#tw; savior complex

[terrence-silver]

Could I request ❛ you won’t survive long out there. i can protect you. ❜? I feel like there's some potential terry silver manipulation sprinkled within those words. 🫣

---

Collecting people.

It was a hobby, in a sense.

More than that, actually; it was like being an Architect.

Taking a rough slab of marble and chiseling it into something greater than itself.

Having the ultimate authority and say in what it will and can become.

Margaret Spencer he found working at a firm in London as a secretary for what was his overseas business partner at the time, toiling with idiotic, menial tasks far beneath someone her class, capabilities and particular education level, coaxing, or rather pilching her from underneath her boss' nose by making her an infinitely better and more advantageous offer at employment back in Los Angeles, the same way he discovered Milos Dadok in Prague as a hotel concierge, working for cheap change east of the Iron Curtain, with barely any visitors to serve in an old, Bohemian golden lobby of a run down, neglected establishment that mostly stood empty, having seen better times. Snake and Dennis he picked off of the streets after they've brazenly tried to mug him of all people, failing comically, much to his infinite amusement, deciding to keep them around purely on the off chance their antics made him laugh --- and that they did, frequently and several times a day. John himself. That was a friendship he wanted ever since the first time he saw him at basic training and then later, during orientation, on ground, in Vietnam, and the best of friends was precisely what they remained because it was something Terry cultivated, invested into with the greatest of devotions. Even Ponytail, he carried around with him, on his head, fastened to his scalp with an unassuming black hair tie, nobody realizing he was ever there. Nobody but him and John, at this point. Where others saw nothing, he tended to see opportunity. And opportunities? Opportunities were things he never had the habit of passing up on, wanting to be in control of what becomes of the rough, ragged slab of marble under his fingers as he presses down on its hardened, sleek surfaces, leaving behind ever so many dents, fingertips and markings, deciding what shape it'll ultimately take once he's done with it. Deciding if he'll make it or break it. Create a beautiful statue or ram his fist into it, shattering the project into pieces.

Then, there was you.

Homeless.

A typical sight outside of Beverly Hills.

Aimlessly mingling around what was John's dojo for months now, buzzing around the alleyways like a little fly at the mouth of the serpent's nest, often in his sight and crosshairs through the lowered shutters of the interiors of the studio space where he could spy on you accordingly; it was Terry's business. He made it his business. Everything that happened in and around this dojo, in its adjoined streets, neighborhoods, blocks, in the heart of this very city, country, the West coast itself, concerned Terry exclusively, the way the markings lining the palms of his hands concerned him, more so when he occasionally found you casting uncertain, tentative glances at nearby garbage cans dotting the sidewalks akin to so many eyesores, like you were ashamed of yourself, like you were unaccustomed and new to this, carrying collected cardboard, for what he only assumed was for the purpose of rough sleeping down on the concrete; on one occasion, it went as far as him catching you slumming it out by leaning against the inner walls of the Cobra Kai dojo itself after working hours, obscured from view at dawn, knees pushed up against your chest, startled and taking to running the minute you spotted him pulling into the parking lot, his blue Ford intended to give off the airs of working class relatability still enough to startle you into a frightened state of movement, a tinge of satisfaction running through like a current trying to imagine what your reaction would be if you ever ran into him at another part of town, Rolls Royce, Tuxedo, private chauffeur and all. But, this crap you were doing right now wouldn't cut it. You didn't get to utilize his territory like this, it wasn't for free, not without being confronted about it one way or another. So, he ambushes you one morning, coming in even earlier than he had the habit of doing so, two hours before the Larusso twerp had the tendency to show up for his classes in pain, tactically cutting off your usual escape trail tightly and very neatly pushed in between two buildings. You shriek at the sight of him.

He relished the sound.

You wouldn't mind hearing more of it.

-"You won't survive long out there."-

Terry states bluntly, but not unkindly; last thing he wanted now was for you to get a tremendously bad first impression of him, even though you by default pushed his hand by making him come head to head with you the way he did through your incessant running. Luckily for you, he liked to chase. You give him a look, like you knew. Like you knew survival wouldn't be easy out here, but you didn't feel like necessarily vocally agreeing with him. Was it pride? It was pride, wasn't it? It's only once he hands you the lunch he's been hiding behind his back that your eyes widen and you become responsive, eyes shimmering, albeit still overshadowed with carefulness. Not that he couldn't appreciate your raw survival instincts being on display. -"I can protect you."- He offers, once you fidget, stepping forward and reaching for the food being given freely, practically ripping it out of his hand to shove it into your mouth in greedy gulps, undoubtedly, fearing he'd change his mind or that this was some kind of trap, keeping your focused gaze still on him. Once you swallow, you immediately take the first given opportunity to snipe at him, appearing defensive. He chuckles. -"What's it to you, though!? Who are you? Why'd you startle me like that!?"- You demand and he bows his head, ever so slightly, sprinkling in a deliberate aura of something apologetic and respectful for you to spot, making introductions. Weird place to be formal, he understood that much, but it was shocking how far some propriety could go applied at exactly the right time and under the right circumstances. But then again, the back wall of the Cobra Kai dojo, when he really thought about it, was as good of a place as a sparring mat to pay homage. -"I'm Terry Silver. The co-owner of the establishment you're roughing it out around. I own the whole lot."- He explains, softly, watching your demeanor change. Like a slab of marble, you start to take shape, even now. He extends his hand and you never even realize you've already been collected by him as you hesitate to take it.

-"And I can be your good friend."-

Terry promises, meaning every word of it.

[symphonicsoul]

The Unlimited of Light :: Salvation's Savior Complex

So my brain just wants to ramble about my son again and how he is the living embodiment of Salvation. He's the Light half of the Unlimited and he was born to be the hand of Salvation. That is what the Child of White is. I'm not being metaphorical about this when I say this guys. I know I keep saying Kumo is Salvation like it's pretty poetry prose but I'm being literal. The Unlimited are a divided set of two halves and Kumo exists on the side of Salvation.

And he knows it.

He is light, life, love, salvation. He is these things. They become him. They are his essence. They are his core. Kumo is Salvation born to immortal flesh. That is why he has said more than a few times in asks - anything along the lines of "Salvation, my given name."

He means it when he says that. He means it in every single literal sense of the words when he calls himself Salvation and Kaze -> "My brother, Destruction."

I.E. see here ->

He's being literal.

He's being absolutely literal when he says this and I just wanted to clear that up for anyone who thought he was just trying to paint pictures with pretty words.

Kumo was raised in a situation that he was told from the very beginning of his life, for his whole life, that he was the Child of Salvation and it was literal job to save his people from some sort of calamity. He was told his whole life it was his job to save those around him and it was drilled into his head to do so by any means necessary. So because of this Kumo developed a Savior Complex and a Disposability Complex because he was taught from an extremely young age that the only way to truly save those around him was to sacrifice himself in order to do so.

This is why Kumo's death count is so high. Once he realized he was immortal, all bets were off and he could truly throw himself on the fire to save because his life "didn't matter" - he'll always revive. He's traded and bartered his own life away in the exchange for the safety of others more times than I care to count and quite frankly more times than he cares to count. He does it without thinking. He does it as quickly as he draws breath. He'll throw himself on the fire to save those around him without flinching.

So this leads into the whole point of my ramble here.

Kumo's got massive trauma from this part of himself. All of the deaths, and the belief that his life is insignificant in the face of the greater good. The belief that he was only born to die in the name of saving and protecting those around him. This is where Kumo doing the work comes into play.

Because the thing he needs to realize and come to terms with, is the greatest thing he can do is save himself. He needs to do the work. He needs to step up. He needs to clean up his messes. He needs to redeem himself, if not for Wonderland, but for himself. Kumo needs to destroy the idea he was taught all his life that he has to die to save. Kumo needs to destroy everything he was raised to believe about his own life only having one purpose so he can save himself.

Kumo needs to save himself so he can save others through his love and grace. Kumo can save and protect the universe around him in so many other ways and he doesn't have to die to do it. He just needs to destroy the belief that he does. He needs to destroy the idea that he will always come second and that everything else comes before he does, because once he does then he can properly assume the throne to lead this world of scattered people properly. He can finally save the worlds around him by prioritizing himself.

Kumo has every single making of a proper, fair and just King. His problem right now is his lacking self confidence and his obsessive Savior Complex that tells him self sacrifice is the only way.

Kumo is salvation but he needs to destroy himself to save himself first.