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mysticmjolnir · 2 years

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Tag Game to Better Know You

Send this to people you’d like to know better!

Tagged by @tennessoui, i am kissing you on the forehead not with tongue maybe with a little tongue

What book are you currently reading? Seeing Like a State by James C. Scott. It's about how utopian projects pushed top-down by states never go well, because the kind of knowledge states seek to codify tends to ignore a whole bunch of other, very important but less 'valuable' (usually in terms of direct taxation) factors.

I've been reading it real slow bc it's like, dense and stuff and also i've been real sick recently, but it's really interesting. My favourite part is an example used early on; scientific forestry. So forests are like, old and organic and messy and full of stuff that isn't easy to use timber. Which, if you're looking at a forest and thinking 'how much timber can I get out of this forest on a regular basis', is kind of a nightmare. In the latter 1700s some german dude decided to try clearing areas and planting the same tree over and over in neat rows, making sure the area was clear of brush and general forest detritus.

The first crop, about 80 years on, was great! Lots of good quality timber, easy to harvest. The second crop was awful and the third was worse and so on and so on. Because this scientific forestry didn't consider any other factors but commercial exploitation of the forest. Not the nutrients in the soil, not the biodiversity of the biome, both of which were to blame for everything after the first bunch of trees growing poorly, but every other way that people rely on or interact with forests; religion, culture, food foraging, hunting, sneaking off to fuck, grazing for animals, goddamn medicines! Not to mention, y'know, all the ways that a forest exists and thrives sans any human interaction at all.

This is just a really bare example of what this book talks about - most of the projects it discusses are not about just imposing systems onto the landscape but onto people, who must interact with said systems or sometimes fight back against them. And not all state interference is bad or done for purely explotative reasons. But it usually goes badly because the people designing and implementing the systems don't know or care to know about how local systems already function - it just doesn't seem relevant to them and their big ideas. Also, obviously, there's a lot of colonialism here too, colonial administrators trying to align opressed indigenous populations into something 'manageable' and most importantly, taxable.

Like, in 1849, the Spanish going through the regions of the Philippines and assigning Hispanic surnames literally in alphabetical order, then enforcing those names by forbidding all officials from accepting any documentation that didn't use the (randomly assigned) Hispanic surnames. It didn't work 100% of course, these kind of insane, nightmarish projects never do, but it worked somewhat. There was a lot of forcing people to take surnames for the sake of being easier to track/tax. for instance people immigrating to the USA through Ellis Island

In a sweet little twist, at least one of these kinds of forests, from the late 1600s, so, before they had the bright idea to eliminate diversity from the trees they were planting, is a place of well loved and outstanding beauty, and also still harvested for timber on a 200 year cycle; The Forest of Tronçais. It was planted to provide wood for the ships of the French navy, but then they didn't need it so much. It got cut down a lot over the 1700s and 1800s for charcoal and stuff, but now it's, according to (a source in french on) wikipedia 'deemed by many as the most beautiful oakwood in Europe'. So that's nice.

tl:dr I am reading an interesting book on how states fuck up people and also trees.

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? I have not been to see a film in a cinema this year.

What do you usually wear? rn pyjamas, but usually i wear what i like to call hedgewitch chic

How tall are you? 5'3''. i don't want to talk about it

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? Capricorn. Sometimes my birthday is Martin Luther King day

Do you go by your name or a nickname? I have a really cool name (if we're friends i will tell you it) and I try to go by my shortened name informally and my full name professionally.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child? when i was a child i wanted to be a classicist. i am not a classicist.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one? That one tumblr post: "not in a relationship, not aromantic, but a secret third thing. unwanted ;) " <-- kit put this i'm stealing it

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at? i'm good at telling people to be kind to themselves. i am bad at remembering to wear a coat when i go outside

Dogs or cats? cats

If you draw/write or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/line/etc from something you created this year? i have written fic this year, which i have not done for some years. i like almost all of my writing. i tried to find a quote but idk, when i went to look at my writing i liked it less.

What’s something you would like to create content for? i want to write an alex rider fic but the fates are against me in nearly every way despite my very funny idea that makes me chuckle to myself every time i think about it

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? star wars? i'm currently obsessed with certain bits of star wars very much.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? uh. i did not enjoy the sandman as much as i hoped to. i can expand at length on this subject to anyone who is interested.

What’s a hidden talent of yours? cat wrangling

Are you religious? nuh

What’s something you wish to have at this moment? a hug

deep breath i can do this i can tag people @dreaminghour @raeality @anakincito

#tag games

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thekillingfloor · 11 months

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ENGAGEMENT.

Starting to engage with the notion that life in general terms is just a bunch of shit flying around, not making much difference or sense to anybody. I mean, it totally makes sense when you start to think about it, that people would form societies because in the broader aperture of reality, nothing much, makes any sense, except in relation to other people, ostensibly, like you and so, ostensibly, having the same experience.

I begin to wonder if maybe the biggest leap you can make is to simply not really GAF but then, I kind of observe that, being outside of everything, even if you are not precisely outside of everything, the chances that you get in trouble trying to 'rejoin' society, seem to be drastically increased by the fact that at some point, you have just 'gone Kerouac on everybody's ass.' And it makes you wonder, if that isn't the hitch?

When I lived on the street, despite the imperilment and general inconvenience, I had an ok time. I didn't really have to do anything, except feed myself and stay out of people's way and maybe there is a degree to the edge of freedom that you have in that situation that makes you, not even really need people that much. I cannot immediately pinpoint whether things have gotten better since then or simply, more complex in the manner with which we try to make things easy for ourselves and so, in many ways, worse.

I watch a lot of YouTube and so, sometimes find myself listening to people and knowing what they are talking about and understanding their jokes and references because I am 'ok smart' but at the same time the penumbruance of that connection, the one caused by collective understanding or even collective perplexion at a thing that is collectively misunderstood but agreed to be, the thing that it is agreed to be, is in essence a trick we play on ourselves to try to overcome the fact that, in our worlds, in our lives, we are becoming ever more alienated from ourselves, propelled by a desire and failure to accept that society is failing to shield us from this 'unknowable complexity' that we are acutely engineering ourselves, into our lives, to try to keep in touch with the same society that is leaving us behind...

I suppose it always happens and, we all get by; some drop off, others make way, others just nod their heads to the rhythm of the music but increasingly the desire of some, to appear to 'know' what is happening when, they clearly don't and the desire they have to make opportunity from masking their confusion while they are simply aware that others are equally, if not more so confused. That is maybe, really fucking dangerous. Because, I mean, the opportunists, they know just as little as you do. Probably less. Maybe they've just got their backs up against each other and that seems like it is the same as having any fucking clue but I mean, if society is a prodigious mechanism for elucidating from the confusion of "bunch of shit flying around, not making much difference or sense to anybody", and nobody knows anything, maybe we are too trusting in the mechanism to produce a solution to a crisis, even when society is inversely, equal only to an individual. Burke called it, I think, 'the tyranny of the masses.'

Like in many things existing over cycles, we see they have a cycle that interlinks them and obverse to their general defined consistency, in the manner of that cycle, they are both what they are and at some point, the exact opposite of what they are except in the proportion of their defined means. We see that oppression for instance can be perpetrated by one or by many however, depending on your extraction and the mood of the insecurity, either can be deemed but more likely the lesser, the greater evil and I mean, that's where we hope that society comes in and somehow explains to us, how this works for us or what we should do?

The stark vastness of this age, when coupled with the immense claustrophobia it produces is both startling and for some, I assume, exhilarating.

I start to wonder, how many of my tumblr followers are still active...

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ieirism · 3 years

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demands and orders.

pairing: yan!diluc x maid!f!reader

contains: not safe for work content, obsessive thoughts/behavior, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance

A Dawn Winery maid who had served the Ragnvindrs her entire life fell in love with her dear Master Diluc.

Once her best friend as a child, a bright and cheerful boy, Diluc’s disposition had changed drastically throughout the past years—but her adoration for him never faltered.

Doting on him, keeping the halls and rooms of the winery perfectly spotless, tending to the injuries he received in battle, cooking delicious feasts for her tired and hungry master—she’s the most hardworking maid by far.

Yet, she still keeps her distance from the young master, knowing that boundaries have long since been set and cannot be crossed. She cannot deem herself worthy of being his lover, and keeps her silly feelings to herself. What she cannot express verbally, she shows in her dedication to Master Diluc, dutifully waiting for her orders.

But this gentle and kindhearted maid knew nothing of the darkness lurking behind her beloved master’s eyes. She thought nothing of the piercing, lingering stares that left her feeling as if she was stripped naked, or the subtle brushes of his gloved hands against her shoulders, and not even the instances of the young master requesting for her to clean the room he was currently occupying (even if it had just been taken care of) just so he could watch her scurry and bustle about.

(She could never suspect him of peeking up her skirt while she dusted the shelves. Never.)

She obeyed every order with a nod and a smile, as she was raised to do. Work her hardest to satisfy the demands of the Ragnvindrs.

Unfortunately for the sweet girl, Diluc Ragnvindr is not the heroic gentleman she believed him to be. It would only be a matter of time before the last of his self control faded. She acted more like his wife than a simple maid, always knowing exactly how to attend to his every need and smiling so lovingly at him every time she encountered him. Master Diluc is no fool. He is well aware of the infatuation his lovely maid has for him. He had convinced himself that he’s better than giving into his desires. However, deep down, he knows he’s not—and truthfully, much worse.

She’s just so airheaded, oblivious, dumb. How could she not notice his cock straining against his pants whenever she bent over in front of him, giving him a glimpse of her cute cotton panties? If he didn’t know better, he would think that she’s a conniving temptress hungry for his dick. But Diluc knows she’s a simple, pure girl, hopelessly in love with a false fantasy of his past self.

He is no longer the kind and softhearted young boy who would blush shyly every time he, the pretty little maid, and his estranged brother would play together.

He’s a monster, a beast who lusts after the innocently clueless girl who works so hard to serve him every day, who brings him his ironed and folded shirts with a bright smile, who greets him so happily whenever he returns home. Such a helpless creature should be nothing but protected and cherished. Indeed, Diluc intends to protect and cherish her, but he will also not hesitste to absolutely ruin her.

How easy it would be to take advantage of the naive girl’s emotions. To use her devotion for him to convince her to take his cock in her mouth, and watch as she tearfully and earnestly tried to fit the thick length down her throat. To coax her into spreading her legs for him, and allow him to taste her undoubtedly heavenly cunt. To reassure her that everything would be alright if only she were to let him fuck a baby into her.

It was only logical after all. Only a ring, a ceremony, a title, and a baby in her womb was separating her from being his spouse. The gap was laughable; all she needed was a little push from her beloved Master Diluc, and she would fall right into his arms.

Imagine his surprise when she rejected his advances, trying to shove him away with her little hands after he pinned her against the desk of his study.

“M-Master Diluc, what are you d-doing?” she stammered, her cheeks turning a bright pink as she realized how close she was to her master.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He leaned down to bury his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply to memorize her lovely scent. She once again decided to push against him, but of course, to no avail.

“This doesn’t f-feel right.” Her fingers nervously grip the bottom of her skirt, trembling as she spoke. “A-are you playing a prank on m-me?”

“Prank?” Diluc mused, chuckling against her neck. She shivered. “Is it so hard to believe that your feelings for me are returned?” She inhaled sharply, her face burning up even more as she realized—her master is fully aware of her silly feelings.

“Th-That’s enough. I must help the kitchen with dinner—“

“Running away?” Diluc pulled back to look at her face, and is startled by the uncertainty in her expression and tears in her eyes. He’s puzzled. Is this not what she desired? To be his woman?

“F-Forgive me, Master.” She can’t look him the eye. Diluc found himself stepping away from her to let her go. She scurried out of the room in a hurry, not looking back once.

He knew he was weak for her, but never understood just how in deep he was. Just the very image of her distraught face was enough for the raging beast inside of him to retreat back into its cage, tail hanging shamefully between its legs.

Diluc leaned back against his desk, letting out a short, bitter laugh. All this time he had thought that he had her wrapped around his finger, that she would and could bend to his every whim, that he thoroughly owned her.

However, he had now come to the realization that this was far from the case. The collar of the beast he is, is attached to the incredibly short leash gripped tightly in her small, delicate, unknowing fist. Dragging him this way and that, helpless to her control.

Diluc chuckled once more at the irony.

Of course, ultimately she will be his. He would not let this first failed attempt discourage him from having her in her rightful place, by his side, in his bed, a ring on her finger, and their child growing beautifully in her belly.

But more importantly, he will be hers. That is what he will demand of her, and she will be unable to refuse him once more.

#diluc x reader #yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr

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inkykeiji · 4 years

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you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later.

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince.

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new.

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to.

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most.

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out.

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion.

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom.

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #todoroki touya #dabi fluff #dabi angst #aaaah this HURT #anyway big big big thank yous to mister for helping me come up with what we think dabi's favourite food would be #HAPPY BIRTHDAY DABIIIIIII

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice.

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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asmallnerd · 4 years

Text

Autistic Shoto Todoroki

The analysis

First off, I would like to say that this is purely a passion project. I am not a professional, I am an autistic teenager and I’m just very interested in this character because I heavily relate to him. I’ve collected some scenes from the manga and two specific things from the third light novel.

If you could boost this (if you’re interested that’d be great because while I really enjoy doing this it does take a lot of time! With that being said let’s dive into this and I hope you find this interesting!

Could Shoto Todoroki be autistic? Here is why I think he absolutely could.

Emotional perception

Let’s start with one of the most obvious things about his character. The emotional factor.

Shoto doesn’t emote in the way his peers do. Now, of course this also plays into the brooding mysterious guy archetype, but that’s not what we’re talking about.

Shoto’s face is typically relatively neutral, this is apparent from the moment we first meet him and while he does tend to express his emotions more clearly later in the story, it doesn’t ever really change. Something that immediately comes to mind is how in chapter 202 Iida asks if Shoto is alright because Iida noticed his expression change (because he knows him very well by this point). Ojiro points out that he did not notice this, since Shoto’s face barely changes at all.

We see Shoto in a lot of situations where his peers show excitement while his expression remans completely flat. This lack of emoting is something extremely common in people with autism. It’s not that they don’t have emotions or don’t express them at all, they just do it in a way that is hard to understand for people outside the spectrum or those who don’t know the autistic individual very well. They often struggle to understand what emotion they’re feeling in the first place and of course it’s hard to express feelings if you don’t know what you’re feeling.

Shoto doesn’t only show difficulty expressing his emotions but also recognizing those of other people. One of the best examples of this is the final exam arc, where he gets paired up with Yaoyorozu. In chapter 63 specifically, he doesn’t realize that Yaoyorozu is upset about something even though to someone else it’d probably have been obvious. Only when Aizawa points out that he should listen to her does he notice that he’s been doing something wrong. Shoto didn’t notice she was upset, and he didn’t notice he was being rude.

Emotions and emotional responses are continuously shown to be difficult for Shoto to handle. What he has absolutely no issues with, on the other hand, are academics. Of course, we can naturally assume that he’s been drilled to study hard from a very young age, but he is also extremely intelligent outside of the classroom. During the sports festival he is the first person shown to figure out that the obstacle course poses a lot more disadvantages to the people in the lead, during the practical exam, he is able to come up with a solid strategy very quickly.

During the training camp arc, him and Deku are the ones to come up with a strategy to protect Bakugo on the spot. He also doesn’t seem to consider his intelligence anything special. A lot of autistic people tend to assume that other people’s experiences align with their own. This can be seen when he seems surprised about Denki worrying that he’ll fail the written final exam. He asks how he could possibly fail if he’s been attending class, like the concept is entirely foreign to him (also there’s about a 0% chance this was a joke because this is Shoto we’re talking about.) He is very good at logical problem solving but emotional issues seem to stump him.

Literacy and verbal filters

Moving on, another big factor that Shoto seems to struggle with is his tendency to be overly literal and very blunt. There are several instances where he says things that we as readers as well as other characters perceive as insensitive. Once again, his interaction with Denki about the final exams (chapter 60) can be an example. He didn’t seem to think it was inappropriate and because this is Shoto, he didn’t ask to tease him either. Denki even points out that this was insensitive to say. A more subtle example is his conversation with Izuku in chapter 73, when they talk about Kota. His overall phrasing is fine, but he remains very blunt and direct and essentially ends up telling Izuku that his tendency to cut to people’s hearts with his words is annoying.

My personal favorite for an example can be found in chapter 83, in the hospital after the training camp, when the class visits Izuku, Shoto points out that “Of course Bakugo isn’t here.” Needless to say, he couldn’t possibly have timed this statement any worse. It wasn’t necessary in the first place, but he didn’t register it as something inappropriate to say.

One example of not him being unintentionally rude but just showing a different approach to telling the truth is seen in the third light novel. The fifth chapter revolves around the class preparing a birthday party for Iida. At one point, Sato asks if Iida has food allergies out of nowhere. Iida naturally asks why he needs to know this, Shoto is immediately ready to answer the question honestly, which would have spoiled the surprise, had Izuku not stepped in.

Autistic people often have trouble seeing whether something is or isn’t appropriate to say. Neurotypical people’s brains have a filtering process, it helps them be aware of possible responses to a statement. This filtering process is not functional or only limited in autistic people.

Shoto is also overly literal. In chapter 57, he gets upset over his friends continuously getting their hands hurt and refers to himself as “the hand crusher”. He is very serious about this and does not understand how Iida and Izuku could possibly think he was joking.

In chapter 164, he answers Gang Orca’s metaphoric question entirely seriously. During the interview training in chapter 241 he first seems confused by the made-up mission in the first place. He then proceeds to ask Mt Lady if she has a heart condition when she uses the phrase “My heart would burst out of my chest”. Finally, he appears genuinely horrified when she calls him a “lady killer” (“My smile will kill women..?!”)

In chapter 257, when Mineta claims school talk will “ruin the taste of the food”, Shoto simply says it tastes the same to him, to which Mineta proceeds to call him out for being overly literal.

Autistic people typically struggle to understand jokes and sarcasm, in fact, it’s often one of the main characteristics in people with an ASD diagnosis.

Overfamiliarity and Oversharing

Shoto’s tendency to overshare is another thing that is very typical foe ASD.

He doesn’t seem to understand that telling his life story to a classmate he’s barely interacted with prior is not exactly an appropriate thing to do. He repeats this later with All Might and, most notably, in chapter 165, when talking to the preschoolers during his provisional licensing course.

He also seems to have a slightly different perception of what makes someone friends than his classmates. As shown in chapter 241, to him, spending time with Bakugo during the licensing course is enough to deem them friends. Even when Bakugo points out that there is no correlation between the time spent together and friendship, he still doesn’t seem to understand.

Autistic people tend to become overly familiar and are easily attached to people if they perceive just one of their interactions as positive.

Attachment to inanimate things

This is something not really shown in the manga, but noteworthy, nonetheless. We know that Shoto, upon moving into the dorm building, remodeled his entire room from a modern, more western style room, into a traditional Japanese style one. The second chapter of the third novels goes into depth about why he did this. Shoto was entirely dumbstruck and thrown off by how different the room is from what he was used to. He knew the traditional Japanese rooms from home and his brain assumed that the dorms would be the same. He felt like the different style was wrong. He doesn’t like the unfamiliar flooring and even a small thing like the positioning of the light switch bother him.

He’s not comfortable in the unfamiliar environment, so he decides to change it.

Autistic people often struggle to adjust to changes. In environment and routine. They feel most comfortable in a well established and familiar routine, that includes the feel of their living space. A change of environment this drastic would be extremely stressful for someone on the spectrum.

Another thing that isn’t particularly obvious but does make sense when considered is that Shoto seems to have a comfort food (cold soba). While he’s never shown or stated to be a picky eater he does seem to opt for the same food whenever he gets the chance. Autistic people often have a very restricted diet due to sensory processing issues that apply to food textures, smells and taste.

Additional points

Shoto seems to be a little face blind. He doesn’t know who Kota is when Izuku mentions him, which seems to genuinely surprise Izuku. He also didn’t remember Inasa at all despite them having been at the same entrance exam.

In chapter 202 he’s shown completely zoning out. Of course, this can happen to anyone, I just found it interesting because it was shown so clearly, making it obvious that it was something we should pay attention to.

In the novel chapter in which he remodels his room it is also mentioned that the feeling of synthetic floor against his feet upsets him.

Shoto also seems relatively indifferent to temperature. Of course, that would correlate to his quirk as well, but it is also common for autistic people to struggle with temperature perception as well as other things that neurotypical people don’t struggle to recognize like hunger or thirst. This specifically applies to situations where you would typically end up in pain like, for example, frostbite. Shoto would obviously be used tot his but him showing no reaction at all to his body halfway freezing over was a little unnerving.

He also is shown to be relatively uninterested in certain social events like for example the room competition after the class moves into the dorms. He doesn’t want to be there; he’d rather go to sleep. In the beginning he also shows clear disinterest in making friends with his classmates. Both very typical things for people on the spectrum.

In chapter 244, Hawks asks Shoto a question in a way that seems to confuse him so much he can’t even form a coherent response. [Hawks: “Seemed like you were in trouble, Endeavor.” Endeavor: “Me? Not a chance.” Hawks: “But it seemed that way, didn’t it, Shoto?” Shoto: “Um..I…uh…”]

He probably didn’t register if Hawks actually wanted him to answer or not.

In chapter 64 he mistakes Yaoyorozu crying for her feeling sick, horribly misreading her expressions.

This last point is more personal than the rest, watching his reactions to Endeavor’s fight with the Nomu in chapter 190 made me think of the stress progression that often causes autistic shutdowns. Shoto was clearly becoming more and more stressed as he was watching and once it was over simply seemed to shut down. That is a very typical response to emotional distress or overstimulation in autistic people.

Final disclaimer

This is purely for my own entertainment; it is not meant to be offensive to anyone and I am not saying that this is absolutely what is going on. I’m simply elaborating on a theory/headcanon that I have. That being said, if you have questions feel free to drop them in the ask box, I’d be thrilled!

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shoto todoroki #boku no hero textpost #mha textpost #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #character analysis #shoto todoroki analysis #autistic shoto todoroki #autism headcanon #op is autistic #special interest #long post

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language/brief nudity Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering... could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique "soul mark", which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader is gender neutral, but at some points will be described as leaning towards being feminine (due to personal interpretation of Alcina's character). Additionally, Lady D will eventually be referred to by her first name, so don't worry if you feel weird about her being called by her full title all the time, it's just for this chap, when the reader isn't familiar with her. Lastly, this contains a bit of one sided Alcina/Miranda, which serves as a plot point, but is (clearly) not the primary ship.

1: In The Shadow Of Giants

Three months, two weeks, and one day. That’s how long you’ve been at this accursed castle, serving cruel mistresses, having been plucked from your peaceful life in the village. Anger stains your every thought, slowly festering inside your chest. There is no cure, at least not without a fatal price, but there are mild remedies. ‘Tis not long before the other servants learn to give you the more physically demanding chores. Nothing numbs your mind quite the same way that chopping firewood does, though you often settle for hard scrubbing age-old tile. Every day ends with your muscles crying from the effort of it all. Every day… except today. Another servant, from the night shift, has been wounded severely, and her job was deemed too important to be foregone.

And, as such, she has been replaced. By you. For once, you turn in early, long before your clothes can become stained with sweat. Yet you aren’t happy, not when you know that this change will ruin your sleep for weeks to come. Even worse, it’ll be impossible to avoid your ‘employers’, whereas working the day shift meant almost never seeing them. So far, you have only seen them on four or five occasions. Hell, you’ve only met two of them, being Cassandra and Bela. Based on what others told you, the other two weren’t much (if at all) better. As you try your best to get some rest, only a single ‘positive’ thought runs through your head: Well, worst comes to worst, I’ll get killed, then I won’t have to worry about anything anymore.

---------------------------

“Remember: No talking unless you’re asked a question. The Mistress has had a rough morning, and this is her best chance at relaxing,” Juniper explains, for what seems like the eighth time since the two of you met. There’s a nervous energy around her, which does little to ease your own anxieties. If you heard correctly, she’s only been at the castle for a couple weeks, having previously worked for Mother Miranda. You’re not sure what would have caused the transfer, considering most who were ‘fired’ ended up dead. Something told you that it had to do with antsy nature. “Oh, and don’t leave unless dismissed, even once your part is done. We all need to be ready, in case Mistress- I mean, Lady Dimitrescu needs something. Sorry, I’m still getting used to how things work here.”

“As long as you don’t slip up in front of her and get us both killed, I don’t really care,” you replied, giving Juniper a level stare. Clearly unsure how to respond, she pauses for a moment, mouth opening then closing without a sound. Once she’s seemingly composed herself, you give a short nod and push open the door to the bathroom. Two other servants are already inside, and they flinch at your arrival, briefly mistaking you for their boss. “I can hardly believe they made me change shifts for this,” you add, under your breath, rolling your eyes. What was so important about making sure a few candles stayed lit? During bathtime? Maybe it was something you had to be a giant, vampiric noblewoman to understand. Regardless of your annoyance, you quickly get to work, striking the first of a couple matches. It’s a rather dull task. To think you would have preferred heavy labor to this.

Before long, the last flame springs to life, and Juniper dims the lights, allowing the candles to become the focus. At least one is scented, though you cannot place the specific kind. Less than a minute after the last one is lit, the door once again swings open, revealing your most elusive employer. She’s… more than you anticipated. In every conceivable way, truthfully. Taller, more graceful (even as she has to duck through the entrance), and, as much as you hate to think so, far, far more beautiful. If not for the warm lighting of the room, you would have worried about someone seeing your blush. Certainly I am not the first to react this way, you think, as you bow alongside the others.

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Lady Dimitrescu says, with a sharp frown. Then she moves closer to the tub, which you imagine could fit half a dozen ‘normal’ people, and holds out her arms to her side. For a moment you’re confused, but you instinctively mimic the motions of the other maidens. Together the four of you reach for her robe, gently taking hold of it while she steps into the bath, before hanging it onto a nearby hook. A second later your entire world is turned upside down. You’re freezing in place, eyes wide, as the bare back of Lady Dimitrescu reveals itself to you. Yet this is not an instance of poorly veiled lust. No, it is equal parts horror and repulsion, for you find yourself staring at a distinctive soul marking.

One that matches your own.

Beside you, Juniper watches you with concern, silently urging you to stay silent. Neither of the other two servants seem to react, other than by taking a small step backwards. Unable to speak, let alone form coherent thoughts, all you can do is point a trembling finger towards the soul mark. It’s right in between Lady Dimitrescu’s shoulder blades. Once upon a time, you had marveled at the design, smiling every time you saw it in the mirror. Now, it might as well be the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. Based on her expression, Juniper seems to agree, although for different reasons. As your hand drops back to your side, you try to compose yourself enough to focus on the task before you. Instead, someone breaks the quiet, boldly, daring to think that they would be rewarded for it.

“My Lady,” a servant says, stepping forward, shooting you a waywards glance. Instantly she has your employer’s attention, though that comes with the metallic sssssslk of her claws extending. There’s an unspoken threat that demands respect. None comes, however, just the frenzied words of a panicked maiden. “I know who your soulmate is, my Lady. I thought that perhaps you’d-”

“A name. Give me… a name,” Lady Dimitrescu interjects, claws still out and impatiently tapping on the tile floor. Tense, you start to step forward, wanting desperately to silence the treacherous maiden. But her tongue is faster than your fist, and soon enough your name is echoing through the room. “Oh? The one right behind me, hmm? Dreadfully convenient, really. Step forward, dear, and let me see the proof. Assuming it exists.” All eyes other than hers are on you, now. With a deep breath, you begrudgingly step in front of Lady Dimitrescu, trying not to even briefly glance at her chest (or worse, lower). One of her hands shifts, a long claw tilting your chin up. “Well?”

“Forgive the placement,” you mutter, awkwardly grabbing your shirt collar, tugging it down to reveal your soul mark, planted neatly on the center of your chest. If Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze wanders, it does so too quickly to be noticed, though she does make a low humming noise at the sight. Feeling much like a piece of meat on display at the butcher’s, you scowl deeply. Soon enough, but not as soon as you’d like, the claw under your chin retracts, and you once more cover up your soul mark. You can’t bring yourself to look your soulmate in the eyes.

“Hmm. Not what I expected. Not at all,” she muses, more to herself than to you, softly. Behind her, Juniper is sending you a sympathetic expression. All you can do, as Lady Dimitrescu judges you, is glare at the origin of this revelation. What did she think to gain by speaking up? Hadn’t she heard the same rumors that you had? Didn’t she know that your employer already loved another, even if that affection was unrequited? There was, simply put, no chance that you were the preferable option. Not when there was no race against neither time nor death. At best, you could be a distraction. Something to keep her mind off of the person she’d rather be with. “Go clean up, get some sustenance if you must, then go to my quarters. We will discuss this further there- after I am done here.”

With that said, she waves you off, letting you relax for the first time in several minutes. After giving a short bow, you immediately move to leave. On your way, you intentionally bump shoulders with the maiden who spoke up, sending her a glare, then give Juniper a nod of acknowledgement. Nervous wreck or not, she was the only person you ‘knew’ on the night shift. Not that such a thing would even matter soon. To think that we’ve been soulmates this whole time, you think, living in the same castle for months, never seeing each other. I wish things could have stayed that way. At least you’d have some time to process your developing situation. Though you doubted you’d have enough time.

---------------------------

In an unusual change of pace, Alcina dismisses the rest of her servants, long before her bath is done. They exchange glances before scattering to the winds. A heavy sigh leaves her lips, and she sinks lower into the tub. Of course I have a soulmate, she thinks, bitterly. I knew this. Knew that it wasn’t her, and yet still, I find myself surprised. Disappointed, even. How had an already rough evening gotten even worse? More than that, what was she supposed to do about it? There was a part of her that wanted to kill her soulmate. She figured that, with them out of the way, the universe might finally understand who she was meant to be with. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for ‘widows’ to be given a new match, and those were generally other ‘widows’. Considering that Alcina knew for a fact that Mother Miranda’s soulmate had long since died, she did not think that her hopes were beyond possibility.

But there was another part of her, quieter, that dared to be more realistic. If the universe said that this human, this tiny thing, was her soulmate… would it not make sense to at least try? What harm could it do, when her current love had been unrequited for so long? Was this not the end to several decades of loneliness? Damn it, she thinks, gripping the edge of the bathtub until her knuckles turned white. There was no denying it, now that a single drop of rational thought had corrupted her mind. Fuck it all, I hardly have a choice. Or anything to lose, for that matter. With her decision made, she rises to her feet, emotionally ready to face the unknown.

---------------------------

“Ah, so you do follow directions, after all. I half expected to learn that you had attempted to flee, or perhaps had a gruesome run in with one of my daughters,” Lady Dimitrescu chimes, as she ducks into her room. Inside, standing at attention, you await. All of your earlier nervousness returns, though this time it is tinged with your natural rage. Of all the monsters in the world, this was the one you were expected to love. It mattered not how tall she was, or how sharp her nails could be, or how fierce her loyalty to Mother Miranda. To you, it mattered that you had no choice in being here, that only a handful of servants had come to the castle willingly. It mattered that a single mistake could mean a cruel death. So you did not greet your soulmate with a smile, or excitement, rather with a forced bow and blank expression. Better to be dead than to fake true love. “Come now, do at least pretend that you are excited, for my sake. I have been waiting a century for this, after all.”

“Perhaps the universe found it difficult to find someone who could love you,” you say, the words tumbling out of your mouth, instant regret boiling up inside of you. What you expect is a swift death. What you get? A deep sigh, a scowl, a look of frustration. Still fearing your possible demise, you are quick to keep speaking. “Or maybe the universe heard me talk once, and struggled to find someone to tolerate me. Countless possibilities, a galaxy full of mysteries… and here we are. Forgive me for being crass, my Lady. I would blame it on my schedule change, but something tells me you would see right through that lie, yes?” Not like that was much better, you think, wondering how the hell you were going to survive this.

“You’re quite the character, aren’t you?... Do try not to make me regret this, I’d rather not kill my soulmate. Now, sit down, it’s about time for a proper introduction,” Lady Dimitrescu commands. Then she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, gently patting the spot next to her. Joining her is just about the last thing you want to do right now… but you obey nonetheless. Still, you angle yourself away from her ever so slightly, hoping the subtle body language would help you distance yourself from her. There’s something in her expression that tells you she knows exactly what you’re trying to do. “I am Lady Dimitrescu, though you already know that. You may call me Alcina… for now. Behave, or that is one of many privileges I will not hesitate to take from you. Understood?”

It takes all of your willpower to avoid rolling your eyes, but you manage, instead giving a short nod. This’ll be interesting, for sure.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #love this lady<3

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todorokis-conspiracy-theories · 3 years

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Thinking about how Shouto and Touya are perfect character foils for each other. The gifted child versus the one who's forgotten about has gotta be one of my favorite tropes in stories. Touya having his father's attention up until his own quirk turned against him and wanted to gain that attention back, and Shouto having always had the attention from his father despite never really wanting it. I'm just going to say, if it had been the other way around, I truly do believe that Shouto would've become a villain instead, and that's something Shouto even admits to. First, I wanna talk about how much I love the irony of the wants for their children of Rei and Endeavor in regards to Shouto and Touya.

Rei wanted more children in order to encourage each other. In the end, the divided attention that was given only to the children who were deemed as possible successors and having that attention taken away, ended up being biggest Touya's downfall. Instead of siblings encouraging each other to do better, they were outright pitted against each other in the hopes of being seen as worthy. This can be seen in many instances, such as when Shouto was first brought home. At that time, Touya and the rest of the family didn't even know what Shouto's quirk would be, but Touya attacked Shouto anyway. Likely because at that time, his quirk had started to fail him, and he was so scared of getting tossed aside which seemed much worse to him than the abuse and self-harm he was put through in training. Another instance of this would be these panels.

Here we have little Shouto wanting to play with his siblings, and I really think here that Touya was able to hear their conversation based on the next panel.

Here he uses that same "we're in different worlds" phrase he heard his father say to Shouto because he so desperately wants it to be true of him too. He wants his father to recognize and love him so desperately that trying to train to improve himself is his only priority. (Just gotta put in here I'm so tempted to make a fanart of Dabi and Shouto in place of a Loki and Thor scene that I think would really work for them) As for Endeavor's wants, he wanted a child to have a fire and ice quirk in order to beat All Might and become the number one hero. Everything about this is ironic. All Might retiring and making Endeavor the number one hero basically makes Endeavor's goal obsolete because he's able to see that being the number one hero does not make you the symbol of peace (which I think being adored in the people's eyes was really what he was after, but that's a different post) Not only that, but Dabi's quirk is having incredibly powerful flames while his body was made to withstand freezing temperatures. That's *chefs kiss* perfect planning because the child that Endeavor so desperately wanted is at a disadvantage to his older child, and is at this point more focused on saving him than anything else. In the end, I really think that Shouto is going to be the one to have to save Dabi because he's the only one who can emphasize and understand him. There's too much hurt and suffering connected to Endeavor, and Dabi felt neglected by the other members of his family. He ties in a lot of these negative feelings with Shouto, but I think that once he's able to see how Endeavor is still prioritizing his hero duties over even his "perfect child"; he'll be able to understand that it was never him that was the problem. Shouto caring enough to put aside everything Dabi has done to save him/ possibly risk his life for him (without Endeavor being there) is going to be the thing that saves Dabi because all he ever wanted was to be Shouto's equal. If nobody else views him that way, at least he can see that Shouto does.

(End of rant)

#shouto todoroki #mha #my hero academia #bnha spoilers #dabi #bnha #endeavor #touya todoroki #todoroki family #mha meta

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years

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Companions and their mental health statuses?

(Wrote this while listening to a Spotify playlist named "going absolutely fucking apeshit" anyway- I'm gonna split this up by what I think character wise...and then my experiences with these seggsy bitches in game bc boy, it's been wild)

Cait:

•Sufferer of severe trauma throughout her life.

•Shit just gets worse

•Fights for her life and has a strong love for psycho before a special someone convinced her she is worthy of being loved

•Trust issues out the wazoo..for sadly, good reasons.

•Maybe not the worst on the list, but definitely up there.

In game experience...

•GOD DAMN FALLOUT VERSION OF LYDIA- like seriously? Gtfo the doorway! I'm getting blown up!

•Hates everyone and everything except sole and breaking the law.

Curie:

•Actually not all that bad...except for secret abandonment issues.

•Usually masks it by burying herself in research.

•As far as these poor bastards go, she's probably one of the most mentally stable- which is scary.

In game experience.....

•Sweet Frenchie with asshole pets.

(I don't travel with her often 🥲)

Danse:

Pre-Blind Betrayal-

•Confirmed sufferer of PTSD

•Blames himself for the death of several team members.

•Evidence points towards un-talked about alcoholism.

•Seems to be attracted to power armour..

•Not very good but not the worst on this list..

Post-Blind Betrayal-

•Same as above but add on identity crisis times a thousand and two.

•Will literally kill himself (or let you kill him) if you don’t convince him otherwise.

In game experience....

•Fucking goes apeshit, pre or post BB

•Completely unaware of his surroundings unless it has to do with vertibirds flying over head, then it's time for guerrilla warfare. "Fate has decreed that you must die!"- he speaks, drawing a laser rifle.

•Has been caught on multiple instances doing drugs out of the drug vending machine in Nuka World despite clearly being against them.

Deacon:

•Probably one of the more mentally fucked.

•Lost his wife in front of his own eyes in a notably terrible way.

•Escapes his deep seeded pain through his elaborate schemes, justifying it by telling himself it helps his organization.

•Still feels like shit every waking minute.

•Cant really allow himself to get close to anyone because of his experiences.

In game experiences...

•Asshole

•Jumpscare king, mainly because I didn't know he changed outfits THAT often.

•Doesn't like physical affection??? Shit that actually makes sense..

•Stalker.

Gage:

•He's pretty "meh" on the sanity scale. He's ruthless, but he's entirely stable besides his attachment issues.

•Trusts too easy and hates himself for it...also tries to make himself not be that way and for the most part, it works!

•Problematic raider.

In game experience...

•Makes stupid comments at inappropriate times as though he wishes for the enemies to murder us

•Thinks that walking through walls is entirely possible and gets stuck every time I run with him

Hancock:

•The actual worst on this fine list of mentally messed up individuals.

•Self worth is just nonexistent despite being a pretty all around decent guy

•Uses drugs to cover up terrible trauma to the point of putting himself in the greatest danger just short of dying

•Oh yeah, doesn't mind death actually.

•Doesn't feel worthy of anything deep down.

in game experience...

•Shoots sole for stealing shit in the third rail

•Unhinged

•Sits for hours

Macready:

•Lost his wife in a horrific way

•Only has his son, who he is convinced is going to die sooner than later because of something he can't control

•Willing to do everything if it means caps to send to his sick child

•Doesn't really have a place to call his "home"

•Reckless and unforgiving

In game experience...

•Being nice? How dare you speak such ill language.

•Kleptomaniac

Maxson:

•Does as good as a boy his age with all of the responsibility possibly could.

•Just imagine- your dad died when you were super young. Your mother shipped your ass away. The people you loved like family died all around you. Now you're stuck in foreign land and have no fucking idea where to begin, only that you have to mobilize these fuckers you're in charge of and remain a good leader...

•Still not good enough? Okay, pile on insomnia, alcoholism, and the thought that you have no one alive that truly loves you as more than just the "elder". Oh, but you eventually got to spit out some kids somehow because you're the last of the great "Maxson" line...

•Also not exactly on the "stable" side..

In game experience...

•Stares intently down the Prydwen command deck with his hands behind his back..for hours.

•Never wants to chat :(

•Long winded and short sighted, bad combo..

Nick:

•Has to deal with not only demons that technically aren't even his, but after "reunions"- Kellogg's fucked up self haunts him. He keeps it to himself and suffers silently.

•Deals with the pain of knowing there will never be a place where is truly just himself. He's a man trapped inside of a metal cage..and yet he's not even really "that" man, is he?

•One could easily understand how he has some issues too.

In game experience...

•Cigarettes? Yes.

•Oh, Youre in a fight? Seems like a good time to tighten the bolts in my hand right about now...

•Wields a flamer like a champ.

Piper:

•Surprisingly..has the most sound mental state out of all.

•Is a little obsessive tho

•Has had to adapt to the role of sibling and parent to her younger sister, which isn't easy for anyone.

•Often delves into her work, sort of like curie, to avoid dealing with the pain of her parents no longer being there for her or nat.

In game experience..

•Hey kid, want some Nuka-Cola?

•Mayor McDonough shall die, even if it means execution by the hands of everyone else in Diamond City.

Preston:

•Has canonically admitted to considering suicide.

•Is holding onto the last threads of hope he has with a fucking death grip.

•Definitely not of the best mental state

In game experience...

•Doesn't know how to properly use furniture.

•Can hear sole coming from a mile away and is already getting the map out for the next settlement

X6-88:

•Emotions? Is that a snack?

•Seriously though, he has been "reset" so many times that sometimes-he doesn't even realize it- he doesn't even know what "he" is. Every aspect of who he is..it should be gone, he's a machine and he knows it...why does he still feel like a person?

•Short story, he hates life. He hates being held captive and being used like a damn hound to hunt down those who were smart enough to run- those of which he envied and didn't even realize he did. Hey, he's just a machine though- it's his job and he knows better than to revolt.

•Violence is the freedom he feel he has. He can kill and track in any way he wants, so long as it is successful and what the Institute deem appropriate. It's horrible, but he doesn't realize it- and at this point he doesn't care. The death of another and the way they die by his hand is just his way of expressing who he is deep down.

In game experience...

•Oi, you don't like the institue? FUCK YOU

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #fallout shitpost #porter gage #curie #x6 88 #cait #deacon #hancock #fo4 #nick valentine #arthur maxson #brotherhood of steel #macready

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whumpersdump · 3 years

Text

Project Rebirth - CH2: Preparation

Word count: ~ 1500 words

[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ] -- [ Next ]

TW: restraints / muzzle / collars / pet whump (institutionalized) / dehumanization / syringes / drugging / conditioned whumpee (Toby)

Toby’s POV

Toby pushed the hand truck back off the stage. Subject One wouldn’t stop trashing and squirming. “Calm down,” he squeezed their shoulder. “You’ll feel better soon, he’s going to teach you how.”

He moved through one of the lab’s many halls. The evaluation room was at the end of it. He’d spent almost everyday in it with the subject. He asked them the questions Whumper required answers to. He fed them, spoke to them.

When the Project would really start he wouldn’t be allowed contact with the subjects anymore until after the Rebirth. Whumper didn’t admit, but Toby could see this subject was a challenge. They had been a registered pet for five years, and a recorded menace for two. The three years before weren’t on record. Toby doubted those years would reflect well on the ministry.

He frowned at himself. He wasn’t supposed to have those thoughts. The ministry did their job the best they could. Pets are a defiant species by nature, they have to be tamed. It’s good for them.

He opened the door to the evaluation room and rolled the hand truck into it’s designed spot and clicked the locks on the wheels. He reached for a plastic face mask and a pair of gloves on the table beside it. Once he put them on, he took off Subject One’s muzzle. They immediately spat in his face, but that was what the mask was for.

“You’re a traitor to our kind,” the subject hissed.

Toby tilted his head in surprise. “Our kind,” he repeated. He let out a breath. “See? You’re already learning.” He sat down at the table and opened his tablet. He liked touching the screen. He wasn’t allowed near any electronics other than the TV with his old owner. He opened the report and filled in the observations Whumper asked for.

How the subject breathed, moved, even cried, during his speech. He wrote down which people they looked at, and at which words their defiance sparked. He had an excellent memory, Whumper told him he was allowed to be proud of it. The subject yelled on as he wrote, but he ignored them. He always hoped they would tire themselves out, but they seemed to have and endless supply of energy. Even in their sleep they spoke of ways to murder or maim their old trainers.

Whumper told him to keep the muzzle off when they were in the evaluation room, though. He said it would help make the subject’s silence during the pre-Birth stage, also known as stage 3, more intense. For the subject. All they did was scream and shout and cry out curses. During the third stage, they wouldn’t be able to make a sound. After, they’d be lucky if they still had that first word.

Toby had gotten used to it, but his eyes still widened every time he re-read their history. The parts Whumper deemed appropriate for him to read, at least. The subject was young, which wasn’t a surprise given their behavior. Most pets grew out of their defiance. But in the two years since the subject had been old enough to be placed, theirs had only gotten worse.

“You think you’re so much better…” the subject was out of breath. It wouldn’t be long now before they reached the limit of their energy. That was the moment Whumper waited for.

“I’m not better,” Toby said. “I’ve just learned.”

“What, with all those questions you keep asking me? My favorite food, the nicest color I can think of? My name. You asked for my name, but do you even know yours?”

Toby sighed. “Yes, I do. It’s Toby.” The subject had a long way to go, but Toby had been surprised when they didn’t remember their childhood name. The one from before the ministry saved them from growing up in the wrong environment for any longer.

“Are you sure? Was it Toby two months ago? I didn’t have the same name two months ago. Now I don’t have one at all”

“Names change,” Toby answered. “You have a name. It’s Subject One.”

“That’s not a name, that’s a title.”

“Only good pets get titles, so it’s a name.” Toby shrugged. “You’ll get a new one when you’re reborn. I have to prepare you now.” He pressed send on the report and moved over to the subject.

“What do you mean Reborn? Prepare me for what?”

“Please don’t move too much. You’re not supposed to move.”

The subject didn’t listen. They trashed and screamed and spat everywhere. Toby opened a drawer and picked up a syringe.

The subject’s skin went pale. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re moving,” Toby said. “I won’t have to if you stop moving.”

“Fuck you.”

Toby pressed the syringe down in Subject One’s neck. Within seconds, their body went limp. It was a paralytic, but it didn’t work for long. Toby only had a few minutes to adjust the restraints and clean them for the next stage. Stage 2 was the storage stage. Whumper’s team needed time to apply the knowledge from the evaluation. Meanwhile the subject needed to be put in the right head-space.

He wiped the sweat off their face, and adjusted the straps across their chest so Whumper could swiftly remove them. He put the muzzle back on, but loosened the straitjacket as far as Whumper had told him to. Toby didn’t understand why, but he hadn’t asked. He was only allowed to know what Whumper decided to tell him.

He took off the subject’s collar. A pet was never allowed to be without, but this wouldn’t last long. They would get a purple training collar after the Rebirth. Their current one was completely red. That meant they were too dangerous to be placed. His was blue at the top, green on the bottom half. The blue meant he didn’t resist. The green meant he didn’t have much trouble following commands, but he wasn’t perfect yet. One day he’d stop slipping up and earn a fully blue collar. He’d be one of few pets that worked that well.

Double red was rare. He’d never seen it before. They resisted, even when they were kept comfortable, they disobeyed, even when they were told to do something they wished to do. Whatever their trainer had demanded of them, they did the exact opposite regardless of the consequences. Outside of training, pets with such a collar were never to be left unrestrained.

He put the collar in the locker that also contained the other stuff they had on them when they were brought to Whumper. Their training facility’s uniform, for instance. That, Whumper would probably throw away. But collar, that would become a trophy of what he would manage to conquer, as he told Toby.

As he waited for Whumper to come take the subject, he went over the tiers Whumper had explained to him the night before. During the second stage, Whumper prepared all the machines and rooms necessary for the program. Meanwhile the pet had to acclimate to their new environment, that’s how Whumper explained it. So they went into storage, where they could rest. According to one of the other testing-pets, it made the transition into stage three smoother.

The first storage tier was the normal one. The pets were restrained in the same outfit this subject already wore, on the same hand truck. The second tier also had a blindfold, earpieces, and a muzzle if necessary. The third tier had everything mentioned before, but the subject wasn’t allowed to breathe on their own.

The third one was a punishment. Whumper rarely punished pets, but some were just too defiant. They had to learn to submit just a little before they could be reborn. On all three tiers, no one was allowed to speak to, or touch the subjects. Subject One wouldn’t mind that. Or at least they thought they wouldn’t. But all pets needed touch. Whumper told Toby he didn’t have to take care not to touch them like he would have to with the others. Until they were stored. Subject One needed extra help to learn.

As Subject One began to move again, Whumper entered the room. Toby stood up as Whumper expected of him. Whumper gave him a nod and released the hand truck. Subject One whimpered and cried when he began to move them toward the door. They pushed and pulled at their restraints. The metal buckles of the straps clanged against the hand truck. Whumper shushed them, and signaled for Toby to follow.

“Did you give them the right dosage?” He asked.

“Yes,” Toby replied. “They’re just not like the others, sir.”

Whumper smiled. “No, they are not. And they won’t be. In the end, they’ll be better.”

#whump #Project Rebirth #pet whump #lab whump #syringe tw #drugging tw #defiant whumpee

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silver-starlight-99 · 3 years

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Monsters at Work: The Jokester Generation Part Four: Steps to an Uncertain Future

Be prepared for one doozy of an info-dump

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One of the proudest moments of Tylor Benjamin Tuskmon’s life was the day he graduated Scarer Cum Laude from Monsters University. It was a hallmark moment for the entire Tuskmon family in fact; as he was the first in his familial line to graduate from college. Bernard and Millie Tuskmon couldn’t have been prouder of their son, and both were more than happy to share that act. From as young as five years old, little Tylor was awestruck by the Scarers of Monsters Inc., I imagine like many Monster children his age. But it wasn’t until the fourth grade that he made the decision to become a full-fledged Scarer once he came of age.

The boy was a natural talent, with his height and horns giving him quite the intimidating profile. But much like a certain green, one-eyed monster, Tylor wasn’t afraid to study like mad to perfect his skills, and made a hobby of collecting/memorizing every Scarer Card he could get his claws on. His parents, despite coming from more of a lower middle-class background, wanted to do everything they could to support their child when they saw the dedication he was putting into his dream-career. Bernard worked long nights at his family’s hardware store for years, and Millie even pawned off a number of family heirlooms, just to make enough to put their boy through college once the time came. Add on the special scholarship he received from one of the most prestigious Scaring Schools in the country, and it looked like everyone’s hard work paid off after all. Sure, that kind of laser-focussed dedication meant he wasn’t as sociable as most his age, but it was worth it if it meant being that much closer to his childhood dream.

Besides his graduation, the last time Tylor had this much attention on him was during the party hosted by Dean Knight in celebration of him breaking an old MU Scaring record as a part of his final exam. Beating even James P. Sullivan’s numbers on the Simulation Room, recorded from the monster’s time during the Scare Games. A fact that made its way across the school campus in record time, reaching the ears of a certain brother duo working in MU’s theater department. They were both friends with the infamous college dropout, and thought he’d be interested to hear his old title was being taken over by this new blood.

Even if he couldn’t remember the names of most of the people in attendance, despite having been in classes with them for years, Tylor couldn’t have been prouder, knowing all that hard work had been worth it. Especially so because before leaving the party, his teacher, Professor Shade, pulled him aside to tell him he’d received a letter of recommendation from Monsters Incorporated. Despite the controversies surrounding the company since the event deemed The Waternoose Scandal, Monsters Inc. was still considered one of the premiere energy factories in the country. And, looking at the young monster’s impressive list of accomplishments, the Board of Directors wanted to accept him as soon as possible.

This was everything Tylor Tuskman could’ve wanted. The chance to live his dream, make his family proud, and make his mark on the world of Scaring. He thought that after he graduated from college, it would be nothing but smooth sailings. Little did poor Tylor realize, he would make an astronomical impact on not just the Scaring world, but the Monster world as a whole. Just… not in the way he expected. And he had one of his former childhood heroes to thank for that.

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Most monsters would agree that everything began to change the morning The Waternoose Scandal was released to the public. Some would argue that it was the initial sighting of the Tiny Terror of Monstropolis at the now famous restaurant Harryhausen’s that got the ball rolling. Others say that the panic stirred by the escaped child was merely the spark that would ignite the true bonfire that would come to consume the city.

Tylor Tuskmon was just a bit too young to remember much of the hysteria itself. The almost two-year-old spent most of the time after the initial sighting held up in his family’s hardware store. While Bernard worked to keep his family safe and provide his neighboring Monsters tools they could use to defend themselves, should the dangerous creature be spotted in their neighborhood. It wasn’t until the next morning when Millie saw a televised announcement from the CDA giving a cautionary all-clear that the Tuskmons felt safe enough to take down the boards on their windows. They, along with many of their other neighbors, spent much of the day in a state of anxiety, with a confused Tylor trying to comprehend why everyone he knew was being so skittish and weird. By the following morning, it was announced that the CDA had located and returned the child back to it’s world, and their door was shredded for good measure. The Tuskmon parents heaved a sigh of relief as it seemed things could go back to normal. However, it wasn’t until three days later that the official story behind the escape was released to the public, and that initial air of dread would be replaced with something new.

Henry J. Waternoose Ⅲ, during a city-wide energy crisis, was diluting company funds and manipulating his employees to build a prototype for something he’d hoped would reinvent Scream-power extraction. While effective, it would put Scarers at a higher risk of contamination because of their closer interactions with human children. And he was willing to put Monster society on-a-whole in danger by kidnapping thousands of kids in order to maintain his machine’s efficiency. The Tiny Terror was just the guinea pig to test the prototype. If all this chaos was the result of a single child escaping his grasp, who knows what would befall Monstropolis if a small army of them were able to revolt from their captors? If not for the courageous, somewhat fool-hearty, actions of Monsters Incorporated’s top Scaring team, the situation could’ve been much worse. Thankfully, Mr. Waternoose was quickly apprehended, any known conspirators were questioned, and the CDA would remain vigilant in locating any other associates. One of which being Randal Boggs, another of Monsters Incorporated’s top Scarers, who seemed to have fled the city while James Sullivan and Mike Wazowski focussed their attention on the true head of operations.

Between the media coverage of the CEO’s trial, dealing with the continuing energy crisis, the protests that arose from Monsters angered by the gross negligence of Waternoose’s Scream Extractor plan, and the lingering anxiety from the initial child sighting, things in Monstropolis would remain… let’s say hectic for a while. Because of The Waternoose Scandal, Anthropophobia was at an all-time high, especially in Monstropolis, where there were more than enough monsters happy to use that lingering paranoia to their advantage. You’d be surprised by the amount of small and big-budget movies that were produced in response to the whole affair. Along with Monstropolis politicians that would use this instance to promote themselves as beacons of safety during election campaigns. Not to mention the dozens of Monsters who’d use The Waternoose Scandal as a way to sell cheap junk to gullible tourists believing they were purchasing actual weapons used against a human.

Meanwhile, as trust in Monsters Inc. was beginning to dwindle, the same could not be said for the CDA. Mike and Sully may have received the lion’s share of attention and praise for their efforts, but public approval for the Child Detection Agency had reached new heights for their supposed work in apprehending Waternoose and detaining the dangerous child. And as long as the heroes of the hour were “willing” to vouch for the good work of Roz and her subordinates, she was willing to overlook certain incriminating details that may have fallen through the cracks as she wrote up her report.

It would be two years since The Waternoose Scandal before the dust would truly settle. While the fear of Humans would remain in the city, much of the initial mania had long-since died down. Despite receiving a life sentence in the Monstropolis Maximum Security Prison, the former CEO would pass on due to heart complications just a year into his confinement. Since then, Monsters Inc’s Board of Directors had appointed new CEO, a squirrely fellow named Hunter Tycroft, who was more than willing to comply with the CDA’s occasional sweeps of the factory in hopes of discovering any lingering documents involving Waternoose’s plans for the Scream-Extractor.

As for Mike and Sully, they would eventually go on to continue their good work as the best Scaring team in the city, even breaking the all-time Scaring record; a dream they’d both shared since their first days on the job. A young Tylor Tuskman, along with many of his peers, would watch in awe from their televisions as mayor Titus Fangmore himself held a ceremony to congratulate the two for their good work. But to those who truly knew the duo, their fire, that initial passion for their work that drove them to achieve such records, had been fading ever since Waternoose’s arrest. They did their part to help with the energy crisis, but between Sully’s bout of depression and Mike’s aggravation over the constant harassment by the press, the two were going through the motions for a while. But with each other’s support, they would eventually get their heads back in the game, and their normally cheerful personalities would return. To the general public, it seems like things were finally going back to some sense of normal.

But trust me, in a few years, the duo idolized as heroes, would soon become the center of a cultural upheaval that would drastically affect both Monsters Incorporated and the Monster world as a whole.

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By the 10-year anniversary of The Waternoose Scandal, things in Monstropolis had almost returned to normal. Sure, there would be the occasional conspiracy theorist looking to stir up the populace, something that was becoming easier through the development of technology and social media. But of course, most Monsters are quick to dismiss the more outlandish stories. I mean, come on; The CDA blackmailing Mike and Sully into assisting with the capture of a door-hopping child? It sounds like a fun idea for a movie, but that’s just the kind of speculative fiction Monsters make up to milk whatever nostalgia they can from a big event. Something like that couldn’t have actually happened and been covered up, right?

Well, whatever the case, Mike and Sully are brought in for an interview on national news to commemorate the anniversary, with many of Monstropolis’ citizens tuning in. And while some of the two’s answers can’t help but feel a bit… scripted at times, things go smoothly. That is, until the end, where Mike and Sully decide to make an announcement. For what feels like the first time since the initial incident, the two choose to be more earnest about their time with the human child. It’s not enough to technically break the vow of silence they had with the CDA, but it’s enough to talk about one specific experience.

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It happened all at once, so they didn’t think much of it at the time, but there was something about that instance that always stood out to them. Monsters had always believed it was a child’s screams that powered their world, yet a giggle had enough energy that it could blow out an entire apartment’s worth of appliances? They only had a few experiences to go by, but Mike and Sully were at least open to exploring Laugh power as an alternative energy source for their world. After living through, and being forced to work to their limits during an intense power crisis, there was something appealing about Monsters being able to harvest ten times the normal amount of energy from a single kid. Of course, all of this was just working off of theories, but the Scarers were eager to reach out to others who’d help them test their ideas. After all, if this was as successful as they believed it could be, this could completely revolutionize the power-production industry. That is, if the higher-ups within that same industry were willing to accept the possibility of treating children as something other than a toxic battery.

Yeah, unsurprisingly, a majority of Monster society had… let’s say conflicted opinions about this. This wasn’t the first time the idea of alternative energies was brought to the general public, it’s not even the first time someone proposed something cleaner, sometimes with no necessity for a human. But in a world where companies like Monsters Incorporated, Fear Co and Scream Industries have a monopoly on power distribution, they made sure to deter any who posed a threat to their bottom line. Many of said companies have some sort of tie to major media outlets, so it doesn’t take much to persuade certain news stations to… alter the public perception of certain individuals. Or just scare the populace into a frenzy akin to the Satanic Panic of the 80’s at the mere mention of alternative energies. Monsters Bernard and Millie’s age can remember reading news articles in their high-school years about some kind of whack-job cult that believed the blood and teeth of human children could be turned into a reusable fuel, but only if pulled directly from the source. Of course such rumors were eventually debunked, but their purpose was fulfilled, and most major cities would come to totally rely on Scream energy. Leaving many of those same monsters who proposed a change to be publicly shamed into reconforming, or unable to build a functioning prototype for their idea because of a lack of funding.

But things were different for Mike and Sully. They weren’t some crackpot duo out to corrupt Monster society, these were the heroes of Monstropolis, the tops of their field in Scaring, and practically paraded by the CDA at any needed opportunity. And now, they’re saying they’re willing to give it all up because of a hunch from an incident over ten years ago? They’re claiming that the beings that have terrorized Monsterkind for hundreds of years are creatures that should be entertained and not terrified? Are human children even truly toxic?!

So, like I said, many in the monster world were split on this idea. Many of the older generation were quick to dismiss Mike and Sully’s idea, usually because of their own self-interests or internalized perceptions of humans. One thing’s for sure, it hurt Tylor when Barnard insisted they get rid of all his Mike and Sully memorabilias after the interview, the elder Tuskmon believing the Scarers were just trying to reclaim their fame from ten years ago by making up nonsense about children not being toxic. It was a sentiment shared by many Monster adults, unable to comprehend that such a seemingly obvious fact of their world was being challenged. For Tylor’s generation however… things get a bit complicated.

Of course, for kids like Tylor who grew up in a time where anthropophobia was on the rise in their formative years, a fear of Humans was ingrained pretty early on. But at the same time, these were kids that grew up during The Waternoose Scandal. The seemingly-irrefutable truths of their parents’ era were being questioned, or outright exposed for their corruption. Even if most Monsters of this younger generation were still brought up to be scared of humans, there was more than enough evidence for them to consider that perhaps alternative forms of energy production were worth looking into. Not to mention, with the total boom of human-themed horror films that were brought about by the The Waternoose Scandal, just as many human horror film fanatics come to root for the monsters in movies, there were many Monsters that became fascinated with humans because of such productions. While the Tuskmons may have considered their son to be a relatively good kid, in a fit of rebellion in his teen years, Tylor would occasionally sneak into his local movie theater to catch an age-inappropriate human-based horror movie.

As the young Monster would grow to hone his scaring skills, Mike and Sully were doing what they could to make leeway with their plan to bring Laugh power to Monstropolis, while dealing with the public backlash they were receiving as a result of their announcement. Sure the younger generation was open to the possibility, but they needed individuals with a little more credibility in the corporate field to build a working prototype. Not to mention the ever-daunting question of where exactly could they find Monsters that would be willing to be the test-subjects for such a project? Because of their… complicated background with the folks at the MU Scaring school, Sully didn’t think it wise to turn to them for help. Having the vocal support of a famous Scarer could’ve helped to give credibility to their idea, but as expected, most weren’t exactly willing to forfeit their Scaring careers or reputations on such an outlandish idea.

In the end, the only people they could get to listen to them were a little-known organization called CETHCA (Creatures for the Ethical Treatment of Humans and Children Alike.) Because the Monster world’s understanding of human behavior is so warped, this group could best be described as a weird human appreciation club that was managed by extraterrestrials. Unlike the general public, these individuals are actually curious to learn more about the habits of the human race, and have often tried to advocate for the proper treatment and compensation of children for their screams. Of course, the media does what they can to paint these people as attention-seeking wackjobs. Sully himself even remembers listening to Waternoose complain about a CETHCA protest during his early days as a Scarer, with the CEO painting the lot as a group just a few steps up from an organized cult, with its Monsters so desperate for validation they’d believe any dangerous notions their leaders told them.

But when they finally caught wind of Mike and Sully’s proposal, they decided to pull their resources together to try and boost the public’s support for the idea. It wasn’t quite the compensation for children they were hoping for, it was the first time in what felt like a long time someone in the energy business seemed to take an interest in showing these creatures some respect. Like I said, these guys are certainly more sympathetic to humans, but that doesn’t mean they have the experience to be able to see children as beings equal to them in sapience and intelligence. While they still didn’t have the most positive reputation in the eyes of the public, CETHCA had slowly received more members as dissatisfaction with Monsters Incorporated’s practices began to grow. And with the development of social media, what started as an eclectic group of Monsters was soon enough to form a decent following. And after getting to meet with Mike and Sully themselves, they took to the streets and the internet to spread the word of the power of laughter.

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It had been fifteen years since The Waternoose Scandal. While their glory years as Monsters Inc’s top Scarers may have been behind them, Mike and Sully remained figues of interest, for better and for worse. Their advocacy for Laugh power may have gained more legitimacy because of CETHCA’s efforts, but that didn’t mean many of their co-workers were quiet about their discomfort. If Scarers didn’t have what it took to make children laugh, many would need to be laid off in exchange for those who better fit the bill. In fact, a lot of Monster culture is based around a Monster’s scariness; for some it’s considered the measure of a true Monster. There are many businesses outside of Scream production that only exist to try and make a Monster look more threatening. If Laugh power proved to be more profitable, it meant not just a max layoff of Scarers, but a decline in the world’s economy, one Monsters may not be able to bounce back from. A few of Monsters Incorporated’s Scarers decided to transfer to other companies, or outright quit to pursue more stable jobs in these unsure times. If Mike and Sully weren’t doing their best to maintain Monstropolis’ energy levels, the higher ups probably would’ve fired them just to keep the company out of another scandal.

Which made it all the stranger when the two received a message from the Board of Directors. Beforehand, Monsters Inc. never gave an official statement on whether they were for or against the idea of Laugh power, still just trying to clean up the mess left behind from The Waternoose Scandal. But suddenly, Mike and Sully received an email stating that the company was interested in experimenting with Laugh power, if only to see for themselves if it was possible to multiply their energy output with just a few tweeks to the typical method. While skeptical, Sully was just relieved that someone in the higher ups was finally taking their idea seriously, and agreed. Mike was equally unsure of the Board’s intentions, but decided to use this to his advantage, managing to squeeze out a few work perks and a raise for him and Sully in exchange for his compliance.

From then on came the process of actually building the experimental “Laugh Floor,” and finding the right Monsters that would inevitably become the new faces of Laugh power production, aptly called Jokesters. Using one of the older Scare floors reserved for members of the occasionally-used night shift, they would begin to build the first Laugh floor. All that really needed to be modified for the process of energy extraction were the Scream canisters, to adjust to the larger amounts of output produced. To do so, the Board pulled some strings with their connections at Monsters University, having some of their Scream-Can focussed students earn extra credit by assisting with the prototypes. What took a bit more work to explain was the request for a simulation dummy that responded with laughter instead of screams. But hey, as long as MI was willing to be more lenient in accepting their Scaring school students after graduation, the university saw no need to question things further.

With most of the technical stuff sorted out, then came the difficult task of finding the right Jokesters. In the end, it was decided to be a mix of old Scaring pros to start things off, and then use them to train the fresher faces, as a way to prove that training was accessible to any who were open enough to try. Mike of course led the charge in Jokester training, working with Ms. Flint to create a step-by-step training guide to eventually be shared with other companies and Scaring schools. It was here where Mike saw his first recruit, Brian “Phlegm” Bile, a regular in the company’s simulation room who seemed to make a name for himself as the Monster to look to to see what not to do to Scare. The pratfalls that seemed to keep him from becoming a true Scarer made Phlegm a perfect Jokester candidate.

The next two actually reached out to Sully. Scaring legend Carla “Killer Claws” Benitez was interested in the potential of techniques that could produce larger amounts of energy, so she was willing to do her part, even at her older age, to keep the city she loved from having to deal with another energy crisis. For Rosie “Roaring” Levin, even if it came from a morbid curiosity than anything else, was curious to see how a more human-friendly form of energy-production would work, and so reached out to Sully to see what he had to say. Lastly, but definitely the most surprising, was Art. Yup, Mike and Sully’s old Oozma Kappa brother had certainly lived an interesting life since his graduation. Part of which included joining up with CETHCA, if only to try and broaden his own understanding of the world. He was actually the one to get the two Scarers connected with the organization. And now that they were ready to put things in action, he was happy to lend his services as a Jokester.

Mike included, that totaled to five Jokesters. An admittedly small number, but something they could hopefully make up for with their extra energy output. As Sully worked with the mechanical side of putting together the Laugh floor, Mike and Ms. Flint were using trial and error to turn these Scarers into Jokesters, and organizing their findings into a comprehensive manual for future trainees.

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It’s been twenty years since The Waternoose Scandal. It’s just days away from Tylor Tuskmon’s first day at Monsters Incorporated. Just a few days before this Scaring pro has his childhood dream turned on his head. Just two weeks before the city of Monstropolis learns that one of their biggest companies is going through some big managerial changes. And just a few days before a certain someone makes their official return to the city that changed their life forever. Will the Monster world be able to survive this inevitable upheaval? Who knows. Either way, I suggest you grab a snow cone, you’re gonna want a snack as we wait for this powder keg to go off.

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By the Gods! When I started writing these things, I had no idea it was gonna take me this long just to get through my backstory stuff! Ugh. Well, it’s finally done. And you know what? Back when I did part one, I said I wasn’t planning on turning my ideas into a full-fledged fan-fiction. Well guess what? After all the energy I put into this, I’d feel pretty sh*tty if I didn’t bother paying off all the stuff I was building up to. Yup, looks like I’m writing a fan-fiction for my Monsters at Work au thingy. Hopefully it shouldn’t take me a whole month before I make another post about this. But I won’t try to make promises I know I can’t keep. To the handful of people who bothered to stick around this long, and to read all of my previous rambly-posts, thank you. And I ask you to stay tuned. The Jokester Generation is on its way.

#monsters inc #monsters university #monsters at work #monsters at work: the jokester generation #au #tylor tuskmon #sully sullivan #mike wazowski #fanfic #lengthy post

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furiousgoldfish · 4 years

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Abusers know exactly what nerve to hit to ensure endless well of empathy for themselves. One of the most common excuses is that "they had it worse", "they've been hurt too" or tragic backstories that are sure to overwhelm us with compassion and suddenly we're in situation where it matters most that we offer understanding and comfort, even if the person in front of us had just caused us pain, and should be backing off and apologizing, and not demanding a hug and comfort.

This can be explained away in many ways by victims, for instance, you could read it as the abuser opening up so you'd understand why they hurt you, that it wasn't personal, that it's just normal to them - or that they wont do it again, if they openly admit their personal damage. You could live in a belief, for a long time, that this person actually needs your help, that they need to be saved by you, they rely on you to heal them and help them get thru their past trauma, and then, one day, when you've offered them a lifetime of support, they will finally not be abusive anymore. That is the dream.

However, there's few very distinctive points that will clarify just what is going on here.

1. If the person who hurt you went thru trauma themselves, they will want to make sure they don't do it to you. They will not cry and ask for understanding and bring up their sad past immediately, they will want to make sure you're not traumatized. They will ask if you're okay. They will back off and distance themselves so they don't hurt you again. They will care for your safety and comfort. You exist as a person in their point of view, you're not there only to sacrifice yourself endlessly to alleviate their trauma, your life is not there to be spent on their trauma therapy that also involves you getting traumatized as well. These people will give you space, they will give you emotional presence to speak about how their behaviour is affecting you, you will not be cast aside as emotional support and nothing else, you will be an equal to them, who deserves the same compassion, understanding, and life free of all and any abuse.

2. If their past of abuse and trauma only ever comes up when they've done something wrong, that's a huge red flag. Traumatized people don't just suddenly start cryng and remembering all the injustice and abuse and trauma they went thru the second they hurt someone. They don't use their trauma as bargaining chip, or as a get-away-with-abuse card. If a person truly is traumatized and does this, you owe them nothing, because they're in support of their own abusiveness, and use past abusiveness of other people to get away, they're not trying to heal from abuse, they're counting on it to keep being an excuse for them to do their own abuse. You do not need to support this person for a second because they're a predator, intent on using your compassion and your heart against you.

3. If someone's behaviour of hurting you keeps repeating again and again, despite them knowing you're pained and upset by it and it's making your life harder, they're not a good person. Traumatized people have proven over and over again that it's possible to not inflict further trauma on others, despite their own pain. People who've been tortured, devastated, neglected, abused, beaten, shamed, humiliated, abandoned, and who bear the consequences every single day of their life, they would never dream of doing it to someone else. So how can this person, who would have you believe they're good, just "damaged by trauma and need support", be more than happy to inflict it onto you, repeatedly? A person who survived abuse doesn't want to spread it around, unless they're a fan of a whole world getting traumatized just like they did, and that's not a symptom of trauma, that's a symptom of being a cruel and vicious individual. Just imagine how horrid you have to be to wish everything bad inflicted on you, now also happened to even more vulnerable person who cares for you. We do not want trauma to be spread, we want to live peacefully, happily, and for everyone else to do so as well.

4. If you're being kept in belief that they will improve and start treating you nicely only if you give them enough of your time, enough of compassion, enough of support, enough of understanding, love, care, catering, if you endure enough of their neglect of your feelings, enough of being cast aside as only support character, enough of being emotionally abandoned and discarded, if you only forgive them enough and give them unlimited chances - rest assure it will never happen. People slowly warming up to you is one thing, people expecting you to give them your entire heart, to endure pain and neglect and being treated horribly by them for months and months and years before they deem you worthy of respect or care, have never intended, from the start, to begin treating you any better. It is impossible to save these people, and by sticking by their side, they're only getting more and more chances for abuse, which ultimately makes them worse and worse people. If it's guilt keeping you from getting away, know that you're doing a favour to yourself, and to them by taking away their opportunities to abuse. You deserved respect and for your feelings to be taken to consideration, from day one. That's not something you should ever need to work for.

#abuse #psychological abuse #empathy inducing #abuse tactics #emotional manipulation #excusing abuse #abuse excuses

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