" My boy you need to be awake first.

It's about community and love and connections. And how we as social beings need other people to survive and thrive and be safe. In every way, the physical, emotional, we need people. We cannot be loners. That's not a viable way of living. The moral of the story is let others help you, believe that the world is a better place because you're in it.

Not just that but a sub plot (the building block to the major plot in S2) that no matter how much you suppress your inner child, no matter how much you try to forget them, they're still within you. You cannot take care of your present self or improve things for your future self until you acknowledge the child.

It's just, how beautifully it is shown the importance of human connection, loving and caring for others, why it is the utmost responsibility as humans to keep each other safe and well. Humans didn't come all this way without that love and compassion, and this recent trend of hyper-individuality has really fucked us over.

#Wish I was better at articulating how I feel and how something made me feel but I grew up in a hosue where we never talk about what's wro-#-ng but bottle everything up. be passive aggressive. and wait for all the bottled emotions to explode so bad. the people around-#experience the sting of our words so bad it's like carrying a shrapnel in your chest #Anyways #Russian Doll #Russian Doll Season 1 #Nadia #Nadia Vulvokov #Alan Zaveri #Ruth Brenner #Maxine #Lizzy #John Reyes #Jae rewatches

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concernedbrownbread · 1 year

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I just realized Azula is determined to always be in control of everything while Zuko constantly aims to have as little autonomy of his own as possible.

Azula commands her ship-the tides don't, Azula (almost) always keeps her heartbeat steadily beating, she accounts for everything in her domain, down to tha tea bags. She remembers everything vividly. She wants to control whether Aang meets Ozai, or at least what Aang thinks of him.

Zuko dissociates whenever possible, letting "the Creature" handle things. He'd rather not remember or think about his past, his memories are fickle. He'd rather Ozai plan everything. The only thing he controls willingly is his fire, always keeping its precise white colour. He feels Ozai controlling him and minimizes his own autonomy; à la June, backing himself further into the corner.

And they get in the way of the others wish. Because of Zuko, Azula no longer has a domain to control and her heartbeat is unsynced enough for Toph to notice. Because of Azula, Zuko has to take matters into his own hands and things on his own in the colonies, he has to do things on his own instead of simply obeying Ozai.

Idk my brain is infested with LWPR fire sibling worms

YOU! YOU GET IT!

Warning, this will be a bit of a ramble:

You are abosolutely right, Azula has started to lose control thanks to Zuko, (but also due to the Gaang). In canon, Azula losing control led up to the Last Agni Kai: her hair was out of place, and she innitiated the Agni Kai (in an attempt to regain control). I knew my control-freak baby wouldn't change -- she still wants to be in control desperately. She ruled her domain with an Iron Fist, according to Maru. She has been controlling the narrative of having the Avatar on her side since the first chapter. But also like in canon, the situations the Gaang is put into is unpredictable and impossible to control. Especially thanks to Zuko. She's out of her depth, and she's panicking.

Arc 3 (this current arc) will try to explore Azula's relationship with control using Sokka my booyyyyy.

And then there's Zuko. Oh, Zuko. He sees himself as Ozai's tool, something for Ozai to control, but you are right: Zuko controls his fire. Completely unconciously, mind you, but Zuko's fire is his and his alone. I love his fire. His fire literally gets character development in this fic I swear.

But Zuko is losing control too. Zuko's sense of control WAS to let the Creature take over, to just not. think. To let Ozai take control. That was his own way of taking control, of making a concious choice to disengage, if that makes sense. But Zuko's fire, which I am trying to potray as his "true self" knows this: "In the moments he spent awake and aware, his chest hurt. Under his ribcage, between his lungs. // A steady rhythm, out of sync." (since fire comes from within etc etc.) His flame is out of sync with himself: he is losing control as well.

So Arc 3 is about both Azula and Zuko losing control in different ways. Arc 4 is about them regaining it in, in, uh, well. I'll leave that for Arc 4.

I put WAY too much thought into this silly fic, thank you SO MUCH for noticing. I'm so honoured someone is thinking on this!!!! Genuinely you made my day.

Keep 'em asks coming, I'm getting the worms too!

(Also idk why I did the colours I felt quirky~)

#such a silly little fic of mine #(I have a huge notion folder dedicated to it)#i love Zuko's fire arc so much it's ridiculous #ask me after arc 3 #zuko #azula #atla #atla fanfic #ask #thanks for the ask!#lily white poppy red

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rotteneldritchhorror · 8 months

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wait we’re allowed to ask about south park? fuck it tell me your south park headcanons fuckboy

well shit this is gonna be a long post because i dont just love the main boys (love is a strong word for some of em) but i also love random obscure characters and even background characters that never speak soooooo....

also! before i start! i mostly headcanon these characters under the idea that theyre like- 19 since i dont have many thoughts other than canon for while theyre the age theyre at in the show itself

Kenny (starting with my favorite who i project the most onto i think): 5'9, pansexual (and romantic), genderfluid girlboything princessgender princessboy genderfuck genderpunk ADHDgender hypererotigender wingedgender transfemme who steals money from their parents to buy estrogen off of like- amazon in bulk and probably sells some to other transfemmes with shitty parents who wont let them transition. for pronouns, is definitely fine with any and all, literally impossible to misgender this creature, but prefers he/she/they/it/xe/ze/angel pronouns. probably started growing his hair out at like 15 and gave up on trying to keep it short and managable, steals makeup from the dollar store for both herself and it's sister, definitely goes punk at some point (all of his pants are crust pants cause they dont get washed /j), and has a shit tonne of patched clothing both for necessity (he still owns his parka even though hes too big for it, probably cut up the sides and sized it up with a bunch of old clothes that dont get used anymore in the family, definitely has stick and poke tattoos (he probably gave a cute lil bow or heart stick and poke tattoo to Karen and angelself a matching one so theyd always have a reminder of each other no matter what) and definitely is the resident bootleg piercer for those who wanted them when they were younger but their parents didnt let them (Craig, stan, probably kyle, definitely tweek) or those who just straight up dont have the money to get professionally pierced. full of many disorders, specifically: autism, ADHD, bipolar, c-ptsd, BPD, combined generalised and focal photosensitive epilepsy, and probably some level of psychosis from all the trauma and drugs

(thats so much and its just one character lol- welcome)

i dont have many hcs about the other 3 main boys?

Kyle: asexual (sex-favourable or indifferent), biromantic, 5'11, transneu agender enby who uses he/they pronouns. has ADHD and his canonical diabetes

Stan: 5'10, bi demiboy and nonbinary man who uses he/they/it pronouns. Puerto Rican/asian/white mixed (i flip flop between east asian or south-east asian, or both- but we vibe). has depression ADHD, BPD and autism, probably got more into grungy/fairy grunge/whimsigoth fashion as he got older, or at least tries to marry goth, grunge and hippie fashion cause he definitely still holds the values associated with those subcultures, probably got suppppeeerrr into politics and protesting at some point, probably steals signs, probably collaborates with Kenny to steal from big stores (just kenny does it to survive and stan does it out of principle)

Cartman: 5'4 and VERY insecure about it, bi and transfemme but like super hyper closeted (i think he probably eventually gets more chill with his own sexuality, but is super super mega bigoted about literally everyone else. him being into men is fine but anyone else is a fag (derogatory). i have hcs for his disorders but i feel like listing them automatically sounds like im demonising them when im not

Butters: 5'5 (and eric fucking HATES her for it), demisexual and pan, nonbinary genderqueer genderfae bungender/traumabungender sanriogender hellokittygender autigender transfemme demigirl who uses she/they/he/bun/soft/lu/🌸/🌈/☀️/🌧/🫧/🪻/🩰/🧼/🎀/🌀 pronouns. has... so many disorders. Autism, c-ptsd, ptsd, night terrors, dissociative amnesia, DPD, delusional disorder, Alice in Wonderland syndrome and a complete blindness in his left eye (for kinda obvious reasons? maybe?). bun changes their name (legally) to Marjorine Leopold Stotch as soon as she turned 18 (without her parents permission), but still uses the nickname Butters because it doesnt feel that gendered to lu. soft sometimes has delusions of being in VR or dead. His parents refuse his diagnoses because it means they did something wrong (which they obviously did lol) so they dont give him medication, Marj mainly gets 🌸s meds from Kenny, Tweek, Tammy Warner (from that one episode where kenny gets a girlfriend whos a 'slut'), and the goth kids (most of them because they have been perscribed the medication, or, in Kenny's case, because they buy/trade perscription drugs). started transitioning without 🌈 parents' knowledge.

Craig: 5'11, gay and demiromantic, outerspacetix voidgender/agender man who uses he/it pronouns. is just- very mixed- its indigenous/south-east asian/peruvian/black/white and is adopted. has ASPD and autism. his 'exception people' (i dont know if thats the official phrase for it, but people with ASPD apparently can have certain people that bring out strong emotions in them- dont take my word for it though, this is second hand info from someone with ASPD i used to watch on tiktok lol) are Tweek, Thomas (from the tourrettes episode) and Stripe (yes, his guinea pig- sh). he's pretty okay at masking emotions when he needs to (mostly to make his boyfriends feel better and in an attempt to sooth their anxieties). he probably starts getting into grunge/punk at some point during his teens- he probably has a patch jacket/battle jacket thats covered in a mix of political and astrology/space related patches. his spin is space, absolutely.

Clyde: 5'8, spanish/east asian bi man (i go back and forth on whether or not to make him cis or trans or like demiboy??? or just a nonbinary man??? idk- just masc), uses he/they/it pronouns and has ADHD and PTSD.

Jimmy: 5'11, Cupiosexual, demiromantic (both bi oriented), is a cis or genderqueer guy and mainly uses he/him but doesnt really care much if you call him anything else, probably has a couple birth marks and cooovveerrsss his crutches in stickers (he probably has a bunch of random stickers related to all kinda shit, 2/3s of which arent even his, he has like- a shit tonne of stickers related to space, and robots, and dark academia, and hearts, and super heros, or whatever the fuck because his friends just give him stickers sometimes)

Tolkien: 6'0, genderfaun enby, omni with a preference for feminine people, has autism and ADHD, uses he/they pronouns, and has a couple scars from canon events (eg; a scar on his forehead from when cartman pelted him with a rock, and a gunshot scar on his shoulder from cartman shooting him)

Tweek: 5'8, nonbinary tweekgender (namegender) demiboy, gaygaygaygaygay, uses he/they/it/tweek/tic pronouns. has ADHD, autism, anxiety disorders and a panic disorder, paranoid personality disorder, C-PTSD, claustrophobia, tourettes and psychosis. he gets triggered by coffee if he hasnt been around coffee for a while (after a while it becomes less triggering and more part of the constant anxiety and paranoia), has psychotic delusions and hallucinations of bugs, the smell of coffee, gangstalking, etc. hes weirdly friends with the goth kids????? tic hangs out with them (as well as Kenny, Craig and butters) a lot, getting to traumadump, rant about anxieties, and just kinda gossip? and it helps it mellow out a bit. (also tweek has a bunch of scars to do with scratching tics, ripping out piercings, etc)

Wendy/Wendyl: 5'9, south east asian, bi, genderfluid/genderfaer, uses she/they/he/fae pronouns and is autistic. her spin is politics and feminism, he has a couple (brightly colored) patch clothes (definitely a pair of patch shorts and a patch skirt). has a couple scars on their knuckles and one on their cheek from fights she's gotten into (both in canon, and during protests or general people fucking with her). fae definitely does kickboxing and probably hosts an underground self defense class for non-men.

i can probably get into more obscure characters now but this is already long enough and im slowly running out of spoons so im kinda done for now

thank you for listening to my autistic ramblings :)

#🌀#south park #south park headcanons #south park hcs #sp fandom #headcanon #trans hc #my headcanons #long post

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asmoswhoreandmore · 2 years

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Pt 3 Mammon angst

So This is Part 3! I cannot believe I am here

TW and Disclaimer: They act like demons, mentions of depression, mentions of alcohol usage, lots of dissociation, Manipulation, body dysmorphia/ (implications of gender dysphoria), edgy bullshit I wrote for self induglence

Anyways enjoy!

Asmodeus heard you sneak in the house of lamentation, he hadn’t really believed his eyes when he saw you completely blacked out and fucked up out of your mind. Screaming in the bar, and fighting, he’s pretty sure he saw making out with multiple succubi and not even flinch at their charms. Most importantly you stole all the attention from him. And he was about to bust you, but he heard you crying and felt bad. He sighed as your sobs traveled across your room to his.

What was he going to do with you?

You passed out on your bed, your headache and hangover hitting you in the worst way. When you woke up you heard footsteps walking towards your door and lucifers voice.

“Shit I’m so screwed,” you thought but luckily they passed your room. You let out a sigh of relief and slugged yourself out of bed and into your bathroom, still adjusting to being awake. After rubbing your eyes you looked in the mirror, you knew your appearance would be bad but it looked like a car hit you.

Your eyes widened as you inspected your face, all the makeup was smudged at best. You had hickeys running down your neck and bruises everywhere. Your hair was matted and sticky, you tried running your hand through it and found it to be impossible. You took a sniff from your armpit, you smelt like ass too. Your aching mind and body didn’t want to move any more than they had to but you knew you needed a shower. You hopped in the shower and threw your clothes in the ever-growing pile of things you had to wash.

The shower was more effective than you thought it would be, looking in the mirror you almost looked human.

“But I don’t feel it”

You felt nothing, even your body felt numb. You felt your body and mind daze out. autopilot taking over then suddenly you were dressed and ready to go without even remembering what happened in the last 20 minutes. Funny when this used to happen, it felt scary like you weren’t really there, but this time the only thing you felt was comfort. Getting up already felt so hard. Like you woke up with bricks on your chest. Brushing your teeth never made them feel any cleaner, looking in the mirror made you dirty. Staring into a void and seeing someone you never wanted to be.

That’s why you preferred the times you weren’t completely in your body. It meant you weren't completely alive. It meant you didn’t have to fight yourself to survive, what’s there to fight if nothing exists.

Somehow you got through the day, dazed out. You did your homework, absentmindedly answering questions in lectures but afterward forgetting its contents. You avoided looking in the mirror for the fear of feeling real, seeing the way your eyebags drooped. How your hair was messy and your uniform crumpled and unironed. Though you never cared about that stuff before. When you woke up, it was the end of school you were still dazing out when the last bell rang and everyone started running out of class.

Alerted you finally looked up to see the class empty, and your professor doing his best to put the desks in place.

“Ugh” you groaned out loud. In place of the daze, you had earlier was a headache.

You started hurriedly shuffling papers in your bag, trying to make as little sound as possible. Before leaving the class you gave your goodbyes.

“Have a good night professor” you gave a polite smile

They only grumbled in response not even looking up. You didn’t remember much of the day but based on how the classroom looked now, it was very rowdy.

Walking through the hallways felt like a bad dream, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the glass panel filled with school awards. The reflection made you feel sick. You looked sick.

You heard Mammon in the hallway, his laughter traveling a reminder of his existence.

Steps resounding, quicken towards you. You looked up suddenly, making accidental eye contact.

He smiled at you and waved, causing you to have a deer in the headlights look before you waved back nonsmiling. You just walked past him not knowing what to do, all you knew was you can’t look back.

Asmodeus tried to forget about this whole affair but he just couldn’t. Curiosity was killing him. Ever since you came here, you were a powerful force. Somehow making the top in classes, even his charms didn’t work on you. You kept your distance from everyone in the house of lamentation, you just did your work and stayed in your room.

Of course, he was curious, about who had broken your heart.

“More like shattered it” he thought. He knew you were polite enough and smiled back if necessary. But you didn’t open up, you didn’t seek their love. Maybe he could fix you back up since whoever had screwed you over had left an opening. He smiled a devilish grin.

“Maybe this is an opportunity”

Maybe Asmodeus could steal your soul.

Maybe he could gain the upper hand from his brothers once and for all.

He just needed a plan.

As you walked past Mammon your heart thumped. Would he stop you? Would he confront you?

But nothing happened at least you heard nothing. You sped up your walking god forbid you ran into another of the brothers. The school was almost empty at this point, only teachers and some straggler students like yourself leaving. When you were outside it looked like it might rain.

You didn’t have an umbrella, you grimaced. The weather in the devildom was always ten times worse.

“Whatever I’ll just have to deal”

Then you heard a voice and someone's car pulled up in front of the school.

“Get in darling, I’ve heard the weather going to be ghastly”

It was Asmodeus.

His hot pink car sat there exhaust leaking out.

His offer caught you by surprise and it showed. Your eyebrows were raised and your eyes widened mouth open.

“Come on babe I can’t sit here all day” His singsong voice called out to you once again.

Unsure of what to do you walked forward towards his car.

“It beats walking outside,” you thought then sighed as you opened the hot pink car door.

“That’s a good choice” Asmodeus then smiled.

As you buckled yourself in, you felt something off in your gut.

And the feeling Asmodeus wasn’t being as kind as he pretended to be.

#obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me angst #obey me fanfic #they act like demons #vent fanfic #there is no peace #this will just get worse lmao #fucked up mc

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lycankeyy · 1 year

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Ooooo just to add a thought to your recent gold post, I don’t think Gold’s intense insecurity comes from something in his past, as you mentioned he had a pretty happy childhood and I personally don’t think his mom was neglectful, I think his insecurity started in gsc, with him thinking that he needs to be “special” to fit in with the other dexholders and he thinks he’s weak because he puts them up on an impossibly high pedestal and assumes that because he can’t reach it then he’s not worthy of being associated with them. If that makes sense. Also as a red enthusiast I would love to hear your red thoughts 👀

OUGH YEAH YEAH YEA THAT MAKES SENSE *ROTATES* ig I was inclined to look for where it may have came from in his past bc like I said Silver and Crys both had weird childhoods (technically Gold's was also weird but in a positive way LMAO) and its fun to find things all the characters in a set have in common but honestly that makes more sense and helps the story flow better so true

ALSO about Red. I struggle so much with wording my thoughts on Red he is more of a "putting him in the brain microwave and rotating him" type character than one I tend to have incredibly deep thoughts about for a variety of reasons . One mostly being that despite how often I reread frlg which is like . The Deep Thoughts About Red arc I rarely am able to remember significant chunks of it dissociative disorder moment ANYWAY

One thing thats funny to me about Red is how much of his past is like . Left up to interpretation. It took us a really long time to get more characters with completely unexplained absent families and Red's parents are . SO absent that in the Yellow arc it's revealed he doesn't even have a family name. When people contact him they just address it to "Red". While we know people ""mature faster"" it really doesn't seem commonplace for an 11-14 year old to live in a house Alone even if they're entirely self-sufficient. It's even more wack because the fact that he doesn't have a family is like Addressed but never explained . It's just a fact about him. He doesn't have a biological family.

I think its interesting bc it gives people a lot of room to mess with his character. I've seen a whole spectrum of how people portray Red's Situation and none of them seem particularly unbelievable because we literally Don't Know what happened there. And obviously it makes found family vibes more intense LMAO between Red's complete lack of a family, Green's half-absent-without-explanation one, and . Blue . LMFAO it's really no wonder these guys all end up basically adopting at least One of their juniors at some point. It's funny

Also side note unrelated I really appreciate how I've been seeing more people putting the effort into portraying him as disabled in fanworks recently 😭 as a kid w chronic pain I was always a little annoyed that the gsc arc went the route of the Magical Disability Cure even in spite of subverting the "disabled people can do anything they put their minds to!!!" trope. Seeing people share my headcanon that he still deals with chronic pain even if the Magic Hot Spring Water™️ helps makes me happy because while I understand why things happened the way they did ough . I want disabled rep (if that wasn't obvious from me cursing Green with my migraines /j)

#mailbox #ty!!! for letting me infodump and readinf my infodumpIJNDJINSIJND #long post tw

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indianamoonshine · 2 years

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Strawberry | Chapter 14 | A (Fainting) Spell

Summary: A morning after. A private embrace goes public.

Rating: Always M. No one under 18 is allowed. There is smut in this chapter. There is also fainting.

No one should look this good in the morning.

Din had a way of triggering bouts of dissociative states. He existed - as one does - but like a phantom. The idea of him walking about, feet stepping upon the Earth, is unimaginable in itself. But to watch him sleep…to witness the shifting of his body as he breaths, the way his muscles glow in the morning sun…that was another experience entirely. And he was completely oblivious to it.

You sigh softly, careful of rousing him from his slumber. The sun had been up for an hour and you were awake to witness it bearing its first light to the Earth. For the first time - in a very long time - you had slept soundly. Exercise does that to you, you suppose. Sex does that to you.

The first thing you notice about Din is that he is a solid sleeper. He barely moves, and aside from the rising and falling of his chest, you were (admittedly) terrified he’d perished during the night. He also sleeps on his stomach, arm angled above his head, and long legs like planks. He snores, but lightly, and it’s kind of cute because you hadn’t expected it.

“How long have you been staring at me?”

That you certainly hadn’t expected.

Turns out he was one hell of an actor. You cock your head, flush rising on your cheeks at being found out. “Whatever do you mean?”

He makes a deep noise in his throat, eyes still closed in feign sleep. “I can feel you looking at me.” He sighs, rolling onto his back, and stretches his arms above his head with a grunt. “It felt like a while.”

You furrow your brow, a little irritated. “Wasn’t that long…” you mumble childishly.

Din hums and a pair of arms wrap themselves around your torso, pulling you close, and with delicate kiss pressed upon the crown of your head. He felt warm, like the sheets that had been soaked in the rays of the morning sun. His skin, while peppered with the occasional bleached scar, was smooth against your own; it’s impossible to avoid hiding your face into the bareness of his chest.

“Interesting how shy you are this morning considering,” he says suddenly.

You peek up at him between the softness of your lashes and, sure enough, he’s donning a cocksure smile at the ceiling as though in fond reminisce. Had you been a braver woman, you would’ve called him out on that. But you were a coward and, like all cowards, you tuck your tail between your legs.

Surely he didn’t expect you to continue on with the string of choice words last night. You hardly remember what you said, quite literally dick-drunk at - not just the sheer size of him - but the way he used it. And while you try so desperately hard to block out as much as possible, the morning would only remove so much of the veil from your eyes. There is an extent at which hysteria can be contained.

“Take it,” you had whimpered beneath him, sweat-clad and with trembling breath. “My pussy is yours, Din.”

Is everyone’s first time so fucking perfect? Is it also like that of an epiphany at the same time?

You trace a finger down the line between his pectoral muscles, which aren’t as heavily defined as Will’s had been. Not that you had ever touched Will in the way you were with Din, but getting handsy wasn’t unfamiliar territory either. You could appreciate Din’s figure far more than someone like Will’s, which was nothing more than a body now.

You slowly slide the hand that lay on his chest up to the hollow of his throat, taking all the time in the world. The sharp intake of breath from Din fills you with pride; the idea of a man like him so bewitched at your touch is almost intoxicating. It spurs you on, igniting something buried deep. No man has ever done this to you. Not a soul.

Din closes the space between you and presses a kiss to your lips, which are still raw from the night before. It’s not urgent - not the kind of kiss he has to sneak during breaks on the strawberry field. No. This kiss is lazy but full of greater intentions. There is no one to barge in and to wake you from this most pleasant of dreams. It’s just him, and you in his arms, and the sun shining through the windowpanes.

Din expected you to take at least two days before doing exactly what was done last night. Whatever it was, because Din hadn’t ever had that kind of sex before. Was it sex? It was most certainly the tangling of limbs, a mouth full of tongue, and the exchange of sweat. But it was more than that. It was you beneath him, murmuring his name, and begging for more. It was you. And Din thinks that may have made all the difference.

Which should have scared him and forced him into a cruel kind of celibacy. He would usually find some way to punish himself for it, but he couldn’t give a damn when you rolled on top of him this morning and straddled his torso.

God, you were so soft. No one should be so beautiful.

The kiss takes its time. It’s the kind of kiss that belongs to the morning; stale breath, messy hair, and sparkling eyes. You giggle against him when he sits up, encircling his arms around your waist to press you closer.

You whine a bit, wiggling your pelvis beneath him. Jesus Christ, it might send him into a tailspin.

“Already?” he whispers, pulling back just slightly. He studies your face; the disparity, the longing. He wants to groan at your eagerness but he wills himself to relax.

You nod, doe-eyed and all. “Yes.”

Fuck. You were going to kill him. Out of all the nights on the field, of all the dangerous men and women he’s captured, you were going to be the one to put him six feet under. A woman with the dexterity of a panda bear and the eyes of a fawn.

So be it.

Din goes to move you, to place his weight atop of yours, but you grab his hands at your waist. “Like this,” you suggest, wrapping your legs around him tightly.

“It could be more painful,” Din recants.

You shrug coquettishly and bite your lip. “It’ll be a reminder.”

Here lies Din Djarin. 1975-2021.

He can’t do anything but place his mouth over yours, sealing unspoken words, and then trail his hands against the smoothness of your thigh. You’re wrapped around him, the heat of your sex just inches away from where he needs it. He growls under his breath, hitching you more firmly against him.

“Ready?” he breaths, scanning your expression for any sign of discomfort. But when he finds you’re smiling, he’s restored with courage.

You nod, eyes still closed, and lift your hips. “Yes.”

The grip of you is tight - hot. It takes a moment for him to notch the head of him into your pussy, despite the slick dripping from you. He should’ve opened you up - should’ve prepared you better. But when he finally penetrates the first bit of soft tissue, he doesn’t think it’d make much of a difference anyway. You grunt at the intrusion and Din almost pulls out - almost. But when you lace your fingers around his neck and arch your spine, breasts pressing gorgeously against him, he has the suspicion you’re just fine.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, eyes rolling back into your head.

Din smirks a little. “He’s not here.”

Din’s been avoiding eye contact with Mark all afternoon.

He can’t bring himself to look his friend in the eye after what he’d done last night. And this morning. Twice. In three hours. Once even on the table Din is almost positive Mark had made with his own two hands. He tries to stop himself from thinking about it when Mark stands in front of him, wiping the sweat from his brow, and going on about something worthy of just peanuts. But then you appear in Din’s peripheral vision and it starts all over again.

The air is dry and sweltering, the sky cloudless and azure. Those working in the field pick at fruit until their knees are dirtied beyond washing and their fingernails packed with Earth. If it weren’t for his experience in such conditions, Din might’ve fainted hours ago.

“I couldn’t figure it out. I tried everything…” Mark went on, propped right next to Din in the dirt. The two of them work at twisted greenery, their hands fumbling with the veins of fruit. “And then I realized I need to make my own fertilizer. So what I did was…”

Din tries so desperately hard to concentrate on his dear friend’s story, but it’s difficult to do so. He’d like to blame it on the blandness of its subject; truthfully, Din hates gardening. He finds it tedious and mind-numbing, but Mark is a good enough fellow to grin and bear through it. Still, Din’s thoughts - and gaze - were covertly fixated on you across the field. You were wearing overalls, a red bandana in the pocket to wipe the grime from your eyes. He watched you put on that very outfit this morning after he brushed his teeth beside you and fucked you senseless once more for good measure. The two of you had been late and he fretted over it, concerned that someone might catch on.

“Come on,” you had whispered against his cheek. “You’ll give yourself a stroke if you keep panicking, old man.”

And just like that, he was still.

Din is about to vaguely grunt at Mark’s question (it was a question, wasn’t it?) when he hears a shout ring across the field. Everyone perks their heads up from their work, brows lifted in synchronicity at the prospect of some excitement. Even Din is relieved to be pulled away by Mark’s story until it dawns on him that the panicked voice belonged to Rhea.

“Dad!”

Both Din and Mark drop the tools they’ve been wielding and sprint towards Rhea. Din’s heart beats rapidly in his chest, clamoring for a way out. And when he sees you limp in Charlotte’s grasp, eyes rolled into the back of your head, he almost looses his goddamned mind.

“What happened?” he catechizes, reaching for your pallid form. Charlotte hands your dead weight to him and he can feel you stir a bit in his arms.

“She was fine and then she…” Charlotte stutters, her hands trembling. “She mumbled something and just dropped.”

Din points his glare in the direction of a field hand - any field hand - and yells, “Get some water!”

Mark kneels beside Din, touching your cheek, and whispers your name. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s the kind of fear only a father can solicit that weaves between the question. Din would know because he used to…

No. Now is not the time. He pushes the thought away with the shake of his head and gently grabs your face betwixt two hands. He murmurs your name - the name he’d shouted in ecstasy just this morning - and rubs circles against the fatness of your cheeks. You look two shades lighter than what you had earlier, the sweat glistening against your forehead an indicator that you’ve worked for far too long without a rest.

Someone passes Din a bottle of water cold enough to cause the condensation to drip down the sides and onto the heat of your skin. He takes the bottle and presses it to your neck before uncapping it with swift hands.

“Come on, darling girl. Come on…” he whispers, lifting your groggy form to the mouth of the bottle. You’re beginning to flutter your lashes now, slowly regaining enough consciousness to take a few sips. “Good girl.”

When you come to, you immediately grasp his wrist firmly and hug yourself against him. The slight hiccups rising from your chest give Din reason to believe you’re holding in tears.

“You’re okay. You’re fine.”

“You should’ve had breakfast.”

Din’s arms are crossed against his chest while he leans against the countertop of your bathroom. He studies the way you take a bite of your sandwich as though he can’t trust you to do it yourself.

You chew on his remark - and the bread - for a moment. “I didn’t have time…” you remind him with a wiggle of your brow.

It’s supposed to be funny, but instead he just frowns.

Din sighs your name in exasperation. “It’s not funny.”

You shrug, taking another bite. “It’s a little funny.”

“You fainted,” Din says pointedly, gaze staid and alert.

“And you act like it’s your fault I did.” You press the water bottle to your lips, watching as he squirms in his stance.

Din avoids all eye-contact with you when he says, “Maybe it is.”

There’s more to that response - there has to be. You screw the cap back onto the second bottle you’ve downed since the episode. “I’m not sure what that means.”

Din sighs, sitting on the edge of the bath. You told him to take you here when you were finally able to form a coherent sentence. After all, it’s the coldest room in the house…and also the most secluded.

“It means I should’ve taken care of you better,” he replies, face in his hands. “I should’ve controlled myself and let you take a shower or had breakfast. I should’ve…” He stops, breath caught short on a string of vowels lodged in his throat.

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t continue, allowing the silence between the two of you marinate into what could be.

“Your dad saw. He saw the way I held you.”

#no tag list because I’m tired #din x reader #din djarin x reader #strawberryfic #mando x reader #din #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din x you

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vobomon · 3 years

Note

Oh! How about Unexpected? 🤔

Drabble based on the Grimwalker!Hunter theory and the concept that Hunter might try to cut off his arm at some point in time...

He'd seen what the coven tattoos could do when activated.

They could suck the magic out of an individual and render them immobile-- a husk of their former self. And the last thing he wanted was to have the same fate befall him.

But was he really going to do the impossible? The improvable?

It would be debilitating if he went through with it. He'd have to live with the consequences for the rest of his life. And surely an action of this magnitude would constitute an act of betrayal against the coven system itself. And for that matter... an act of betrayal against Belos.

Hunter shook his head as he could feel himself starting to overthink once again. No, it was now or never! He couldn't let himself talk himself out of doing this.

It would be an easy job. He was used to pain after all. He would ignore the pain like he always did by dissociating himself from the situation.

All he needed to do was keep breathing and stifle the blood when it became too much.

Taking his trusty knife, the one he trained with for all these years, he clutched it between his fingers. He wrapped the cloth around his arm tightly. It would act as a makeshift tourniquet. He could feel the stomach bile beginning to rise in his throat but he quickly ignored it.

He held the knife to his flesh and took one last quick breath.

And then he began to slice...

Now whenever Hunter experiences his dissociation moments, he often finds himself in a position where he feels no pain or touch. It is strange to say but he feels like he is floating outside of his body during these moments. He watches as his body performs the actions but he doesn't feel like he, himself, is doing these actions.

And that was exactly what was happening now.

He could see himself cutting through his arm like butter. With precision and accuracy that had been taught to him. But he didn't feel the pain which, he felt pleased at that moment to know was a blessing. Because honestly, if he could feel it, well he would have likely stopped.

He could see the bone when the flesh had been cut through completely and he saw himself break the bone into three pieces. Easy enough to remove the rest of the way.

And with a swift moment, he pulled and the bone came free along with the rest of the arm.

When the arm fell to the ground, Hunter found himself brought back to reality and with it... came the pain.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

He screamed in agony as he was hit with all the sensations at once. But there was no time to cry. He had to stop the bleeding or els--

And yet before Hunter could react, a whole new sensation hit him.

He nearly buckled over. The wind was knocked out of him.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

It was not the feeling of pain.

It was the feeling of growth.

There was something moving inside his arm and slowly making its way out of his wound.

In horror, he watched as a bone protruded from where he had broken it off. And the bone grew further before extending into further joints. And those joints extended into finger bones.

"What is happening to me?!"

As if on cue, muscle began to grow on the bone, creating a new layer. And then with the muscle in place, the skin and flesh grew on top of it.

Within a few seconds, the arm was fully healed.

Hunter hesitated for a moment but couldn't help touching the fully formed arm to see if it was real. He pinched it and he jumped as he felt it.

The arm was real.

It had grown back.

Without the coven tattoo...

Hunter nearly smiled as if he had been granted the greatest gift.

"Well... I suppose this works out for the better."

There was no time to question this miracle. He had to start running.

#the owl house #the owl house spoilers #toh #toh spoilers #toh hunter #the golden guard #ask #anon #hunter drabbles

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missvifdor · 3 years

Text

Alright, I share a quick thought like this, but imagine Bucky having the DID (be careful, I want to make it clear that I'm not an expert and any mistakes on my part are unintentional and I'm sorry for being so stupid The DID is not a joke, it is a real trouble and I would never allow myself to laugh or joke about it).

So I was saying, Bucky having DID:

Thinking back to all the traumatic moments in his life, it would be easy enough to think that he could have had it. Imagine that at one point his brain and mind say "STOP" and no longer able to cope with all these events, decide that in order to survive, he must create a "shield" (I don't know if I am speaking correctly, sorry if that doesn't make sense).

Because if I'm not saying bullshit, that's what the host's DID is for, to protect it and that's where the Alters come in. The basis of the DID is that the host not supposed to know he has it.

But all the time, there will be signs: amnesia, dissociative disorder, depersonalization, derealization,. Imagine, one day, everything is going well, you get ready to go to sleep and then when you wake up, the date, the time have completely changed, you are now dressed and you have no memory of having lived this. that happened after you last remembered.

Now imagine Bucky going through the same thing, he'd be pretty scared I think.

Bucky would have these symptoms, but not just that. For example, he might feel like he has feelings, thoughts, moods, or anything else that is not ... his but belongs to someone else. Or he would hear voices talking to him (Wait, this has nothing to do with schizophrenia, the voices heard cannot be suppressed with medication and to the host this is really heard as a person's voice real voice or an interlocutor. These are real voices).

You know when we think and hear a voice but it is that of our subconscious, and well that is still different.

(I won't procrastinate any longer, but if you are interested, I advise you to inform yourself to find out more. For example, there is a youtube channel that talks about it because the designer has DID, she and other affected people talk about it here: https://youtu.be/ek7JK6pattE ).

Back to our Super Soldier:

Bucky, like anyone with DID will have both good and bad triggers.

The good ones would be: Music from the 40s, his favorite food, something that reminds him of his sister or mother, etc.

The bad ones: Something or someone who could bring back bad memories, maybe the language Russian, the pain linked to his metal arm, the situations where he cannot feel comfortable or very anxious, a dangerous mission that has gone off the rails a bit.

Let's talk about his Alters: The Winter Soldier will have taken a big place in his life and I think he probably never left him because he is part of him.

So I would lean towards the fact that Winter (let's call him that) has become one of his Alters. It would have become this:

Alter Trauma Holder and Persecutor: some of his tasks are to hold traumatic memories ... especially so that other Alters are not not disturbed by these memories and that the system works more or less. And often, well, trauma holders do not voluntarily choose this role, they are there because the brain did it like that and it can seem very unfair!

It is common that in addition to h: And, even when they do, sometimes they just aren't able to pass it on to the rest of the system and, unfortunately, to the outside either. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example.

Trauma holders are also It called “Secret Keepers / Secret Holders”.

Her Part Persecutor: To put it mildly, the "Persecutor" is an alter who is hostile to the system or the outside world . Well, obviously, it’s nowhere near that simple.

In general, persecutors are alters who have internalized hatred or rejection, either towards themselves, towards other members of the system, or towards the outside world. It is a traumatic response that follows physical abuse, toxic relationships and assaults experienced by the system. Like the protectors, the persecutors seek to prevent further attacks, attack in defense or suffer for the rest of the system. But they ... don't always do it the right way.

There are different kinds of persecutors, some tend to reject any outside person, others may have internal words and feelings of worthlessness, still others may sabotage a possible therapy for fear of the medical profession, then of others can re-experience their traumas, injure themselves, etc… They are very often hyperviligant and easily activated.

They are sometimes very withdrawn and influenced by feelings causing for example a strong anxiety or suicidal thoughts. But they can also be authoritarian and seek to impose behavior on the rest of the system, considering that the others are incapable of protecting themselves and are responsible for the abuses suffered. Finally, some persecutors are a representation of aggressors and persecute the system like these. The persecutors are above all persecuted by trauma and in particular they need to be secure. It is very common that, once appeased, they become essential protectors of the system.

Here's another Alter, James: It would be quite similar to the Bucky of the 40s but different at the same time.

He would be an Alter Internal Self Helper: The "Internal Self Helper" is an alter that helps the system internally. It is not uncommon for ISHs to serve as some sort of mediator to the rest of the system, as if they were "the voice of reason."

They often have a good knowledge of Alters and how the system works (but this does not mean that they easily share this information). They are also often discreet, facing little or not at all or only side by side with another alter.

Internal self helpers are often associated with the creation and management of the innerworld, especially when it was conceived unconsciously.

ISH is a frequent supporting role among gatekeepers, protectors and sometimes among trauma holders.

And Bucky would be the host: Host "refers to the alter who fronts most of the time ... when all is well. And this nuance is important!

Indeed, the “Host” is a bit like the basic Alter, the one who is there when there is no need for any other Alter, no triggers, and no Alter is needed wanted to face. In principle, he manages the day-to-day life, so you would think that it is indeed the alter that uses the body most often, yes. But no.

A system is frequently affected by all the little things in life, whether or not it requires the presence of another Alter at the front. And, especially when it is not conscious, it can be common for another alter (social or protective, for example) to be more present than the host. It all depends on the environment of the system and the awareness of its multiplicity as well as the choices and possibilities of each of its members.

For this reason, there are systems without a host (or with a sleeping host) as well as systems with multiple hosts (which are then called co-hosts), which handle different aspects of the day-to-day. good. Of course, the hosts can also have another role, such as caretaker or alter social.e for example. It may also happen that a new host appears and the system changes hosts.

The host is a role that can be difficult to take in at times, as it is often the first alter to become consciously aware (yes, consciously aware) of his multiplicity. And it's already not easy to realize that we "are not alone in your head", but it is also difficult to realize that you have shared your whole life with "these others people in his head ”. It is very common for the host to doubt his legitimacy, to be afraid of lying, etc. They are often influenced by the feelings, thoughts and feelings of other Alters.

On the other hand, the host can usually be an alter who allows for better communication, as he or she serves as a bit of a mediator, conciliatory and benevolent towards the system and the outside world, while being held to it 'deviation from the consequences (emotional for example) of traumas. A stable host is an important basis for functional multiplicity.

Be careful, it must be said: the host is not the original! Many systems don't have an original, and while you might think the host is some kind of original, it isn't. Of course, if there is an original in the system, it can be a host. But, whether host and / or original, all Alters should be considered equally. (Really, for this to work, it's important to understand this)

Otherwise, a person with DID may have other Alters, the number can vary and they are all different!

Now, how would it be if Bucky had a Y / N ? Would other people in the system agree with that? Would Y / N manage and understand this situation? That is the whole question.

But let's imagine that in the best-case scenario, Winter and James are ok with this relationship and even have feelings for Y / N, it will still be a job all the time.

The best would be someone who can differentiate the three and act with the three as if they were three different individuals (Who they are and this is very important because each Alter deserves to be recognized).

Being in a relationship with Bucky is a bit like being with a big teddy bear who could easily shoot you in the head with near-deadly precision. And a gentleman under all circumstances, of course.

Being with Winter is complicated enough, but not impossible. You just have to know how to do it and above all succeed in interpreting his looks, his silences. The man is not the biggest talker but know that he would be ready to kill for you and protect you.

As for James his Fronts are very rare but when he will be there, believe me when I tell you that he will not leave you alone with his affections! He is surely the one who is the most sociable of the three and who will take the greatest pleasure in teasing you or improvising a dance with you in the middle of your living room.

Well I have finished! Do not hesitate to tell me what you think of it in the comments, or if you want a part two to find out more in general or to know more about the romantic relationship side + ... SNFW.

#bucky barnes preferences #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #alters #did you know #system #bucky imagine #bucky headcanon #bucky hcs #Tw

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