#brain injury awareness activities

[and-stir-the-stars]

post-bite Jeremy doesn't actually have a lot of empathy but they manage to fake it by asking themself "what would >insert empathetic person here< do in this situation?"

[gay-fordeath]

.

[zylomarshall]

Zylo Marshall - Disabled Rights Advocacy & Awareness

Website: https://www.zylomarshall.com

Zylo Marshall's website is a platform dedicated to addressing the challenges and injustices faced by individuals with disabilities. With over forty years of personal experience in traumatic brain injury and neurological brain damage, Zylo Marshall provides a unique perspective on the struggles of disabled individuals. The site emphasizes the importance of treating disabled people with respect and equality, and aims to raise awareness about the exploitation and discrimination they often face.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/zylomarshallstory

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[eowynstwin]

a wake-up call

previous - neighbors - next

You deal with the aftermath of the previous night. cw: masturbation reference

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan. 

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk. 

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold. 

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back. 

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face. 

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning. 

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that. 

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense. 

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call. 

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do. 

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there. 

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache. 

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost,  energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide. 

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.  

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process. 

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 10 | The Fight (Micro-expressions + Mini Meta)

Peat and Fort did brilliantly in this scene. I wanted to pick out some of their micro-expressions to analyse in more detail.

1 - Just after Mut tells Rak he loves him, he's visibly taken aback, he looks crushed and frantic and helpless - 'Why did you have to get your feelings into the open? Why couldn't we have continued to play house without me having to confront my feelings? Why?' Rak is confused and crestfallen as to why Mut has chosen to shatter the bubble they've been existing in. Why is this necessary?

2 - Mut can't help his frustration. He's decided to put all his cards out on the table, and still Rak is choosing avoidance, to deny, to hide, to escape. Mut's played along until now, but he's so sick and tired of it. His attempts to be fully transparent, always lead to a rebuttal, Rak's unwillingness to concede, to compromise. Mut's anger comes from a place of 'you leave me no choice'.

3 - You can hear the gears grinding in Rak's brain when Mut reiterates that he was never after the money. His mind is going into overdrive. He's questioning. He's thinking 'but this isn't possible'. Despite being aware of Mut feelings, he can't face them because it forces him to recognise his own. And he just can't, he's scared shitless and he just doesn't know how.

4 - Just after Mut says 'let me love you', you can see the intensity of compassion and concern flit across his face. He softens. His eyes are searching, wanting. He so badly needs Rak to open up to him fully. There's hope and vulnerability - 'please accept my love, please. I'm trying so hard, I'm trying. Give me something, anything.'

5 - Rak is fighting with himself. He's conflicted, guilty, torn that he's been put on the spot against his will. He's dealing with the realisation that he will hurt Mut, and he doesn't have the stomach for it. You can see the second he decides to muster up the courage, decides to do the cruel but necessary thing. In this moment, Rak's fight or flight response is telling him to choose himself, which means he has to hurt Mut instead. It's the only way. 'You forced my hand'.

6 - Mut doesn't often exhibit outbursts of hurt but he does here. He's incensed. Rak's callousness is insult to injury. 'Perhaps you were never capable of loving me, but don't throw my love for you back in my face'. I think Mut is also making a last ditch effort to emphasise that he's not going to change his mind. Once his feelings are out there, that's it. Regardless of whether Rak loves him back or not, it doesn't change how he feels. This is the power of his conviction.

7 - This is super subtle, but you see the light diminish from Rak's eyes. He almost goes lifeless from the inside out. He deflates. Any active turmoil that was there is now replaced by resignation, by acceptance. It's sinking in what he's done and the realisation there's no going back and he has to make peace with it.

8 - Mut's final retort is painfully self-deprecating, that little chin tilt of 'How foolish I was to think I could have nice things. You've just proved to me once again how asking for things only indicates how wildly undeserving I am. I know my place, and that's where I'll return to'.

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Yan overblotted malleus who kills his darling by accident, maybe loses his mind even more. Go crazy 💙

>:)

Warning(s): blood, death, hearing voices

The ink clouding his vision slowly dripped off of his face, allowing him to see clearly once more.

"What... what happened to me...?" He asked.

But nobody was there to answer his question.

Malleus stood up on his unsteady legs. Nobody's around, where are they?

And then he found everyone. Silver, Sebek, Lilia, and the two Shrouds were huddled around... something. He couldn't tell what it was.

When Silver heard someone approaching, he immediately stood up and drew his sword, but calmed himself when he realized Malleus looked like he was back to normal.

But behind Silver, hidden by everyone else, Malleus saw a very bloody body.

"What happened?" Malleus asked.

"You overblotted." Silver simply responded.

"There's no pulse." He heard the younger Shroud say. "And... I'm not detecting any brain activity either."

"S-shit... Ortho, c-could you try shocking them awake?"

"I don't think it would be of any use at this point..."

"Ah, how tragic..." Lilia said. "Malleus will be quite displeased."

"Why... will I be displeased...?" Malleus asked.

"Malleus! You're ok!" Lilia said, turning around. "Such wonderful news-!"

"Lilia. Why did you say I would be displeased." He demanded.

"...Malleus. I'm sure you're aware you overblotted, yes...?" Lilia asked. He floated upwards and placed his hands on Malleus' shoulders. "(Y/N)... they tried to help us calm you down as they've done with all the other overblot cases but..."

It felt like all of the noise was sucked out of the world. He heard nothing, except for what Lilia said to him next.

"Malleus, you killed them."

It's easy to keep a human alive.

Just use a bit of magic, and just like that they'll be ok.

Lilia had clearly lied! You were just fine!

A simple spell to heal your injuries, and one to help with... preservation... and you were just fine!

You were alive, clearly!

You still looked alive, and your body wasn't at all decaying, so you're clearly ok!

You have to be.

Malleus Draconia was always known as a strange man, people just never commented on it because he's big and scary and one of the most powerful mages in the world, but now... people were starting to talk about him.

They were starting to talk about how Malleus Draconia was a man who always dragged a human's corpse around with him. He called the body "(Y/N)". He would talk to them like they were alive, and he always expected a response, before saying something along the lines of "Oh, you don't want to speak right now? That's ok, (Y/N), maybe later."

Everyone was now more unsettled by Malleus than ever before.

"(Y/N), what would you like for dinner?" Malleus asked, sitting you down in a chair.

But you didn't respond to him.

"...my dear, I know you're probably angry at me for hurting you like that, and I'm extremely sorry about that, but (Y/N)... we can't go on like this." Malleus said, grabbing your cold hands. "I can't go one more day without hearing your voice."

And after that, he could have sworn you said something to him. He heard a voice in the back of his mind, one that resembled yours...

"I knew it. You're still alive." Malleus smiled. "So, (Y/N), what would you like for dinner?" It felt so nice to hear your voice again. "Oh, that sounds wonderful, my dear. Shall we discuss wedding preparations tomorrow? ... Yes, my thoughts exactly!"

Lilia, Silver, and Sebek were peaking into the room to make sure Malleus was doing ok.

They did not expect to see what they did.

He's talking to you like you're still alive, like you're responding to him...

"Father, what do we do?" Silver asked.

"...I don't know."

"Is there nothing we can do to prevent Lord Malleus from marrying a corpse?!" Sebek yelled.

"Well, his grandmother will surely prevent that, but we should find a way to help him with... this." Lilia sighed. "For now, I suppose we just... let this happen. And try our best to help."

Malleus looked so happy, dancing with you.

But you didn't look happy, dancing with him.

Your expressionless, dead face could not display happiness anymore.

But Malleus... he saw you looking happy as ever. You looked as beautiful as the day he found you.

To Malleus...

You looked as alive as ever.

[ihatetaxes99]

Alrighty, fun theory time: What if Neito Monoma was actually brain-damaged?

I swear, this isn't a joke post, this is a genuine headcanon/theory I like to consider that possibly explains the... Sharp shift in his behaviour. Of course, it obviously isn't actually canon, I don't think anyone would believe that for a second, but it's an idea I like to ruminate upon. That said, time to elaborate:

It's no secret that when the character of Neito Monoma was introduced during the Sports Festival story arc of the Boku No Hero manga, he was rather different from his later portrayals.

Unless I'm forgetting something, this was the first proper panel introducing Monoma in the series:

As you can see, there were some... Changes later on down the line:

Anyone can tell that something happened here. Anyone who has a basic knowledge of the manga is aware that this second image is not an outlier. Monoma has been consistently portrayed as arrogant, over-the-top and borderline mentally unwell. There's clearly something wrong with this boy, this isn't just a kid being energetic.

Monoma in his initial appearance was clearly a bit underhanded, yes. He was a schemer, a trickster, almost like the heroes' version of Mr. Compress (I had to fit a reference to my G in there somehow) in how he relies on subterfuge and deception over raw strength; None of this translates to the psychopathic brat he became as early as the Training Camp arc. The question is, what happened to cause this? I mean, yeah, there are a few pretty good guesses as to why his personality was retconned out-of-universe (I've always taken an interest in the theory that his insanity was turned up to make Kendo's behaviour towards him seem more justified, somehow, and have her come off as less unlikeable, though there is also the popular theory that Bakugo's popularity had a hand in things as well, which I won't get into here), but that's boring. I am an Autist, and what I want is an in-universe explanation to use as my personal headcanon.

And so, we come to this delightful little panel:

Acquired Brain Injury (ABI) refers to a form of brain injury brought about by physical trauma or other damage caused sometime after birth, as opposed to genetic brain damage. As listed by the Scottish Acquired Brain Injury Network, symptoms of ABI can include:

Reduced motivation.

Reduced ability to initiate activity.

Reduced motivation.

Reduced empathy.

Emotional Lability

Reduced impulse control (i.e. reduced ability to control expression of emotions and behaviour).

Agitation.

Aggressive behaviour.

Impaired judgement.

Socially inappropriate behaviour.

Sexually disinhibited behaviour.

Reduced insight/awareness of the consequences of brain injury and its impact.

Obviously, not all of these symptoms are relevant to Monoma's case, but some - such as emotional lability, reduced impulse control, agitation, aggressive behaviour, impaired judgement and socially inappropriate behaviour - sound very familiar.

In short, it's proven that physical trauma to the head can very much influence and alter a person's personality, resulting in instability. And as we can see from the image, Bakugo very nearly blew Monoma's head off during the climax of the chariot battle. The way that his head snaps back is clearly indicative of receiving some sort of sharp blow.

And that is where the basis of my theory is formed. Neito Monoma starts out his UA career as a somewhat ambitious and devious, but intelligent and well put-together kid. Then, during the Sports Festival, he receives a severe blow to the head from Bakugo. Given the nature of UA's training regiment, it's even possible that he would sustain more injuries off-panel between the end of the Festival and his next appearance at the Training Camp, possibly even developing the situation into Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. And that's not even considering all of the times Kendo has been seen striking him hard enough to knock him out cold. We're also well aware of how lax UA is in regards to their medical care, with a kiss from Recovery Girl and a few days' rest typically being seen as the best way to deal with incidents. In this environment, Monoma's head trauma would go on to manifest itself in more and more personality defects, transforming him over time as his intellectual capabilities were diminished and his aggressive and socially unaware behaviour grew more and more pronounced. It puts a tragic spin on what is essentially a mishandled joke character, holding the lens to UA's negligent behaviour that the manga barely touched in any real depth.

Of course, as I said, obviously none of this is the case. Monoma was rewritten to be a joke after the Sports Festival and that is the long and short of it. There isn't really anything deeper going on there, not intentionally at least. But I like to dream. And I've really grown rather fond of this little headcanon.

[astrobiscuits]

Chiron: where is our physical (and mental) wound?

I'm currently reading a book about Chiron (did you know it's actually half asteroid, half comet? me neither), which inspired me to make this post. I'm in no way an expert in medical astrology, just a curious owl that wants to learn more about every branch of astrology out there (my Sag Venus loves it!!🤭)

DISCLAIMER!!! I'm not a doctor. If you've been feeling any symptoms described here, TALK WITH YOUR DOCTOR, NOT WITH ME

Observation: Before we dive in, i'd like to mention that the position of Chiron in the houses is important. Not every house placement suggests having a poor physical condition. The most prominent Chiron placements when it comes to having a medical condition are: Chiron in 1st house (house of self, visible illnesses), Chiron in 5th house (illnesses since birth/early childhood), Chiron in 6th house (house of health, if Saturn is also sitting there it points to chronic illnesses), Chiron in 8th house (house of death, may point to severe diseases or poor reproductive health) and Chiron in 12th house (house of the unconscious, deals with mental illnesses)

Honorable mention to Chiron in 3rd house and Chiron in 9th house as they represent accidents while travelling. If Chiron is heavily afflicted in these houses (unless it's also conjuncting Jupiter), it may point to...let's just say you're gonna be in a hospital bed in a vegetative state, but remember, nothing has a 100% possibility of happening, you're just more susceptible to it happening. I suggest checking the position of Chiron in Solar Return charts for the possible timing of it happening (look for Chiron in 3rd house/Chiron in 9th house as it activates your natal Chiron)

Without further do, let's dive in⚕️

Chiron in Aries: frequent headaches, frequent nose bleeds, teeth problems (sensitive teeth, tooth decay), deafness, skull fractures, cerebral anemia, brain tumours, hemophilia, epilepsy, BPD

Chiron in Taurus: frequent colds, frequent voice loss, thyroid problems (goiter, hyperthyroidism, hypothyroidis, etc.), tonsilitis, OCD

Chiron in Gemini: lung problems (asthma, tuberculosis, pneumonia, etc.), speech problems (stuttering, cluttering, mutism), alzheimer's disease, ADHD, OCD

Chiron in Cancer: frequent stomach pain, prone to lactose intolerance, (for girls) breast lumps, breast cysts, breast infections, nipple discharge, depression, anxiety

Chiron in Leo: prone to insolation, frequent heart palpitations, chest pain, hypertension, hypotension, arteriosclerosis, scoliosis, kyphosis

Chiron in Virgo: frequent bloating, prone to gluten intolerance, chronic allergies, diabetes, rabies, autism, ADHD, OCD

Chiron in Libra: prone to acne, frequent lower back pain, disc herniation, spondylolisthesis, chronic kidney disease, kidney stones

Chiron in Scorpio: frequent pain down there, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV/AIDS, depression

Chiron in Sagittarius: frequent pain in the hips, prone to hips dislocation, cirrhosis, sciatica

Chiron in Capricorn: prone to knees dislocation, osteoarthritis, bone problems (osteopenia, osteoporosis), gout, depression

Chiron in Aquarius: electrical injuries, shin splints, osteofibrous dysplasia, ankle sprain, ankle fractures, poor blood circulation, schizophrenia

Chiron in Pisces: prone to break toes, athlete's foot, bunions, addison's disease, hormonal deregulation, aphantasia, psychosis, schizophrenia, anxiety

Yes, i'm aware of the fact that it's a generational planet and it moves very slowly through signs

BONUS: It's important to take into consideration all planets that conjunct, square or opposite Chiron (regardless if they're personal or generational) + the Ascendant for additional info about our illnesses

Ex. Let's take me as an example. My Chiron is in my 10th house in Capricorn squaring Saturn in 4th house (so double Capricorn energy) and Aries Ascendant. Guess what? I've got TMJ (basically a jaw disorder affecting the joints) and i've got it from my fam -_- (Saturn rules tradition i love my fam)

I also believe that having a heavy afflicted Chiron in general makes someone prone to having a medical condition, even if it's not in the houses mentioned previously (like in my case). However, these people are more focused on the main meaning of the house, not their health problems. They tend to ignore their health problems or they just don't care

I hope you enjoyed my post and found it insightful :)

What's your wound? Lmk in the comments your placements and your illnesses

Kisses xoxo

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 2

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Canon typical violence and the usual vampire stuff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2346

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 2

The cell was cold and sterile and lit far too brightly for Rose’s taste but lacked any natural light sources; under the circumstances, she was grateful for that.  She could feel dawn’s arrival nearing.  The urge to go to ground was clawing through her, making her skin itch and her teeth hurt.  Despite the fact she should be safe here, her body didn’t like being so far above ground without being encased with soil or a coffin.

When Captain America had caught her, she’d pleaded to be put somewhere dark.  The spinal injury had kept her incapacitated for hours, yet even still when he came close to her to help put her on a gurney, she’d tried to compel him to let her go.  There had been some device blocking her will, and she’d realized that the Avengers must have developed some technology to block psychic attacks.  Likely due to the witch in their company.   Not only had Steve Rogers been unaffected by her powers, but he’d been aware that she’d been using them and warned the crew that brought her to the Tower that she would attempt to use them.

They had unnecessarily treated her injuries and placed her in this metal cell lying flat out on a hospital bed.  When the feeling came back to her feet she’d gotten up and looked for a way out, and now that dawn was approaching she knew if she wasn’t able to compel anyone to let her go soon, she’d be unconscious and helpless in the midst of superheroes.

For a while she crouched by the door, hoping to ambush anyone that might come to check on her.  They might be impervious to compulsion, but they weren’t to being turned.  When it was clear that no one was coming, she tore the mattress and the blankets from the gurney and pushed the mattress under the metal bench that ran along the side of the room.  She hung the blankets over the side of the bench and crawled in.  It wasn’t ideal, but it stopped the itchy feeling from bothering her as she fell into unconsciousness.

Rose didn’t fall asleep or wake up like humans did.  She was awake and then she wasn’t.  It wasn’t even sleep in the way a human would experience it.  To any layman, the lack of heartbeat, brain activity, or breathing would indicate she was dead.  She didn’t react to external stimuli in any way.  If someone chose to take that moment to stake her through the heart, she would jerk up as the stake entered her, and then crumble into dust.

When she regained consciousness, it wasn’t slow or gradual.  She didn’t feel tired.  She was just awake where before she was not.

It took her a second to realize that she was no longer under the bench she’d hidden in, but now in a metal box.  She was much colder than normal, but it didn’t bother her.  What bothered her was that she was locked in a mortuary fridge.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, once she’d hidden in one herself, but she knew they were nigh on impossible to break out of once you were in one.  It was strange though, despite her predicament, she was relieved.  She was relieved they hadn’t tried to do an autopsy on her.  She was relieved that whatever path they’d taken from her cell to the morgue, she hadn’t passed through sunlight.  She also seemed to be in most of her clothes.  Her shoes and socks were gone, as were her sunglasses and jacket, but she still wore the palazzo pants and turtleneck she’d been wearing last night.  It could definitely be worse.

She began to kick at the door beneath her feet, hoping to any god that might care about her, that she’d be able to break the hinge off the door.

After two kicks the door swung open and the drawer was pulled out, and she was face to face with Steve Rogers once more.  “Why did you lock me in there!” she shouted, pushing herself up and jumping down from the drawer.  She didn’t try to run.  Not yet anyway.  She knew if he had been waiting here with her, he must know what she was, so if she attempted to escape there would be something to take her out.  It was better to bide her time and look for the best exit.

“You were dead,” he said.  “That’s where we put dead people.”

“And you just hang out in morgues for fun, do you?” she hissed.

“I had my suspicions,” he answered.  “They found you dead, but you’d managed to pull a gurney apart despite having a spinal injury that left you paralyzed the last time I saw you.  There was footage from the security tapes of things being tossed around, but you were nowhere to be seen.  When I went in to speak with you, you were under a bench in what looked like a fort, and there were no signs of life.  They wanted to do an autopsy.  I told them to wait until tomorrow.  So tell me - what are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“See that’s the thing,” Steve said, taking a seat on one of the tall metal stools at the autopsy table.  “I thought vampires were fictional.”

“I thought Norse gods were fictional, and then there were two smashing up my city,” she said. “The universe is big.  Maybe all fiction has a piece of reality in it.”

“Still,” he said.  “Thor was living on another planet.  I’ve been on this one for quite a while now, you’d think I would have come across one of you before.”

She stalked toward him.  Her bare feet padded along the cool steel floor.  “What do you want me to do?  Prove it to you?”

She moved lightning fast, one hand going to his hair and the other to his neck as she shoved him up against the table.  She yanked his head back and bared her fangs.  “I wonder what a supersoldier’s blood tastes like.  Do you think that serum will make me even stronger?  Maybe I’ll turn you.  That might get me out of here safely, Captain.” 

She didn’t mean anything she said.  It was all for show.  She’d never turned anyone, and she didn’t want to start now.  But he obviously wanted something from her and she wanted to see what he’d do.  She leaned in pressing her fangs against his skin, just above the carotid artery.  She could feel the blood pulsing through it under her teeth.  She could smell it.  There was something slightly different to the scent.  Something akin to ozone or smoke.  She didn’t have time to study it, as Steve reached up and pressed something to her collarbone, and it felt like her skin caught fire.  She scrambled back, hissing in pain, and moving as far away from him as possible.

Steve held up the crucifix he’d pressed against her skin.  To double down on the old mythos, it seemed to be made of silver.  “So it is true.”

“I told you it was,” she said.

“Those children, they said you saved them,” he said, putting the crucifix back into his pocket.

“I told you that too,” she said.

“I’m just trying to understand it,” he said.  “Why would you save those children when you’re … well -” he waved his hand at her, gesturing up and down her body.

“A bloodthirsty monster?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Steve agreed.

She sighed and leaned against the wall.  “I was human once.  I drink blood because I have to to survive.  That doesn’t mean I want to see children used as a human shield.”

Steve’s blue eyes moved up and down her body, assessing her, looking for any sign she was lying to him.  She folded her arms around her middle.  It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel this vulnerable.  Not since she’d been turned.

“Can I go?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “You still killed a man.”

“Oh, like you haven’t,” she spat.

“Of course I have,” he said.  “But never like that.  I try not to kill whenever possible.”

“Well, we can’t all be a perfect little golden boy,” she snarked.  “Can we at least not have this conversation in the goddamn morgue?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Follow me.”

He opened the door and she followed him back through the building to the elevator.  Her eyes darted around the space, trying to work out if there was a means of escape.  Steve was fast.  Fast enough to keep up with her if she ran.  Plus he was strong enough to match her hand-to-hand.  Then there was everyone else in the building.  If Thor was alerted, she didn’t think there would be anything she could do to survive an assault from him.  So she followed along placidly, hoping he’d show some mercy on her.

They caught the elevator up, Steve leaned against the wall and looked at her.  “You barely look eighteen,” Steve said.  “How old are you?”

“You barely look twenty-five, how old are you?” she asked.

Steve laughed.  “Touché.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I have never had to consider what to do in this situation.  You helped.  But the way you helped.  How many other people have you killed?  Are you going to kill again?”

“You can’t hold me for imagined future crimes,” Rose argued.  “And you can’t hold me without evidence of any past ones.  I thought you of all people should know that.”

He frowned and looked down at his hands.  She had gotten to him.  Not enough for him to let her go.  This wasn’t a case of a hypothetical danger to the world.  She was a monster and setting her free meant setting free a being that fed on humans.

The elevator opened and he gestured for her to go through.  Still, the perfect gentleman he was raised.  She walked through and he led her to his office, pulling out a chair at his desk for her to sit at.  When she was sitting he went to his chair and sat facing her.  The office was much more modern than she expected.  The desk was black formica and extremely polished, to the point that if she gave off a reflection she would have seen it on the surface.  It attached directly to cabinets that ran down the side of the room under the frosted windows that acted as a wall to his office.  There was a panel that, if activated, would create the holographic screen of his computer on the desk, as well as a keyboard and a landline phone.  The only personal objects in the room were a series of papers stuck to the glass above the shelves.  Among them were some pencil sketches on aged notebook paper, and what appeared to be his 4F forms.

“I fought in World War II, you know?” Rose said as she turned her attention back to Steve.

“On which side,” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed.  “It really bothers you to think I might not be evil, doesn’t it?  The Ally’s side.  I was there before you started fighting.  The US had a monster division.  Did you know that?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t even know if I can believe that,” he said.

“It’s true.  There were monsters on the other side too.  The monster hunters were sent after them, and we were told to take care of Hitler’s obsession with the mystic world,” she explained.

Steve sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.  It was hard when your whole worldview had come into question.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said, opening up the holographic screen on his computer.  “What’s your name?”

“Rose.  Rose Astor.  Of the Manhattan Astors,” she said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and began to type something into the computer.  “I’ve heard of you.  The Astor’s daughter went missing around the time I was born.  My mom would always bring it up when I would go out to play and dad…” he trailed off.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happened to you?”

“This happened to me,” she said.  “It was the start of prohibition and I had reached the legal drinking age the year they banned drinking.  I went out to a speakeasy and a vampire got me.  He kept me with him for a while.  I got free and he returned to Europe.  I was glad to see the back of him.”

“So you’re from my time?” he asked. 

She smiled.  “A little older, but yes.  We were in the same city when you were growing up.  I’m sure we have a lot in common, Captain Rogers.  Possibly more than you do with your friends.  Well - aside from that one little thing.”

“It’s not that little,” he said.

“Ahh, yes,” she agreed.  “You signed up to have a foreign substance injected into you that made you superhuman.  I had it forced on me.  You get to go out in the sun.  I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “I’m sorry that happened to you.  And I’m sorry you’ve had to live like this.  But I don’t know if I can just let you go.  If you kill again, that blood will be on my hands.”

“So what?  You’re just going to hold me here forever as your prisoner?  You’re as bad as he is,” she said.

Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Maybe you could join the team.  Prove to us you aren’t a danger to the rest of the world.”

Rose sank back into her chair.  She hated this.  She was going to be a prisoner all over again being forced to do things she didn’t want to do.  There didn’t seem to be any choice.  She believed Steve Rogers was a good man.  Hopefully, he could prove that to her too.

// NEXT

[heartfullofleeches]

A healer takes care of their stalker in a completely sane and normal way.

Yandere Stalker + Healer Reader Drabble

Summary: As the title says.

Warning: Violence and Injury, spit mentions, and themes of masochism.

-

They meet you at the batting cage - kust like your note said.

How their twisted heart flew seeing that little piece of paper tucked under your pillow. They always made an effort to act with caution, but it soon became apparent that you were fully aware of all activities taking place within your own home.

How could you not with all the love that they give? Words of endearment left on your bathroom wall. Fresh meals in your fridge. The best way into someone's heart is their stomach, and a greater way to know them better than anyone else is watching their every move. Considering you scheduled this encounter, you must be as enamored with them as they are obsessed with you.

That tiny heart at the end of your letter told them so.

You're alone in the field with they arrive. Muscles glimmering with sweat, eyes focus as you unleash heavy swing after swing into the unrelenting night. Your stalker came an hour early to arrange a surpise, but it seems you beat them to it. It didn't bring their spirits down by much. The rope could be used another time. You must still be in the middle of practice. They've never seen you on a team, but with your recent outings to this location you had to be searching. Your form has gotten well. Not to mention how intimating, yet graceful you look deep in focus. Everyone would look your way. Since you'll be married so, they wonder if they can get you to avoid seekingq depth this new found hobby.

Your arms fall to your sides as the door to the cage opens, hand relaxed around the metal handle. They make sure to shut the gate behind them.

"My love..."

"So... you're the person who's been stalking me?"

Your stalker tugs on the strings of their hoodie. Stalking is such a harsh word to use. How can one stalk the love of their life?

"I...Don't make such a harsh accusation, darling."

Your skin crawls. "Only reason you would be here now. Watching me sleep, harassing my neighbors...friends."

The devotion they've withheld bubbles over as they step towards you. "Everything I've ever done I do for you and our future, Dearest. I'm sorry for the way I've treated those we know, but they get too comfortable around you for my liking."

You let them talk, get closer - adding justification to what you are about to do. Your hand tightens around the bat's leather strap.

"Sweet angel, you're too perfect for your own good. I've tried before to stay away from you, but I struggle to breath if I am not by your side."

They draw closer. You can smell their clothes and the scent they wear. The same fragrance that has haunted your home and bed for months. Your other hand wraps around the bat, feet and shoulders squared.

"So yes, I have watch you, but I have never nor would ever caused you harm. I need you more than life itself. From your letter, you feel the same, no? Let's become one-"

They've crossed the line. Literally. Their fingers brush your elbow as their arms rise, feet planting on the mark you drew in the sand before they arrived. It's too late for them to realize yours were already clocked back and swinging forward as they dive for an embrace that would never could. There's the sharp whistle of metal flying through the air, followed by a hollow, wet thud - then silence.

"I had to buy a lock for my trashcan because of you."

Everything is dark. They can barely hear; muffled rants of your angelic voice grounding them in a gradually fading reality. The bat connected directly with their left temple, rattling their bludgeoned brain in their skull and leaving them concussed on the dirt floor. Their heart beats in tune with each gush of blood out of side of their head, hairline dyed a deep maroon.

"D-dar...."

Bleeding out, they still call to you. Still desperate for you - the person who's made an attempt on their life. Like most they feared the end, but if this was how it came they could see no exectioner they'd prefer. The memory of their battered body and crimson blood would forever been engraved in your memory. There was no honor creator than that. Scowling, you kick their hand off your shoe and drag themself onto their knees by their hair.

"I'm not going to kill you. Stay still."

Collecting a mass of fluid on your tongue, you spit in their face. The shot narrowly missing their eye and gets into the wound. They twitch, tongue drooping from their mouth from pain and the need to collect the excess drool mixed into the trickle of red down their cheek. A wave of relief overcomes them as your saliva mixes into their blood stream. The gash in their head closes in on itself and the brain numbing headache throbs to extinction. Its effect lingers and they stare up at you in puzzled awe.

What just happened?

"Don't say a word. You don't get to speak, or ask any questions. If you come near me again, I'll bash your brains in until there's nothing for me to fix."

You roughly drop them on the ground, gather your things, and leave. Your stalker stares up at the sky; love born anew and stronger than before. You let them live. You really are an angel. How ever would they leave you alone now?

[valkyrie1435atla]

@hannahhook7744 this was going to be another reply but it started getting too long, so here’s a bit of an explanation on Zuko’s situation.

I can’t always know if what I’m trying to portray in my comic gets across how I want it to, that’s a drawback of the comic format, I’m generally not able to include long, detailed paragraphs unless it’s in a format that makes sense in the context of the comic. (Yishengs Logbook for example.)

-SPOILERS(?) FOR PARTS 14, 17. OR NOT REALLY SPOILERS, JUST PLAIN EXPLANATIONS OF WHAT HAPPENED TO CLEAR ANY CONFUSION-

in Mortem Obire, we see a play-by-play of Zuko’s death and his time traveling from his own perspective, in his head. ‘Mortem Obire’ means ‘to face death,’ this is Zuko processing what happened to him. Azula’s lightning struck him, pain, blinding pain, and then it all stopped, and he was back on his ship. He is still reeling, though, every sensation is suddenly opposite, “it was loud, and it was burning-“ in a millisecond his whole world flipped upside down. “And suddenly it was quiet, and I was cold” Zuko is so disoriented from the switch he immediately collapses, slams head-first on the hard ship deck, and is sent back to the future. “And it was loud again, and I was burning again” He becomes stuck in this sort of in-between state, like a light switch you’re trying to balance in the middle, flickering on and off. “Someone called my name” Katara calls his name, Iroh calls his name. “I saw a pillar of light in the sky-I saw a comets trail in the sky” he sees both. “You ran to me” Katara ran to him, Iroh ran to him.

Iroh was holding him; he laid alone, bleeding out.

Iroh pulled him away, Zuko began to lose consciousness; he burned while watching Azula kill Katara.

He laid there in his dead, rotting body; he laid in a body that wasn’t his.

It all happens in Zukos head, though. In the present moment Iroh just asked him, “and then?” Zuko replies, “and then…” (Part 13) then falls silent for about 30 seconds. Iroh just stares at him, waiting for an answer. The flashback plays in Zukos mind, he starts to tremble and hyperventilate, Iroh calls out his name but Zuko cannot hear him. “Prince Zuko, can you hear me?!” The flashback ends and Zuko is pulled back to the present. etc. etc.

A Thankless Job is YiShengs (and partially Iroh’s) perspective of Zuko’s death and time traveling. (Obviously they don’t know that he died, they don’t know that he time traveled.) season one Zuko collapsed suddenly and for literally no reason at all, (they didn’t see the beam of light, there was no beam of light.) YiSheng and Iroh took him to his room, and he started seizing (“A seizure is abnormal electrical activity in [the] brain” (the Cleveland Clinic)). He was sort of awake for a few seconds at a time, YiSheng medicated him in a moment he could actually swallow, and then Zuko passed out completely. Iroh stayed by his side. It is important to note that there was no injury at first, and Zuko woke up a few hours later. Parts three, four, and five happen, Zuko has a brief conversation with Iroh, he still isn’t completely aware of the time travel, everything is very hazy. Iroh leaves, and the haze begins to clear. The lightning creeps back in, the scar starts to reappear on his chest and it grows and it burns and Zuko is burning burning fire fire I am melting from the inside I am dying. etc. etc.

In the revised version I am currently working on, remaking the first chunk of the story so far, these details (and many more) will all be displayed much more clearly. We will see Iroh’s complete perspective of the collapse first, followed by Zuko’s and Yisheng’s as has already been written. A short interlude of Jee’s perspective next?

Basically, Zukos injury carried over because he didn’t stay in the past when he first got blasted there. Everyone else in the gaang flipped once and that was that, the injuries that killed them stayed with the past timeline. Zuko’s did not. Just his luck, really.

[thinking1bee]

You Haven't Failed Part 15

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Tags: Spidey!Reader, Venom!Reader, So Much Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut

Everything Taglist: @ara-a-bird, @alexawynters

The next several hours were an absolute blur for Wanda. She could only remember broken fragments of what happened, her mind threatening to shut down when she couldn’t process her grief. It was like her brain refused to accept what was now going to be her reality. After her powers sent out a shockwave of red, destructive magic, Wanda couldn’t comprehend anything besides her pain and anguish. She remembered someone removing you from her arms. Then, someone else was shaking her shoulder in an attempt to make her respond. Wanda could barely feel them. She was practically catatonic and she had to be scooped off the ground. Wanda thought that she knew death. She thought that she knew grief. Wanda even thought that she knew pain, but with you…she didn’t have the words. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe, and she didn’t know if she was going to be able to live without you.

***1 month later***

Coma.

Dr. Cho said that this was the best-case scenario considering the extensive damage that was done to you physically. It was Bruce that scooped you out of Wanda’s arms and it’d been Tony who tried to snap her out of her unresponsive state. Bruce was the fastest to react. He’d grabbed you and used his incredible strength to launch himself back to the compound. Nick was just entering his office when the ceiling shook, and he had his gun cocked and readied as he waited for what he thought was a threat. Instead of an intruder, he was met with a green giant that moved you swiftly to the med bay. Bruce didn’t explain. He only told Nick to call Dr. Cho and Nick did so without hesitation. Bruce did what he could with his limited medical knowledge, and he was able to stabilize you long enough for Dr. Cho to arrive. She planned to medically induce you into a coma to prevent you from dying when you slipped into one all on your own.

And you stayed that way for a month.

Wanda was sitting by your side now, her jaw still quivering at the look of you. The black veins were long gone but you still looked so pale. The hushed whoosh of the ventilator kept you breathing, and she looked at the tube that was inserted into your mouth. The heart monitor was her only reassurance that you were still alive. She peered into your brain many times only to be met with emptiness. Wanda begged Dr. Cho for an EEG, her anxiety seizing her ability to think. Scenarios of the worst filled her mind and Dr. Cho performed the test when she saw Wanda on the verge of a panic attack.

“They’re alive, Ms. Maximoff,” she told her in her soft spoken voice. “They’re not brain dead.”

“But I can’t feel them.”

The moment Wanda said it, the tears that she tried to fight ran down her reddened cheeks. Every day was full of tears. It was too the point where she almost passed out due to dehydration from the combination of crying and her inability to keep food down. Thor had to carry her to the med bay, and when the woozy, nauseating sickness she felt finally dissipated, she became aware of the IV in the crook of her arm and the fluids bag hanging on the IV rod.

“Coma is different for everyone. For some, brain activity increases, and for others, it diminishes greatly. Only time will tell when Y/n wakes up.”

“When??” Wanda blurted, the question almost sounding callous. Dr. Cho raised her eyebrows slightly and Wanda closed her eyes as she shook her head. She hadn’t meant it like that.

“I mean, how can you be so sure?” she tried again.

“Because of the powers that they have. By classification, Y/n is a mutate.”

Wanda didn’t understand. “But that’s what I am.”

Dr. Cho shook her head. “You are a mutant. That is a human who has their powers because of a mutation they possess called the X-gene. Y/n is a mutate. It just means that they weren’t born with powers. Something affected their DNA, in their case it would be a radiated spider, and that disruption is what led to them having powers. It’s more common than you think. Bruce and Peter are mutates and it’s a similarity that they both share with Y/n. They all have their powers because of radiation exposure.”

“So, what does this mean for them?”

Dr. Cho looked at you. “It means that if they were normal, if they didn’t have the power to regenerate like they did, I would be giving you much graver news. This isn’t to say that there won’t be difficulties in the future, but they are alive and it’s all thanks to their powers.” She turned to look back at Wanda. “They will wake up. We have to give it time.”

***2 months later***

You still hadn’t woken up, but Wanda wasn’t going to give up hope. She still sat by your side, her hand in yours as she saw your chest rise and fall. To say that she was doing better was a complete lie. She was an emotional wreck. Seeing you hooked up to so many wires and devices was a punch to the gut every time. In her eyes, you had never looked so fragile. Right now, it felt like one wrong touch was enough for you to shatter beneath her hand.

“Please get better, детка. I can’t do this without you.”

Wanda stood and leaned over you, her lips pressing against your forehead in a tender kiss. Her jaw quivered a bit as she exhaled a shaky breath, but she sighed and sat back down, her green eyes never leaving you.

She sat by your side. Fury understandably took her off any missions for the foreseeable future. Wanda couldn’t handle it. Not now. Missions required restraint, and with her emotions all over the place, she was liable to continue the body count she accrued several years back. So, she sat, and she waited for you to return to her.

Tony joined her later that night, and when he walked in the room, she welcomed his company. It was so quiet, the silence suffocating when you were the talker in the relationship. Wanda never had to contend with such silence, and she found herself growing restless when Tony walked in. He gave her a gentle smile before he pulled up a seat and sat next to her.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly.

“Hey.”

“How are they?”

Wanda shrugged. “They’re alive.”

That’s all she had to say. That’s all Wanda could say. Tony understood nonetheless and nodded as they both sat in silence.

“It’s just another brutal reminder of mortality,” Tony murmured, breaking the quiet after a few moments.

“Hmmm?”

“I mean,” he began, as he looked at her, his brown eyes slightly wide as his hands moved. “We have all these powers and all of these abilities, and yet, we’re still so fragile.”

“We’re human, Tony,” Wanda murmured as she returned his gaze. “At the end of the day, and no matter what we can do, we’re still human.”

Tony nodded and went silent again. They both watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as the ventilator hissed. Tony swallowed and looked at her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What was it like?” he asked. “To be blipped?”

Wanda nodded slowly, her eyes leaving you to focus on her hands that suddenly grew sweaty. Tony saw the way her breathing picked up in pace and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“If it’s too hard-”

Wanda shook her head. “No, no it’s okay. Just…give me a second.”

She took a deep breath and tucked some of her auburn hair behind her ear, her green eyes shifting slightly as she remembered back to that day.

“It felt…terrifying,” she whispered. “It was like the moment that I knew it was happening, I lost control of my body. I was on the ground and on Y/n’s lap before I even realized. It felt inevitable, like meeting the eyes of an animal that has every intention of mauling you to death. It felt finite. Final. Devastating.”

Tony was quiet as she described what it was like for her to disappear. When she swallowed thickly, he asked another question.

“Did it hurt?”

Wanda shook her head. “No. I was just scared.”

“Well yeah. You were turning into dust.”

Again, Wanda shook her head. “I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared for Y/n. I knew that my death would affect them, but I never could have foreseen the anger and guilt that they harbored for themselves. Their pain ran deep, deeper than I would ever dare to imagine.”

“What did you see?” Tony asked. “If that’s okay, I know things are personal. When Y/n left…I mean we were a mess. All of us, but Y/n…” he shrugged as he remembered what you were like during that time. He didn’t have to say anymore. Wanda knew. “I didn’t see Y/n again for another two years until I used what was left of SHIELD to hunt them down.”

Wanda remembered that memory as she considered Tony’s question.

“They were lost,” Wanda began as she purposefully omitted the finer details. “They were…hurting. They raged, much like when Clint became the Ronin, and that’s when you found them.”

Wanda didn’t want to bring up the wedding ring, or when you visited the graves of her family. That felt personal to not just you, but to her too. She was still trying to digest it all, even after two months.

“Wow,” Tony whispered. “And you?”

“Me?” Wanda echoed.

“Yeah, what about you?”

She shrugged. “It was like I blinked, and five years of my life just disappeared. I was in Y/n’s arms and a heartbeat later, I was by myself in Wakanda.”

“I’m sorry that you were alone.”

Wanda shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t care about that. My immediate response was to be happy that I was alive.”

“If we hadn’t said anything about Y/n, would you have known something was wrong with them?”

“Yes,” Wanda responded, her accent thick in the word. “They tried to hide it, but I could see it in their eyes and in their mannerisms.”

Wanda motioned to her own eyes as she talked about yours. “The usual brightness in their eyes was dimmed, muted,” she explained. “Though they smiled, sometimes it looked forced, like they were doing it for my benefit.”

“Didn’t you read their mind?”

“Strangely, no,” Wanda admitted. “While they usually let me in, it felt wrong to see what happened to them in those five years. They never really talked about it, and I didn’t want to force it out of them like that. They weren’t ready to talk, and after everything that happened, I don’t think that they ever would have been ready to tell me the truth.”

“Would you have read their mind sooner if you’d known this was going to happen?” he asked as he motioned around the med bay.

“Had I known that it would lead to this, then, yes. If I could have sooner reassured them, then yes. If I could have sooner comforted them, then yes. Hindsight,” she said with a tired breath. “It’s a bitch.”

Tony offered a small smile, one that reached his eyes. He was about to say something else when movement from his peripheral vision caught his attention. His eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed as he slowly stood up. When you moved again, your finger twitching, he showed Wanda the movement. She was bewildered, and they both stood up and flanked your sides right as your eyes snapped open. A choked whimper left you, your throat tightening around the tube that was helping you breathe. After another choked sputter, you looked around wildly. Your hands went to grip the tube, readying to yank it out, but you were stopped by Tony while Wanda cupped your cheek and directed your panicked gaze to her.

“Breathe, детка. Breathe, baby,” Wanda tenderly murmured to you.

When you met her eyes, you swallowed thickly, a cough leaving your throat as your mouth opened, your throat bobbing as you tried to speak.

“Shhhh, don’t talk,” she said. “Just breathe.”

You offered a small, perceptible nod as you looked at the ceiling, your focus on your body and calming it down. Tony gently released your arms and reached into his back pocket, grabbing his cell phone. He hit the quick dial and held the device to his ear.

“Dr. Cho. They’re awake.”

Part 16

[alexiswritingstuff]

Saved by the unexpected.

Pairing: Frank Castle x teen! reader (Gender Neutral)

Other appearances: Micro, aka David Lieberman. 

Summary: Your run to the grocery store goes sideways on the way back home that leads you to being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and with a fresh gunshot wound. Upon waking up you find yourself somewhere unknown with people you had never seen... Or so you thought.

Warnings: gun fights, murder, gun shot wound, mentions of other injuries like cuts and bruises, implied parent loss. 

Be aware of possible spelling mistakes or sentences that are worded wrong. I read over my writing before posting but stuff still manages to slip under my radar!

A/n: Bro I really am bad at creating titles for fics. Anyway, I watched The Punisher a few months ago, and previously finished DareDevil, and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about a certain Mr. Castle. That man in general already activated my daddy issues and then I watched season 2, and... Yeah, that was a lot, but this is what my brain created! 

Like I say whenever I write for new characters, because this is my first attempt, the way portray them and the characteristics may not be a 100% accurate, so bear with me while I find my footing.

Either way, I hope you enjoy reading! 

It was supposed to be a morning like any other. One that started with a bright sky and chirping birds before slowly melding into the warm afternoon. 

You had just done the weekly shop, collecting everyday items, things that would give the most important nutrients, with basically the same amount in snacks and drinks. 

I mean, what else could they mean by a balanced diet?

The main route you would usually take had been closed off by the time you had finished with the store, the road cracked from something unknown, meaning that you had to take a detour. 

It was one that you had walked through many times before, leading you almost directly towards where your trailer was stationed without having to wind round block after block of apartments. 

So, the decision to choose it was simple. 

You took off down the pathway between two very large buildings that almost looked as if they could reach the sky from your angle.

This part was more commonly known as the run down area. The complexes on either side of you were empty. Most had the windows boarded up, due to the lack of repair, and the walls themselves were stained from a plethora of things. 

Some parts even looked about ready to fully crack and crumble. 

It was a lot harder to get funding for these buildings the further they got from the main street. The only people even coming here were probably residents from some that managed to become apartments. But the rest was pretty much just abandoned property.

You had moved under an overhang section created by the walkway above, connecting the two opposing buildings. It honestly sort of felt like a tunnel due to its width, but definitely not by length as you were quickly welcomed by the next area. 

To the left, behind a wall that separated a descending pathway from the ground levelled with your own feet, was a car park. 

The size of it would give the implication that there was a mass of vehicles coming in and out during the week, easy access for people working in the surrounding buildings. 

Though now, it was always empty.

… Or it was supposed to be. 

In the furthest corner was this very specific looking handful of cars; big and black, almost blocky in structure. A sight that should have been acknowledged as the first sign. Your first warning. 

But not fast enough.

Out of nowhere, there was this echo that felt like it drilled through your ear drums. It was a violent sound, one that rung for almost a full minute through the complex to your left. 

It wasn’t something you really questioned off the bat, somehow. I mean, the building was old. 

It could’ve been a loose panel finally deciding to break free from the ceiling, or a cracked wall weighing in on itself. Maybe even someone trying to fix up the damn building.

In fairness, those assumptions weren’t exactly bad... 

They were just the wrong ones. 

The sounds repeated, and whatever it was reverberated from the broken windows in a way that properly allowed it to be heard in its entirety. It was closer this time, more full. “What the...”

It was a series of bassy pops, collectively almost imitating the blast of fireworks, but within the sounds were these clinks like something was falling on the floor right after. 

And though it was a very muffled detail, that took a moment for your brain to register, it didn’t stop the cogs from making their final turn. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Within the same moment that you had made the decision to practically slide to the side, trying not to completely slam into the wall that you ended up behind, the doors of the building burst open with such force that it echoed.

There was a chorus of yelling, even more shots, and heavy boots that practically skidded against the concrete as they moved. Like you had just stumbled across a damn army.

You were sat on the ground, one leg stretched out from your hurried movements while the other was still bent at the knee, ready to move if necessary. The backpack was still strapped around your shoulders meaning that the further you tried to press against the brick wall, the more certain items began to stab into your back.

Your heart was hammering, chest heaving, as you continuously looked up and down the path you sat on. 

It was the only thing you could see. Everything was happening on the other side of the wall, so pretty much all you could do was just sit and listen for the people that might decide to come your way.

You fought the urge to cry out when bullets skimmed the top of the wall, causing little clumps of rubble and dust to hit the top of your head. “Why me, why me, why me!” you hissed through a whisper, trying to ruffle the stuff out of your hair. 

Hurried shouts were passing back and forth across the huge car park like a game of tennis, though it seemed that due to the other sounds that followed, and the panicked state of your mind, all of them were unintelligible. It sounded like they were coming from everywhere.

The multiple objects in your bag had started to make your spine ache so, at the same time as yet another shot, you leaned forward. Quick enough that the sound of items unsquashing themselves would ring at the same time as the bullet. 

You reached back, making sure that your bag wasn’t going to hit any surface, and then took it off one arm at a time before the bag was finally placed in front of you.

Your fingers immediately unzipped it to begin the search. You wanted some kind of weapon, or if not that then at least some form of protection... But you had in fact just gone shopping. 

I doubt a banana would be useful in a gun fight. 

So, you moved onto the pockets that sat on either side of the bag. A huff of air passed through your lips while your hand shuffled through the left pocket. You felt around, following the lining of stitches for at least something, but the most found was a wrapper from some candy or gum. 

So, it was on to the next. 

This time, to do the same routine, was a bit more difficult as this pocket was where you kept your water bottle. A more careful process as you started to comb through the compartment. 

And then, finally, you felt something.

In that moment it was hard to tell what it was. It felt long enough to at least administer some form of damage, or maybe only threaten someone from a distance, so your stressed mind just chose it. You began pulling your hand out. 

But, despite what you wanted, it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

Right as the item had been tugged vertically, an attempt to make it easier to pull it out, the movement had caused the bone of your wrist to hit into the bottle.

Ordinarily, it was something that you wouldn’t think twice about. You were just trying to get an item out of a pocket, surely you could do that without something bad happening... 

However, half of whatever you were trying to grab had been stuck under the bottle in a way that already had it tilting. And then the impact landed. Your wrist hit near the top of the bottle and that was all it needed. 

It started to tip out of the pocket. 

A sharp breath sucked into your lungs at the feeling, but with no ability to catch it in time, the metal cylinder simply fell to the floor from a very unfortunate height for you. 

In fact, even after the sound echoed in a way that most definitely had already blown your cover, the world seemed to have other plans for you as after yet another bounce and a few more smaller ones, it was starting to roll. 

You leaned to the side as fast as you could, reaching your arm out to its full extent with your hand wide open. But it was like trying to catch a fly, and soon, it just rolled right passed your fingers, moving even faster the more the water sloshed inside of it. 

The only thing you could do was watch in utter horror as the bottle travelled right passed the edge of a wall for the whole world to see. 

And eventually, about halfway through the path, it ran into a rock or a crack in the ground. The bottle bounced about one more time before it finally stalled. Though, at this point it didn’t really matter. 

The shots had placated a bit, the only ones being fired sounding farther away, as murmurs of confusion had dispersed through men on the other side of the wall. 

“What was that?

“Did you hear that?

“Where did that come from?” 

Your eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting into the skin of your bottom lip as your body just purely froze no matter how much your brain was telling you to make a run for it. 

“Okay, okay, all of you keep moving! Spread out more while I check it out. We’re not alone out here!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Okay, sir!”

However many people were on the other side of the wall scattered within the next beat of your heart. More shots and shouts began to ring out with the same loudness, now joined by the heavy smacking of boots as they moved further away...

But a pair of footsteps still remained. 

Now, your heart was purely thumping in your ears. It was by far the most prominent thing you could hear in that moment, though the sound of those harsh shoes kicking up stones without care was an active competitor. 

Especially when they started getting louder. 

Your eyes flicked to the open backpack in front of you, an ache beginning to pulse through your forehead while you stared at the contents. 

There was this sort of desperation, and almost disappointment, that built in your system at the thought of losing the freshly bought items. Though, what was the point in trying to save the food if you wouldn’t be alive to eat it. 

Within the next second, and after a very deep breath, you propped your hands firmly against the path below on either side of your body. You pushed your strength into the unstretched leg until it was folded under you. 

By now you looked like some kind of runner getting ready to do race, and honestly it was pretty much how you felt. The thought was the only thing suppressing the panic active in your chest, so you indulged.

There was this internal count down as you moved your other leg behind, even if there wasn’t that much space to do so. And then the timer went off. 

You were about to push yourself onto your feet. About to get up, adopt a sort of hunched over posture so that no part of your body could peak over the wall, and run like hell.

But again. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

A movement was caught from the corner of your eye. 

You had barely even started carrying out your wanted movements when a man suddenly appeared right round the corner of the wall, slow and intense. 

He was pretty decked out from what your panicked mind could comprehend. There were a multitude of weapons that clung to his belt, and he was in fact holding this massive gun. 

Initially, his focus was on your bottle. The barrel of the gun was pointed directly at the object of confusion, as it didn’t really look like the standard water bottle from afar, his finger hovering over the trigger. Ready to fire at any moment. 

At this point you had resumed this sort of weird crouched position, stuck between wanting to stand up and staying frozen to the ground as if you could just meld into it. 

Either way, it was the kind of stance that didn’t provide a sense of balance. And soon, despite how much the dread utterly pooled at the bottom of your stomach like it did on a rollercoaster, you fell. Right on your ass.

The gun, that you had pretty much only seen in movies or on the news, was pointed right in your direction before you could even blink. 

You attempted to crawl backwards, winding round your backpack, eyes wide and fully open as they trained on the man who in turn had started to follow your movements. And then you stopped, knowing full and well what was coming even if you got to your feet. 

Your breathing was erratic, arms moving stiff and slow as you raised them above your head with your palms open, facing the man who made no implications that he was going to put that gun down. 

“Listen,” You gulped, “I didn’t see anything, I swear-- Look, there. My bag is there-- Take it. Take anything.” 

“Anything you want.” 

It was no use. No matter what way the words tumbled from your mouth, that finger never tried to move away from that trigger. 

You closed your eyes, feeling the way your body heaved with every breath, the way your hands shook. Your ears listened out for the wind, the wildlife that had most definitely moved on from here already, or just something that wasn’t from guns. 

But then a shot rung out. Right in front of you.

It was an indistinctive reaction when your body jolted at the sound as it echoed through the large area and pinged within the windows of the abandoned buildings. You had almost fallen, your arms springing down even if you thought there was no time to protect...

You could still move?

Your eyes snapped open, the ability to take in full breaths yet to come, and you looked down at yourself. You tried to scan across what you could see of your body, that was somehow still alive, and leant on a hand to further support yourself. 

However, just as your brain attempted to register a lack of a gunshot wound, the sound of something hitting the ground stopped your investigation. 

Your head sort of bobbed for a moment, the want to continue your search fierce in your veins, before your gaze finally tore away.

The man before you had tumbled to his knees. His hands were moving around for a few seconds, desperately trying to grab a part of his chest as if in disbelief of what just happened. 

And then another shot fired. 

Like before, your body had jolted in response, still having no idea which gun it was coming from. 

However, when a particular part of you scrunched, the shock in your system decided to completely drain, your pain receptors activated in a way that you weren’t at all ready for. 

It was hard to pin point exactly where the feeling had originated as it spread like a wildfire, but it was intense enough that the arm you were leant against almost buckled within seconds. 

Sharp burning. A sensation that made it feel like you had been bitten by thousands of fire ants over and over again. 

Or, when you finally managed to get yourself to look down again, it was because you had in fact gotten shot. “Oh...”

He got you.

“Oh, shit.”

There was this hurried voice that bounced through the walls. Your head attempted to snap up like it had previously done, but this time it was just unsteady. Almost like it was moving in points.  

By the next blink, that practically didn’t even feel like one, another man had made his way round the corner. He also had a gun raised... but, it seemed different.

His general stance, the way he carried the weapon, the expression on his face even if you could only see half of it. It was clear that he had a lot more experience than the last guy. 

They weren’t from the same group. 

The man lowered himself onto one knee beside the body, head still raised cautiously to make sure to keep full awareness of his surroundings while he searched over any pockets he could see. 

And then he stilled. 

You didn’t have to move, or even make a sound, for this guy to spot you.

Within about a millisecond the man had the gun right back in his hands in a way that had you immediately raising your own despite the pins and needles that ached through your muscles.

The world around you was starting to spin, making it more difficult to pay attention to the mans movements. “Don’t... Don’t kill.” Your lips were heavy, the ability to even part them becoming some kind of workout. 

And then, like someone just flicked a switch, it was like all the strength and power in your body decided to dissipate at once. 

For the second time now, you fell. Though, in this instance, it was your back that collided with ground in a way that had your head smacking into the concrete path right afterwards. 

Every inch of your skin felt hot, yet cold at the same time. You were trying to move, wanting nothing more than to get back up and go home. Just curl up in bed and forget this ever happened.

But the ability to even budge a limb had faded from your brain until you couldn’t even feel if your arms were lifted in the air or not.

So, you just laid there, eyes staring blankly up at the sky while your eyelids acted like they had forgotten their main function. “Hey!” 

And right before you gave into that nagging want for them to close, something blocked whatever view you had left, “Kid? Hey, kid, are you... Oh, no-- Kid, can you hear me?” 

You could feel hands on your arms, and soon, one had pressed onto the wound in a way that urged a gurgling sound from your throat. 

“Kid!”

~~~

It took your brain a significant amount of time to realise that you had awoken when the time eventually came. 

The sensations within your body were either mild or piercingly intense. There was no in between. 

Every muscle in your face was rigid, aching in a way that made the want to move diminish within seconds. You were trying to blink, your eyelids remaining heavy and ignorant no matter how many attempts were made. 

It hurt to breathe. Any movement within your torso would stretch the skin closest to your armpit and immediately sent a crackle of fire spreading through it like a shock of electricity. 

Your muscles flinched, almost spasming, as you slowly reached back, trying to grip onto some part of whatever lay beneath you so that you could push yourself up.

There was no attention aimed at any sound that spilt through your lips and it was only when a harsh pain erupted, engulfing your shoulder, that you had realised how loudly a sort of strained yelp had burst from your throat. 

You fell back onto the pillow, the agony in your body burning so hot that it had you light headed.

If it wasn’t for your current state the sudden echo of quick footsteps would’ve registered a lot faster through your ears, and in your mind. 

There was words passing across the air, some may have been aimed at you for a response, but this was the first time you had fully managed to open your eyes since you had actually woken up.

Your head slowly turned as voices continued to echo, muffled no matter how many times it rung in your ears, until your right cheek met with the pillowcase. Your eyes cast through a metal wall, more so the frame of one, which looked as if it previously had some sort of murky glass within.

The place was massive. 

This dim lightly spread throughout most sections as the source above couldn’t reflect on any surface due to the fact that everything around was either a form of black or a gloomy grey. The lights themselves were also the kind of ones that aimed straight down, meaning that it would only cover what was directly beneath. 

“Hey.”

In the centre of the main area was this sort of ring. There was a walkway that cut through the middle so that people could get from one side to the other, and on either side were desks that followed the rim, a plethora of monitors and electronic devices cluttering the surface. 

Some you hadn’t even seen before.

“Hey, uh, kid?”

Your head snapped back into its previous position in a speed that felt like it shook your brain. You squeezes your eyes shut for a good minute before they opened again. 

And after blinking a few times, your vision came back into focus. 

There was this dude stood to your side. He was tall, slim in width with curled mid length hair and a beard that wasn’t connected to the moustache covering his lip.

“Oh, yeah-- Must be pretty disorienting to wake up in a place like this.” The way he sounded matched almost exactly like you had guessed. It was nice. Not harsh and not too soft. 

He held your gaze in such a way that made it seem as if he could see right through you, even taking a slight step back when he noticed how wide and cautious your eyes were set on him, “It might take some time for you to believe us, but I assure you that we don’t want to harm you. You’re all good... Well, I mean, apart-- apart from your injuries.”

“Generally, you’re good-- Or like... Yeah.” 

Your hand lifted from where it had previously flopped and you reached it to your left shoulder, slow and steady. 

Your fingers travelled lower, gliding across the exposed skin before it reached the edge of tank top arm slot. Your movements halted in the space between the end of your shoulder bone and the beginning of your chest. 

Finally, you realised where the source of pain was coming from.

Somehow, the shot taken at you had landed right above your first rib. And from the uncomfortable feeling, constantly there, from what you were guessing was another bandage on your back. It had gone all the way through. 

The dude that had been previously talking cleared his throat after a moment. He was sort of shifting the weight back and forth from one foot to another, unsure of what to do or say which then ended up with him looking away. 

Your attention landed back on him, your arm happily moving back to lay by your side. Though, your eyebrows then furrowed, realising that the guys eyes had settled on something, and it even looked like he was asking a question.

So, after allowing yourself to give into your curiosity, you followed the direction he was looking in. 

You almost jumped out of your skin.

There, leaning against the thing you could barely call a wall, to your right was a guy stood perfectly still with his arms tight across his chest. 

It was that man from earlier. The one that found you. Saved you?

His eyes were already on your own which left the questioning gaze from the other dude unanswered. At first the muscles in his face were visibly tense, crinkled eyebrows, slightly narrowed gaze, jaw clenched tightly. 

And then you looked at him. 

In an instant it was like everything taking over his features eased. He raised his head a single time before it lowered back to where it was usually held. A greeting. 

“I’ll bet your hungry, huh?”

Your attention snapped back to the other dude once again to find that there was this gentle smile pressing into his lips once your eyes met his. 

The question circled round your mind for a good few seconds before it fully processed. It had you thinking, a silence falling within the little room while the hum of electricity barely caught your ears. 

In all honesty hunger had been the last thing on your mind. To solve the sudden mystery was even more difficult since you couldn’t even remember the last thing that passed through your body, other than a bullet. 

Though, right before you could even try to figure out the wanted response was to be, it seemed like your stomach decided to do it for you as it suddenly rumbled through the quiet. 

It may have not exactly sounded like some kind of missile, but considering the building was very echoey and your lack of answer had created a pause within the people stood in the room, it was louder than any other sound at that moment. You were horrified.

The man with his arms crossed dared to huff a quiet laugh through his nose and before you could even send him a look, or give any sort of reaction for that matter, the other guy took a step back with this expression on his face.

He was practically beaming as he clasped his hands together, “Good answer.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed once again, gaze now following the man as he moved round of what you now realised was a cot underneath you and out through the doorway a moment later.

You were going to attempt to continue watching him, wanting to know where he was walking despite the context clues, but after trying to look through the empty frames in the wall, the figure of the quiet dude blocked your view.

And for the first times since your initial meeting, if you could even call it that, your eyes properly took him in. 

Regardless of the position of his spine from the leaned pose, his posture was sharp. Straight like he had to practice it many times. He was tall too, though a little shorter than the other guy. 

The hair on his head looked like it was just growing out from being shaved, the sides a lot shorter than the top. It looked like a marine cut. 

Admittedly, he could’ve done his hair that way cause he simply wanted to. But you saw him earlier. 

He knew the ins and outs, every little detail, of the gun he held strong in his arms. You saw his stance, one that could more commonly only be from having to do it 24/7. 

And where was the most known place where you had to stand at attention almost every day?

Any item of clothing that covered his body was full black, including the shoes and his belt, which was a drastic contrast to any skin that was exposed. It also meant that you could spot any cut or bruise he had very easily. 

There was a good few on his face. Some had become scabs already, looking like they had been there for some time, while others almost looked fresh. The most noticeable appeared like it followed his cheekbone. 

Your eyes immediately snapped away upon realised that you had been looking at him for so long that he had in fact noticed it. I mean, there wasn’t really anything else to occupy his mind. 

You tried to shift your body against the cot, a mixture of wanting to distract yourself and a test to see how much you could move without it hurting. 

But either way, it was hard to do anything without being able to properly use a side of your body.

So, ultimately, you were stuck. Trapped under a blanket which forced you to lay flat on your back, against something that you wished had the same feeling as your bed, while sounds started to echo from what you were guessing was the kitchen. 

“Hey, kid.”

The voice that hit your ears was a lot gruffer than expected, gravelly enough that it almost sounded like it was hurting his throat. The way the words passed through his lips were clear, but also hushed as if he was trying not to be loud for an unknown benefit. “What were you doing out there, hmm?” 

With his stance, you half expected that whatever he wanted to say was going to come out harsh. That he was going to yell and tell you off for something. But he didn’t. He was... actually concerned?

“It’s a decent walk from the store you went to.” he then added on, and now that seemed to get your attention. 

Your head rolled to the side, narrowed gaze finding him with a newfound cautiousness. 

The man in turn must’ve realised the suspicion his wording caused, so he simply gestured to the side with his head, “I got your bag.”

Sure enough, as you moved your lower against the pillow, it was in fact there. The first familiar thing you had seen all day was sat on the ground beside the guy. It may have had some slight rips, some of the material had even been scuffed enough that it was visible. 

But it was there. Zipped up and everything.

Your favourite backpack.

Despite your distance, the bag looked plump with some of the contents clearly poking against the sides of it. All of the items were still in it. Hell, even the water bottle was back in the same side pocket you always put it in.

“We couldn’t find your name in the system,” the man spoke again, and honestly you had forgotten that he was there regardless of the fact that he stood next to where you eyes were aimed. “Did your parents know where you were?”

You looked at him within seconds of the question catching your ears and that dread from earlier began to pool at the bottom of your stomach all over again. 

I mean, you should’ve expected the question at some point.

It was common for you to forget that other people could look at you and see a child, ask the whole ‘where are you parents’ when you had to buy stuff that apparently didn’t seem normal for a child to get, even if it was just household items. 

You will never forget the time you tried to buy scissors. 

But the question still stung. It would make all of the memories of countless things flood right back until it was fresh in your mind, creating a wave of nostalgia that you hated at this point. 

Your head slowly rolled back to its previous position, your gaze now cast up at the rotting, grey ceiling while a deep breath seeped through your nose. Your body practically deflated when it went back out. 

Like before, you didn’t need to say anything for the guy to understand the situation.

Obviously, from your position, you couldn’t clearly see him as anything more than a blurred blob from the corner of your eye, but he had sort of loosened his crossed arms. Was the look of loss that clear on you?

How could he even notice it that quick?

Your body almost jolted when he cleared his throat and pain shot through your shoulder that had you biting back a grunt.

“Listen, we’re not-- We’re not going to hurt you... all right?” His tone was different this time. Lighter in a way that reduced the grumble of his voice, even if it didn’t sound unpleasant. “You’ve been here for a few days so that the, uh, big guy could fix up your shoulder.”

“That’s all.”

From the feeling of his gaze aimed in your direction, you could tell that he was doing what you had done, except he was more so trying to analyse your movement no matter how miniscule. 

It made you nervous enough that your mind was trying to zone in on the sounds coming from the kitchen, fiddling with the fabric of the blanket. But that just meant that a silence had started to layer. 

“Can you speak?”

Your body stiffened within a matter of seconds. 

At this point there was no reason for you to remain quiet. It was unclear as to why it had even been done in the first place. Was it to conceal your voice? Hide your identity? 

Even then, they had already ready seen your face and might possibly have looked through your backpack. The things they’ve could’ve known about you were unknown.

Maybe it was that thing you were told as a kid that kept you holding your tongue. You know, the whole stranger danger thing? Do not interact with people that you don’t know unless absolutely necessary. 

People seemed to get stuck on specific moments in the past regardless of it directly links to a moment of stress, or trauma, if you remembered correctly what that article said. Maybe that was your thing?

Your contemplative eyes flickered over the ceiling above for another moment before they finally made the decision to move, and so did your head. Once again, it rolled to the side until your right cheek touched the pillow.

You met his eyes. His gaze anything but harsh no matter how long a silence remained.

This guys wasn’t strange. 

I mean, the concept of waking up in some massive building that you didn’t recognise with two other dudes that you had never met before was in fact a little, sure.

But there was no reason given beyond that as to why you should fear either of them. Be scared of them. 

After all the dude talking to you had in fact saved your life.

You sniffed, that same feeling of nervousness making a comeback the longer the eye contact was held. It had you needing to look away for a few seconds before your eyes went right back. You stiffly nodded your head. 

The man straightened his back against the metal, his spine probably tired of the frame digging into it. His gaze sort of narrowed for a moment. Maybe a few questions sprung into his mind? Maybe he was judging you, or needed to sneeze? Who knows.

“You just won’t.” He nodded his head once, the look in his eyes switching to something unreadable as he got the message despite the lack of words, “That’s... No. No, I get it.”

“Well, I’m Frank. Uh,” he began, dragging out the last sound for a little bit as he tried to locate something through the wall behind you, “Dude in the kitchens name is David. I usually call him Lieberman, that’s... It’s his last name-- He’s the big guy I was talking about. Dude who fixed up your arm.”

“I tried to help too, but, uh... Not exactly my field of expertise.” 

You were about to figure out some kind of gesture to make in response so that you wouldn’t leave him hanging again. And had even started to move your arm. 

But then that name cycled through your head once more. 

Frank... Castle. 

Frank Castle.

It seemed that the cogs had made their final turn once again. His face found their link to certain memories in your mind.

Holy shit. 

He was the guy on the news a while back. The dude had been deemed a vigilante as he had been running around and killing bad people-- Well, it was practically only you and a few other people that thought they were the bad guys.

Either way, after that trial thing, the man that was currently stood to the side of you had supposedly died. Killed in an explosion on some kind of boat, if you remembered correctly.

I mean, it could be that you were the one who died and this was just what came after. And honestly if you were still as delirious as you were before it might have been believable, but that pulsing burning in your shoulder said otherwise. 

So, it was true. He really was here in the flesh, and all in one piece. 

Frank Castle was alive. 

Your expression, and maybe how intensely you had been staring at him, must’ve given away your thought pattern as he sort of tilted his head when he noticed the shift in your eyes, “You know me?” This time your gaze remained unfleeting in the line of attention. 

Frank didn’t seem at all worried about the realisation of his identity. In fact the only change in his expression was done to display his curiosity to the new information. 

Sure, worst comes to worst, he has the upper hand at this moment and it would probably be the same at any other. He could do whatever he needs to do to make sure that you wouldn’t blab before you blinked even once. 

But from his worn out state, and the way he interacted with you, it was visible that he wasn’t going to do that. He must’ve been fighting for quite some time before he had stumbled upon you. 

Why the hell was he even there? Out in the open in a place like that?

Who were those other guys?

Regardless of the want to let your mind flow down that rabbit hole, you were fronted with your previous realisation as your eyes actually focused on Frank again.

You were right. Frank  Castle wasn’t the bad guy.

Without paying attention to it, there seemed to be this smile that began to curl at the corners of your mouth. You moved your head began to move back to its your previous position, your eyes wanting to find the discoloured ceiling to zone out on in a way that further made you forget about your pain--

Shoes suddenly scuffed against the hard ground in a way that stilled all over your movements. Your gaze flickered to whatever had joined you in the room as apparently you had missed the approaching footstep.

It was David, the height difference between the two guys now a lot clearer as he had stopped beside the man whose arms were yet to uncross. “Can you hold this for a second?” Until now. 

Frank sort of looked at the man for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again before he complied to the request. And the moment the plate had been taken into his hands, David moved as if on autopilot. “All right,”

He wound round the foot of your cot, taking back the same position he stood in when you woke up, “Gonna need to sit up so you can actually digest this shit.”

He felt a little bad when he saw the look on your face, though he remained still while you prepared yourself, starting to fidget with his hands. He didn’t want to touch you without permission, but it appeared that your eyes were already closed.

You slowly but surely moved the arm of your injured shoulder to sling across your torso, hoping the position would stop it from moving about too much. And then you braced yourself, awaiting whatever sensations were about to come. 

By the time a hand had been placed on your body, your teeth were already gritted. One was placed on your back, a way to properly bring guide you into the needed position, while the other gently cupped the back of your head so that everything would move in unison. 

“Deep breath.”

The pain was immediate. It was such a thing that purely seared up a side of your body. Engulfed everything in its path.

It was impossible to see from your closed eyes, but there was a reaction from the man stood to the side when a slight whine escaped your throat. He had stepped forward, looking as if he was about to reach out if he didn’t have something in one of his hands. 

It was thoughtless. A movement that he had undone the moment he had realised by pressing back against the wall. But it happened nonetheless. 

David was muttering stuff of assurance, many forms of sentences letting lose into the air. You couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t catch onto a singular word. 

All you could think about was the pain. How stupid it was that you made the decision to take that route. How you didn’t run back the way you came after that first shot. Or how you didn’t even end up trying run until it was too late. 

Your legs bent at the knees the more your torso raised, as if trying to protect it of something, which slightly kicked up your blanket and made the heels of your feet dig into the cot below. “There you go, there you go!”

It was like a ripping of a band aid. 

At first, it was the stage of holding onto the edge, trying to hype yourself to get it over and done with. And then it was off. It may give a twinge of pain that lingered more than wanted, but overall the act had been complete.

“Right on, that’s you done.”

And so had yours. 

The biggest breath of relief huffed out of your mouth in a way that had David wanting to lightly pat your back, but it could accidently hurt you. So, instead, he resorted to turning his attention Frank, hurriedly gesturing towards the thing he held.

The man in question seemed to shake his head as if trying stifle his amusement, though he took a step forward to hand over the plate either way.

And then, by the next time you had blinked, it was held out in your direction. You just looked at it for a moment. 

It was a sandwich. One that may have been made with the most simple ingredients, and was probably the exact replica of what you would picture in your head upon hearing the name, but for some reason your whole body yearned for it. 

The plate was in your hands within seconds.

David took a step back, a slight smile reappearing on his lips at the progress. He gestured to the plate you held in the same position and then towards your mouth, seeming like he couldn’t get himself to stand still, “Eat up.”

You were. 

Oh, a thousand percent, you were getting ready to chow down on something, since the last time solid food had been eaten was probably the day you had gotten shot. And even then, you had no clue as to when that was.

However, right as you were about to bring the plate onto your lap, grab onto the sandwich and consume it with the upmost excitement... You paused. Stopped right in your tracks. Eating by yourself felt a little weird.

You looked back at David. 

It took him a moment to realise that your eyes were on him again. But when he did, he sort of rocked on his feet. His eyebrows furrowed as he sent a look towards Frank, “What, um... Is it-- Is it bad, or something?”

There was a mixture of confusion and almost offence tugging at certain features and it had your head shaking immediately.

Within the next minute, it was almost like a game of charades as you attempted to relay the words in your mind. 

The plate remained in the hand it did before. You bent your left arm at the elbow, trying to avoid any movement that would attack the area surrounding your wound, and you gestured. 

The first time you pointed your index finger at him and then at the plate, but he merely blinked. So, you then did it in reverse, directing the line of attention to the plate and then him. 

Frank even seemed confused as he watched with narrowed eyes, apparently unable to deduced the situation himself which still left David with nothing. “Kid, I don’t... I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, are you-- are you allergic to something?” 

“Are you asking me what’s in it? If I made it, what--”

Biting back the biggest sigh of your life, and in the fastest way that you could in that moment, you restored to just holding out the whole plate towards him. Even repeated the previous gesture one final time to make your point. 

“Oh,” David dragged out the sound as he began to nod. Finally, he understood, “Yeah, man, I’m boutta make my own.”

He remained for only a moment more, watching as your plate slowly lowered to your lap so that it wouldn’t drop. And then he started walking again, moving back around the edge of the cot before making his way through the doorway.

Franks eyes were already on your own by the time your head turned in his direction, as if he expected it to happen. 

This time without accompanying the movement with gestures, you simply held out the plated food towards him. Franks head shook instantly, he even waved a hand, “It’s for you, kid. Need to get that strength back.” 

His eyes directed towards the kitchen almost immediately after. He was either counting on David possibly making him one or waiting for him to leave the kitchen so that he could do it himself.

Thing is though, he only gave you a reason as to why you should keep the sandwich held for yourself.

He didn’t say no. 

The plate was brought back to your legs, flat against your thighs, and then you began looking around. Your eyes scanned across any close surface for something that could be used as a cloth, something to wipe your hands with, but there was no luck. 

You resorted to just scrubbing your palms, and more importantly your finger tips, against the cleanest clothing you had under the blanket. And then you grabbed the sandwich. 

Despite what Frank thought was going to happen by the time his attention was once again redirected towards you, when the sandwich was held horizontally in your grasp, instead of bring it to your mouth and taking a bite. You began... pulling at it each side? 

It started to rip.

“What are you doing?” he questioned pretty much immediately, his face and voice both riddle with confusion. And maybe even a little disturbance. But that didn’t stop your movements at all. 

In fact the only time you had stopped was when the entire thing had been torn through the middle, completely halved. However, even after that, you reached for one of the parts. You took it from the plate, stuffing it into the hand of your unmoving arm.

And then you held out the plate all over again to the man with very furrowed eyebrows. 

He just looked at the poorly halved sandwich for a moment, a part of it being more of the contents that the bread, and then his eyes found yours. There was an unreadable expression within them.

When he still didn’t take it, and due to the fact that your arm was starting to get tired, you redid your act of holding it out towards him. 

And this time he couldn’t withhold a response. 

Frank scoffed, shaking his head in the same amusement from earlier while he stared at the plate calling his name, “You’re very persistent, aren’t ya.” 

Despite his point still standing, the consistent want for you to get the nutrients needed to fully recover, it was like he couldn’t say no to you. At least to your face. So. Frank took the plate.

The next few minutes were spent by the two of you choosing the perfect side of the sandwich and then going to town, chowing down on it like it was the first one either of you had ever had. 

And man, that David could sure make a meal, even if it was just slapping ingredients between slices of bread.

“Damn!”

Seemed like someone else agreed with you.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing all this time, huh, Lieberman? Cookin’” Franks words were incredibly muffled despite his constant chewing, but either way the sound still echoed. A laugh soon followed while something poured, “What else would I do, man? Wasn’t just gonna do nothing.”

“Well, you can add cooking to your... I don’t know, list of talents or something.” Every time that man spoke, his head lowered right back down so that he could see the plate, taking another massive bite that you were just waiting for him to start choke on.

“Why did you... Why did you say it like that?” David's voice was more monotonous than usual, either playing fake offence or he was too preoccupied with arranging the order of his sandwich ingredients. 

You took another bite, a piece of lettuce almost falling onto the blanket without you knowing. Frank turned towards the kitchen again, speaking midway through putting a part of the sandwich in his mouth, “Like what?” A plethora of crumbs fell onto the plate in a way that made your nose crinkle.

“Like... Are you lying to me? Lying isn’t very nice, Frank.” 

“Nah, come on, man, I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t say that If I didn’t mean it, you know that-- You could put these in a-- a--  a sandwich shop--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” David practically grumbled at this point, placing down what sounded like a butter knife on the counter before he sniffed, “That at least mean that our little friend likes it too?”

Frank turned to you, placing the little chunk of sandwich he had left onto his plate before he rubbed the fingers that touched it together. 

You swallowed down your bites, the act proving to be a little harder to from the lack of eating solid food, and noted the fact that he was awaiting some form of answer to relay to David. 

Your sandwich was finished by now. It wasn’t a contest but it was almost wild how fast it had been consumed. And now you sat there, wiping your hand against your trousers while attempting to get any food stuck between your teeth. 

And then you cleared your throat, your nose scrunching for a second when the action ended up shaking your chest a little too much, “Y/n.”

Frank had turned his towards the kitchen moments prior. He had parted his lips, even slightly leaned back against the wall to get a proper view of the man awaiting an answer through the empty frames. 

Now his head snapped in your direction, eyebrows raising more than you had even seen, “What was that?”

You may have made the ultimate decision to use your voice in the first place, however, having that gaze of his on you once again caused this overwhelming feeling to surge through your body. 

Your spine had straightened, this time managing to ignore the shock of pain that hit your system, while your eyes widened just a smidge.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

The echo of David's voice had caused you to turn to where he stood in the kitchen, still busied with making another one of his masterpieces. It was something done half out of anxiousness and just wanting to distract yourself.

And then it made you think.

Surrounding you was this big, more empty than full, abandoned building. The only other people there was Frank, a man who was supposed to be dead, and David... who you presumed was also most likely to be the same due to their team up. 

If they were going to kill you, or hurt you, they would have done so already. 

But even then, when you woke up this morning you hadn’t been restrained or anything. There was nothing keeping you there other than the fact that they wanted to treat your wounds. 

A deep breath filtered through your nose as your eyes slowly met with Franks again. 

His expression was practically the same as it was before you had looked away, giving you a patience no one ever had. The gaze he held was warm. Encouraging. 

Thus, you swallowed once again.

“My... name.” Your voice was hoarse from waking up not that long ago, but also from it’s lack of use. There was always this feeling in your throat as if something was stuck in it, and you coughed, the urge to squeeze your eyes shut presenting itself yet again when it shifted your shoulder.

But you composed yourself, sucking in another breath and rubbing your hands against your legs while David was still left with no answer, “It’s Y/n.”

Franks head had already been nodding before you had finished saying your set of words. He pursed his lips, finally swallowing down the bite he had previously taken.

Frank sniffed, turning his head towards the kitchen yet again. Though this time it seemed like he did so to conceal the change of his facial expression more than to get David's attention. “You hear that, Lieberman?”

Regardless of his attempts to hide his reaction, the smile was clear on his lips. Such a one that it had even reached the skin around his eyes as they started to crinkle.

He looked back at you. There was this emotion on his face that remained unchanging. It seemed like a fondness, but at the same time he almost looked... proud?

“Y/n likes it.”

[angel-hawthorne]

No, you're seeing the consequences of adults actively choosing to hit children. Every damn time someone bitches and moans about people not being "disciplined", they're quick to blame those who don’t spank for a laundry list of societal ills. Their genius idea is to hit kids even more instead of addressing the root problems. A lot of these youngsters have received a "good ol fashioned beating" once or more than that, and it still didn't do anything.

"I'm not saying you should abuse [children], but..." stop right there, that's exactly what you're suggesting. What exactly do you mean by proper discipline? Or as this person ever so wonderfully puts it "good ol slap on the wrist"? Ah, it's occasionally hitting the young when they say or do things that offends your fragile sensibilities. Adults in positions of power often get away with pulling all manner of fuckshit stunts under the guise of “discipline”. At this point, y'all sound no different from the domineering religious men who think hitting their wives will make them behave aka "Christian Domestic Discipline". Y'all didn't turn out fine at all. Just grew up to be violent bullies and/or enablers.

You hit them once, and it makes you, the adult, feel powerful. Getting that temporary feel-good rush of being in control. That's all it ever does - grant temporary compliance and relief. What will you do then if that one time with the initial amount of physical force doesn't work? Amp up the dosage (pain intensity) until you achieve that same feel-good high? If that keeps up, then these consequences will result: child goes no contact in the future, end up with a # of mental health issues, the child dies from their injuries (or removed from custody if they survive), and the caregiver gets slapped with legal repercussions. No pun intended. In extreme cases, the child will kill their parents/guardians for their own safety when there's no other alternatives.

Funny how it’s only the adults who care about splitting hairs over differences. A child’s brain doesn’t know, nor does it give a shit about “differences” you adults arbitrate. Their brains don’t stop to think “it’s only a smacking, so turn off your fight/flight/fawn/freeze response and halt the cortisol production”.

"Let me tell you, we only did it once." I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but your sample size of 1 anecdote does not trump decades worth of empirical evidence. Correlation doesn't imply causation. Plenty of children got that "one time deal", and they learned to repeat the same behaviors without getting caught. Last time I checked, discipline isn't something you DO to people. Just because you were raised to believe that assault is okay, doesn't mean others feel the same way. I'd recommend looking up survivorship bias and appeal to tradition fallacy.

This non-parent thanks you for coming to my Parenting Opinion Ted Talk.

[verdemoun]

Do any of the gang members find out that they have any disorders/mental illnesses/etc. once they get timewarped and if so what are their reactions? Ranging from “oh, I though that was normal” to “NUH UH!”

timewarp was founded on the gang realising they have ptsd and kieran's autism being more obvious and worse in timewarp. but in detail

kieran is autistic

sean might have adhd but he doesn't actually have hyperactivity as a symptom. plot twist he just has that erratic trauma avoiding energy. it is a lot more masking severe c-ptsd and imposter syndrome that is his behind his exaggerated happy personality. see reform school lore

arthur is one of the few diagnosed he definitely had an acquired brain injury which while a physical injury manifests with mostly neurological symptoms. sometimes he gets confused or irritated for seemingly no reason, and this has been a thing since long before timewarp. the gang move on from joking about how dumb he is he does have an intellectual disability as part of his ABI. his response was very "oh I thought that was normal" and "bah i ain't need help".

the gang have subconsciously been aware of this long before they had the medical knowledge to understand it and are all pretty used to quickly explaining things or reminding arthur of stuff he forgets. lowkey consider this canon ever notice how the gang talk to arthur sometimes not entirely condescending but explaining things on his level eg sean being the one to point out the grays will definitely recognise him and he should hide in the wagon, grimshaw almost playfully reminding a grown man to wash because he straight up forgets, gentle reminders of what they're doing through heists even beyond game mechanics a lot of heist cut scenes are super repetitive like charles very much breaking down we're blowing a hole in the bank. take the spool and connect it to the detonator. the detonator is over there. it just feels like they know arthur isn't always entirely there and are v supportive. arthur is so curious and asks so many questions and the gang just roll with it and answer most of the time it feels so kind and positive.

arthur also definitely has adhd. hyper-fixates on new interesting thing for a month and then completely forgets everything he ever learned about it

almost the entire gang acknowledge they have ptsd/c-ptsd and varying levels of trauma as a response their lives/childhoods/relationships with parents/being a VDL. acknowledging it doesn't mean they do anything to move towards recovery because they are still mostly men raised with 19th century values who hang shit on each other for flinching at loud noises or being 'is someone shooting at us' alert

lenny and isaac as the most aware begging their friends/family to take their mental health seriously and are constantly met with 'lmao no' 'that's?? normal?? what do you mean' and 'NUH'. lenny cries 'please this is re-traumatising you are actively upsetting yourselves' while the gang go 'boo grow a pair' despite experiencing varying levels of anxiety attack in response to triggers.

john will only bring up 'hey stop making wolf jokes about me it is Actually a Trigger' to stop the gang bullying him. very genuine trigger and phobia of wolves and wolf-like dogs but still doesn't take it seriously himself

bill has recognized anger management issues and is in therapy. alcoholism is a definite concern. he's also just got a lot of internalised homophobia and complex feelings about the gang and his own childhood to unpack and learn how to articulate and express his feelings in a healthier way. only one of the adult gang who is actively trying to improve his mental health through therapy go king

the d in dsm-5 stands for dutch and he is thriving in in-patient care. not even the doctors know entirely what to diagnose him because he seems to have symptoms of everything but is responding best to medications traditionally used to support bi-polar

special acknowledgement to karen who is very very depressed but is a thriving with anti-depressants because trying to get the gang to go to actual psychologists and therapy is Hell. her and sean send each zoloft memes constantly

[liminalweirdo]

I saw a post recently by a person that had been disabled by Covid, and in the comments someone thanked this person for being so vocal for so long about their Covid injuries. They said this vocalness not only helped them go back to precautions again, but then later when they got Long Covid, they were able to be aware enough that they immediately recognized the similarities between their symptoms and other long hauler’s symptoms and then they have then been able properly advocate for themselves for medical care because of what they learned. _ And while I know majority of the people reading the things that we all say about Covid don’t really give a fuck, I also know that there are other people who are listening and learning as a way to engage in deeper community care. And like this person, there are people who are able to use this education to now be more aware of what is happening with their bodies. Which is something that is often overlooked in the brains of folks who are overworked, stressed, depressed, etc And overlooked to the point that we have people out here actually downplaying the severity of so many people losing primary neurological senses in their bodies to Covid. I don’t know about everyone else but I remember teachers stressing in school the importance of those senses 😅😅😅. _ This body awareness people are gaining from these conversations isn’t something that is only important for Long Covid but this is important for our health overall. One of the biggest issues I see with people in pregnancy/Postpartum in terms of injury/long-term healing. Is that many are not even aware of what is going on with their bodies so then they don’t know what to be mindful of, how to advocate for themselves, what their baseline “normal” is, etc. _ We need to be actively flexing this muscle of body scanning and tapping into how we are truly doing regularly. So it’s lovely to see that our work in these spaces can push folks to do that AND to protect themselves and others. Keep going. ✌🏾

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