#TW: brain damage

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3

-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.

Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.

Steve just stares.

It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.

What the hell…?

Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.

It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.

“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.

“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.

But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.

“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”

Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.

“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.

One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”

Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?

“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”

Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”

Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.

“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.

Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.

And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“

“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”

“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.

“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.

Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.

“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.

That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.

Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.

The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.

Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.

In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.

A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.

Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.

He’s a head trauma patient, now.

It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.

Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.

And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.

He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.

Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.

And then there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.

The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.

It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?

It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.

What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.

It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.

Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.

No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.

And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.

Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.

Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.

The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.

He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.

“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.

Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”

“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.

Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”

Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.

It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.

Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”

The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.

“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”

“Steve, I don’t think—

“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“

“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.

Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.

“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”

Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”

Eddie raises a brow.

Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”

Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”

He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.

“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”

Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”

Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”

Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.

He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.

He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.

“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!

“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”

Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.

[lozheadcanonsandmore]

Logically, I know why we keep getting dialogue prompts with things like "who are you?", "what is this place?", etc - it's an open world game, the whole point is that gamers can do things in different order, or they might have forgotten some details because the game is long....

But I keep thinking, "brain damaged!Link."

I know we like to think Post-Shrine-of-Resurrection-Link is still himself, that his personality is shining through - probably even more now that he doesn't have to put up a front of the Impassive Unshakable Knight Ready To Do His Duty....

But what if he wasn't?

(If you have fanfic recs, please send them my way)

[chaoticharlotte]

Day 3: "bite down on this"

Read it on AO3!

@febuwhump

WAS THAT THE BITE OF '87? (this is not how you're supposed to do this prompt)

Whump Rating: 5/5

==================November 13, 1987==================

Sammy relaxed the moment he heard the jingle of the restaraunt opening. He had heard Withered Foxy rushing the office before the jingle went off. Unfortunately, Steve (he was pretty sure that was Phone Guy’s name; or was it Scott?) had said that he was going to be handling today’s day shift as well, so he was going to be up for over 24 hours. He prepped himself for a long day working security under the pseudonym Jeremy Fitzgerald.

At least he got $20.10 out of his overtime.

==============10:00 AM, Freddy’s Fun Land==============

Sammy groaned as he visited the Prize Corner to talk with Charlie. Only a few people knew the Puppet was possessed; himself, Henry, and another random security guard he couldn’t remember the name of. The two of them had made an agreement that he’d use the music box to indicate he was okay, and if it wound down completely she could come find and help him. He began to regret that system on Night 3, as he couldn’t see the cameras well enough to wind the box with the mask on, but oh well.

“So you’re going to be up ‘til at least 6:00, and you woke up at noon yesterday?”

“Yep. Really wish I’d paid attention to whether I actually needed to come in last night, but oh well. I’d’ve had to deal with the Nightmares last night if I’d stayed home, so it’s not like I could get any sleep anyway.”

“That sucks. Shit, someones coming. Talk to you later!”

Sammy sighed, before continuing on to Kid’s Cove to watch Mangle. He was fairly certain that every animatronic here was possessed at this point, but Mangle had been especially aggressive. Perhaps multiple souls? All of whom hated him? It seemed unlikely, though if he got mistaken for his father...

He was snapped out of his train of thought by Mangle turning on as Kid’s Cove activated. Kids would be coming in soon, so he should leave. Normally he liked kids, but he was normally well rested after sleeping from 6 to noon. Maybe I should switch my schedule to sleeping at noon, so I’m wide awake at night. 

As the kids rushed in to the area, one of them pointed behind him and said “Look mommy, it moves fast!” Sammy whirled around quickly.

Not quickly enough. His dodge backwards as Mangle tried to crush his skull with her mouth got Sammy far enough out of the way to avoid the top of his head being completely removed, but Mangle succeeded in slamming his jaws onto the upper front part of his skull. Suddenly, Sammy was unable to see, and his ears began ringing much harder. No, wait, that wasn’t ringing, that was screaming children. His hand felt a little wet.

==================11:00 AM, Hospital==================

He shouldn’t have left Sammy unsupervised. Now he was in emergency surgery getting his skull stitched back together. The brain damage was irreversible, and Sammy would probably have a completely different personality coming out of surgery. Maybe the anger issues would come back, maybe he would be a completely different person. He’d paid for the surgery of course; he’d have done so even if it was some other employee he had no relation to.

He saw a purple car pull up, and Michael and Charlie got out of it. Well, I guess Michael knows about Charlie now. Charlie rushed into the hospital, Michael following behind at a slower pace because of the light; Nightmare Foxy was able to handle it better than the rest by design, but he still dislike direct sunlight.

“How is he?” Charlie asked.

“The doctors say he’ll likely have a permanent personality change. His frontal lobe was completely destroyed, they say it’s a miracle he stayed conscious with how much blood loss he had.”

“I’m... less certain about the personality change. I’m fairly certain the only thing they use their brain for at this point is automated functions like breathing, they handle their personality with their SOUL at this point to my knowledge.”

A doctor appeared. “We managed a fast stitch of his skull, though we’re not sure how well that will hold. A good chunk of his bone became powder. I hope you’re prepared for lawsuits from many families, Mr. Emily.”

“I expect lawsuits. I don’t know why that malfunction occurred, but it was my responsibility to keep it from harming anybody. I’ll be closing this location. Maybe I’ll reuse the originals in some capacity.”

Michael chose this moment to interrupt. “Would metal guarantee the skull holds? Because I have an old metal bear mask; if you could replace the top part of the skull with the upper half, it is designed to come apart.”

“That would work for reinforcement, but I’d advise speaking to the patient yourself about that idea once he wakes up.”

“Alright, I will.”

About two months later, Sammy was cleared to leave. He would have to enchant the mask to give him eyes, which would be interesting with it riveted to his skull and while he was blind, but he’d enchanted things in worse conditions. This would be comparatively easy.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).

I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense. 

That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it. 

And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit. 

And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims? 

Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.

Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing? 

And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased? 

Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.

He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own. 

Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends. 

Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.

You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust. 

And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.

Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.

Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.

Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: splatter

[sp0o0kylights]

Steves always felt stuck. 

Slightly out of place, like a character that was supposed to be killed off, but was kept alive instead. 

Adrift with no friends and a family thats absent, Steve wastes most his life working a retro video store in a dying mall. 

Nothing feels real. Has felt real, ever since a party he threw in high school got wildly out of hand. 

Until some guy named Eddie shows up.

Eddie, who slaps down a copy of some former major TV show everyone used to binge.

Eddie, with his wild hair and wilder eyes and an outfit that looks like he himself came out of the stupid 80s show.

Eddie, who worms his way into Steves heart, the only bright spark of his day, and who no one else seems to be able to see.

It's easy to ignore at first. Easy for Steve to dismiss the weird looks and quiet questions--especially when Eddie flirts like he does. 

Kisses up Steves neck in the work closet, whispering assurances that they can be quick. 

Its a little harder when his concussions are brought up. His brain damage diagnosis thrown at him.

That it's his fault that girl drowned. It's his fault he sacrificed her to save himself, even if the lack of oxygen is the entire reason he's different now…

Steve is certain Eddies not a hallucination, or some kind of--imaginary friend.

So sure hes furious with it when confronted--until that night. 

When Eddie sits Steve down and informs him no one else can see him because he is from the stupid tv show.

And so is Steve.

In fact it's not a tv show, its reality and Steve is caught in Vecna's evil mindtrap--except his very real brain damage caused things to go a little differently.

Steves trapped apparently, and El has sent Eddie to go get him--and Steve wants so badly to believe it.

That he's not this lonely. 

That this--dull, friendless, family-less life he's barely living, is the fake one. 

Except….

“So how do I wake up then?”

“That's the hard part, Stevie.” Eddie tells him, thumb running soothing little circles on overheated skin. El thinks you need to drown--just like Barb did.” 

[evilvvithin]

BRAIN DAMAGE 1988, dir. frank henenlotter

[frownyalfred]

imagine how smart Bruce would be if he didn't get hit in the head all the time. "Lex Luthor is the smartest man on Earth--" "Tony Stark is--" right but if Bruce is holding his own up there AND he's been playing fast and loose with TBIs for a few years, that ranking is flawed.

[yummycrummy]

me when I fucKIGN GET YOU

[vonxodd]

BRAIN DAMAGE (1988) dir. frank henenlotter

[reallemonmeat]

YABABAINA (POSTAL) (FLASHING LIGHTS AND FAST MOVEMENT WARNING!!)

based on that post of the postal gang on roblox but it wont let me put videos on reblogs bleh

spent the whole day on this

[la-pheacienne]

how are we feeling

[absolutelybatty]

My timeline for Postal if the Dudes are alters as opposed to physically different bodies.

My apologies if any of this is unrealistic for D.i.D. I did some reading online for it, but I'm not a psychologist.

[chrisbangs]

BANG CHAN — S-Class (특) KCON LA (230821)

[audhdnight]

OH MY FUCKING GOD

Seriously this has opened my eyes to something that I honestly feel like I already suspected because there is SUCH an emphasis on “teaching them while they’re young” and not turning them out into the world until they are “past the point of no return” like this is why Christian fundamentalists hate college so much, because at that age people are still capable of reversing the damage (at least, a hell of a lot easier then they are at say, fifty). The prefrontal cortex doesn’t finish developing until around 25, so if an indoctrinated teenager goes to college at 18 and begins to see reality, they are much more likely to leave the church than someone who is sheltered from the world until they’re 30.

(Side rant: This is also why it’s so frustrating to talk to Christian adults who seem to be genuinely incapable of thinking logically. It explains a phenomenon that I noticed a long time ago: when speaking to relatives, I attempted to show them that they didn’t actually agree with, let’s say for the sake of the example, capitalism. I would bring up all their complaints with our current system and demonstrate how each one is a facet of capitalism. I was able to get them to agree to each individual point, but when I tried to put them all together as a whole, the person (usually my grandpa) would revert back to “okay the system is flawed but it still works” even though we just spent an hour discussing how it doesn’t work, actually. They are incapable of putting multiple pieces together and viewing them as one whole.)

I remember so clearly growing up the sermons on Proverbs 22:6 (Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it) and the pastors stirring up panic about public school and colleges stealing our children’s faith and poisoning their minds. I remember how afterwards all the parents exclaimed how their children would never go to college, that this is why they homeschooled, that this was yet another reason why young men should go straight into the work force and young women should immediately get married and become baby making machines. I vividly remember the panic over statistics of how many people leave the faith in college and how it was so much higher than the numbers of essentially any other group.

Fundamentalists worst fear is reality. They do not want their children to have any exposure to any rhetoric besides their own, unless it is presented disingenuously by apologetics teachers. Everything is filtered and twisted and watered down to keep us “safe” from reality.

This is literally how cults operate. Fundamental Christian evangelicalism IS A CULT

This is also why they target vulnerable groups, because like the OP mentions, people who have damage to their prefrontal cortex are much more likely to fall for indoctrination. This is why you see Christian “outreach groups” in homeless shelters and rehabilitation programs and hospitals. This is targeted and it is malicious. Even the “good Christians” who really do want to actually help people are upholding this system that actively harms vulnerable groups.

[sillybun33]

tea party doodle ft @herebecritters ‘s oc Nergal :3