#I usually struggle a lot with my markers but this time they behaved

[decaffeinatedespresso]

First day of pissa/deathduo week

I hope I didn’t go too overboard lol

#traditional art #qsmp #qsmp art #qsmp fanart #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #qsmp pissa #pissa #pissa fanart #qsmp death duo #deathduo #pissa/deathduo week #this turned out so good I’m so happy AAAAAAAAAA— #the lighting makes it look a little bit lighter than it’s supposed to #I usually struggle a lot with my markers but this time they behaved #I’m going to celebrate in my corner for this small victory

[the-fiction-witch]

I Love When You’re Horny

MOVIE: ORBIT EVER AFTER COUPLE: NIGEL X READER RATING: KINKY SMUT

I smiled as I heard the airlock on our hovel

"Y/n! I'm home my beautiful girly" he calls

"In the bedroom" I called as I got sat as I want to and a few seconds later he opened the door and was taken aback slightly by the room, the candles, the fancy bed sheet, and all the other such things I had prepared "hi"

"Hi… something. Something going on?' he asked, a little confused, I smiled and innocently shrugged "has somebody missed me?" He smirked, coming closer "is… somebody horny?' he smirked now standing at the foot of our bed

I smiled wickedly and pressed my head against his chest cuddling him close he smiled and wrapped his arms around me too "yes master"

''ooh… hummm does someone want her master?"

"Maybe"

"Yes or no princess?"

"Yes master"

'that's a good girl '' he smirked while playing with my hair "well, we can't tonight princess far too close to… that time. I don't wanna make my princess pregnant"

"But nigel"

"Are you really that desperate for me?"

"Yes master"

"Alright. But then we do it my way, '' he smirked. "Take that dress off, I want you naked On your stomach. Or I'll spank that ass raw" he warns

"Yes master" I giggled slipping my dress odd and he watched my every move until I was naked he bit his lip hard look at my naked body, I went to touch his belt but he pushed me back

"Bad girl. Lay down, or I'll make that ass bright red for the next week" he warns getting his own clothes off so I did as I was told laying in the bed on my stomach and his hands grabbed my hips pushing my knees up so I was bent over down our bed for him "you look so good princess. Such a shame your such a slutty girl" he smirked slapping my ass hard

"Nigel!" I complained

" If you behaved master wouldn't have to spank his princess," he smirked, kissing my back "well as much. I can't help myself sometimes" he smirked

"What is it you ask of me tonight master?"

"Hummm I wanna watch" he growled, his hand left me for a moment and I saw him getting into the box I had already laid out. He handcuffed my ankles and tied my wrists together giving my lips a little kiss when he did my hands up "quiet. I know how noisy you can get" he smirked wrapping a gap around my mouth he moved behind me again and instantly I heard the familiar sound of vibration, at first he circled the toy around my clit and my entrance making sure I was wet, next he pushed in my usual you one we made that felt exactly like nigel he pushed it as deep inside me as it could go and turned it in high, I struggled against my restraints biting hard on the gag trying not to scream already even if I whined a lot "awww what's wrong? Ohh princess wanted master did she? Well you've been far to naughty for real master, so you just get your toy and I want you to hold it, no dropping it, you do" he warns "Humm…. I'll make you sit on your evil toy for the rest of tonight" he growled he got something else from the box making me even more excited "let's have this one this one's always such a joy to watch" he smirked nuzzling a little toy directly on my clit he used something I wasn't sure it might have been soft rope of possibly tape to secure the toy to me and it's control box to my thigh, "ummmm I wanna watch you scream so bad princess. But… There are some other places that need filling" he smirked, slapping my ass hard then pushing my cheeks as apart as they would go "umm clean. Somebody really is horny tonight" he smirked "do we need some extra or are you dripping enough already" he smirked pulling the toy out of me a moment "not quite enough. Not yet anyway" he smirked forcing it back in it took a minute of high-tension and anticipation before he pushed the usual toy deep into me having lubed it for me and turning it on to vibrate making me grip the bed tightly "fuck you look so good princess" he growled "let's see how you do so far" he smirked and instantly the vibration began on my clit too making me scream against the gag "fuck princess… you look so fucking good when you shake and quiver like that, but we're not done yet princess" he smirked slapping my ass before he flipped me over to face him "hello princess, you enjoying it so far?" He asked and I nodded "good girl. Now master wants to watch his princess" he smirked getting something else from our box two more of the little toys he taped both vibrating parts one to each of my nipples and then the boxes to the center of my chest and with a click of the little pink remote in his hand they began on the same speed as my clit I squealed feeling it all so much sensitivity it was overwhelming "Humm relax princess. Master what's to watch at least four before we go to bed tonight. And I'm not even considering letting you out until at least two" he smirked giving my nose a kiss "so come on princess as you were so desperate. Master wants to watch you cum" he smirked turning the toys up again, and I suddenly Hit my orgasum, my toes curling my mind flooding with pleasure screaming again the gag "good girl. Fuck you look so good princess" he smirked kissing down my neck a little "umm princess your dripping already" he growled moving to lick what I dripped out "but so we don't forget" he smirked getting marker pen and drawing a talley mark on my thigh "and while I'm at it" he smirked writing his name across my stomach "there if it has my name on it. That makes it mine" he smirked, opening my legs as wide as they would go and turning the toy up again "you always squirt so much more the second time and you fidget your pretty pussy around when you're getting close come on princess master wants to see you cum again. You look so beautiful," he smirked. I knew I was close which only made him smirk more gently moving the toy inside me so he slowly fucked me with it which got me to my second "whoa! You were close. And… ummmm look how wet you are your practically dripping down your legs princess" he smirked drawing another talley on my leg "enough for now" he smirked ripping the gag away "come on, make master feel good princess. I can't watch anymore without my princess… but as I can't she your pussy" he smirked undoing his pants and stroking his erection "come suck on master cock princess. Or master raw fucks your ass" he smirked

I sat up doing my best with all the toys still going doing my best to hold my toys inside me I held the bed sheets tightly as I moved and took his whole length in my mouth *ughh fuck yeah! Ummmm that's a good little princess. Come on princess make master cum" he groans already desperate I did my best trying to be slow as I often got distracted by my own pleasure but he noticed this and turned them up as high as they would all go making me moan and scream down his cocks shaft moving harder and faster on him fuled by the building pleasure getting higher and higher and higher soon enough I would crash beyond anything else he began slightly mouth fucking me holding my hair moaning and groaning as he did 'ughh princess I'm gonna-" he gasped and just as he did I hit my own squirting down my legs the toy inside me falling onto the bed the sight and feeling got him there too spraying his seed into my mouth "UUGHH! PRINCESS!" he screamed his head thrown back in pleasure his hips moving wildly till he pulled out and smirked at me "open"he ordered so I opened my mouth letting him see what he had done to me still riding out my own especially as the toys haven't stopped "swallow" he ordered so I did as he asked it taking two tried to get it all "how does master taste princess?"

"Like marshmallows and sugar" I giggled

"Good girl" he smirked petting my hair and sitting in the bed beside me turning the remote off "I love when you're horny" he smirked kissing my head I smiled nuzzling into his neck "aww okay princess. Love you"

"Love you too" I smiled

He smirked and got his own doing another line on my leg "ohh" he smirked as he noticed the mess I made and that in my pleasure I dropped my toy "bad girl. Well you know what we have to do now princess" he smirked getting the toy and forcing it back inside me

"Ughh nigel!" I gasped as it was still vibrating

"We're gonna do it all again princess. Until you learn to follow masters rules" he smirked forcing me back down on the bed...

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 35

First

Previous

Next

Ladybug sighed as she fell back on her bed with a cup of water instead of coffee for once.

Not because she wasn’t going to stay up or anything, it was already around 3 what’s the point of sleeping at that point, but because she’d cried herself out with Chat. She did little curl-ups occasionally so she could actually swallow. (Should she just sit up and make things easier on herself? Yes. Will she? No.)

Ugh. Stupid emotions. How was she supposed to kill Chat now? When she’d thought it was just because he’d needed a distraction she’d been able to feel angry because there were plenty of ways to do that without getting her involved, but now that she knew it was also because he related and didn’t want her to suffer the same way he did…

She groaned and threw her now-empty plastic cup at the wall. It bounced off and then rolled across the ground lamely. Stupid cup. Stupid feelings.

She clicked her tongue irritably and glared at the ceiling.

Her trap door opened and she blinked, looking over to see… Chloe?

“Aren’t you usually asleep right now?”

“I was,” said Chloe, rubbing her eyes with a scowl. She pulled off her mask to actually get the desired effect, and then lazily tossed it onto a chair. She walked over and picked up the cup. “This woke me up.”

A blush spread across her face. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s too late, now,” said Chloe with a vague wave of her hand. She set the cup down on a rare empty surface and then took a seat on the bed beside her. “So, how’d things go with Chat?”

“... good,” said Ladybug, pulling her gaze back to the ceiling. “I feel like an asshole, now.”

“Kinda were one.”

“Fuck you.”

She winked. “I mean, if you’re offering, --.”

She pushed her off the bed and Chloe laughed as she hit the floor. Ladybug found that she was smiling despite herself and she had to school her expression back into a scowl. Chloe stood back up and stretched, then attempted to sit back down on the bed. She went starfish to prevent this.

Chloe scoffed. “Really?”

“You’ve lost bed privileges.”

“Hm,” she said, unimpressed.

Ladybug clicked her tongue once but pulled her knees up to let her sit at the end of the bed.

“Anyways, have you got everything out of your system?”

She nodded slightly, and then yawned into her hand. Her choice of water was beginning to catch up to her. Damn.

Chloe smiled. “Good. What’re you going to do about your identity, now?”

“Probably ignore the video. People will either think it was a fluke or just kinda forget about it. Hopefully.”

The smile disappeared and the blonde scrutinized her for a few moments. “You’re really dumb for a smart person, you know that?” Suddenly, her face lit up again. “Actually, that reminds me of something.”

Ladybug watched in confused silence as she pulled out her phone and pushed a few buttons.

And then her phone screen lit up. She blinked and picked it up.

TikTok?

She clicked the notification and pulled up the new video on Chloe’s account.

~

It showed Carapace, Ladybug, and Rena in the living room. None of them seemed completely there in one way or another, and the coffee machine had been dragged out to sit on the table for easy access.

Ladybug was practically vibrating on the couch, struggling to bring a cup of coffee to her lips without spilling any.

Carapace was laying across the armchair that was pretty much his at this point, eyes glazed over.

Rena was apparently giving a lecture… or, at least, that’s what she thought she was doing. She was babbling, mostly incoherent, pointing at the conspiracy board -- this must have been taken before Hawkmoth had come and destroyed the house -- and occasionally moving on to the next point.

It was unclear whether Carapace and Ladybug actually understood what she was saying somehow because their mutual sleep-deprived-ness made them all get on the same wavelength (think how babies understand each other despite speaking no real words) or were just nodding along but, either way, Rena definitely had their attention.

Rena pointed very aggressively and the camera zoomed in on the words ‘Rich Bitch’. Ladybug raised her hand and said something in the weird Simlish they had managed to create. The fox holder nodded thoughtfully and then, after procuring a marker, she changed the word ‘Bitch’ to ‘Has anyone asked Hawkmoth for their preferred pronouns?’.

Carapace said something.

Rena crossed that out and then wrote ‘Fuckface McPeopleKiller’.

The three nodded at this and they went back to the lecture.

“What the heck?” Whispered a voice. The camera panned to where Chat was standing in the doorway with a confused and slightly concerned expression.

Then it panned again to Chloe, who looked almost bored. “The smartest of Paris’s heroes, everyone.”

The video ended.

~

Ladybug glared at Chloe. “C’mon, really?”

“Chat’s right, you should at least be honest that it’s not you. Film a video about it, talk about it and address it, then continue what you’re doing. At least then you won’t have to stress out as much about messing up.”

She crossed her arms.

“Also, I said that I was going to upload a video when someone messed up and revealed the truth. Someone did that, so I did. I’m a woman of my word.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Mhmm.”

There was a silent staredown that lasted a whole five seconds before Ladybug broke eye contact to glare at the ceiling.

She clicked her tongue. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“No. And I’m sure Carapace would prefer it, too, since he won’t have to edit around your actual personality anymore.”

For whatever reason, Ladybug wasn’t as angry as she should have been. Maybe she was just tired from the lack of coffee, maybe the stuff with Chat had been enough for her to relax for the time being, or maybe it was because it was Chloe of all people. Who knows. Certainly not her.

“Fiiiiiine,” she groaned. She shooed her out and told her to go to sleep. Then she picked up her phone.

~

The video opened up relatively close to her face.

“Hello, everyone! It’s me! Different content than usual, but it’ll go back to normal tomorrow.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, if you’re not Parisian, you probably don’t know but I… do cosplay.” She stepped back to reveal her outfit. “I made this, it’s a spin on a magical girl. Original character. Cool, right?”

“Anyways, that’s really all you’ll care about, I think. The rest of the video won’t make much sense to you. You can leave.”

She bobbed her head absently for a few moments, as if listening to a song, and then shrugged. “Are they gone now? Probably. Anyways, a few of you might have noticed that my friends have uploaded some content that… shows me acting in a way you’re not used to, and I’m here to address it.”

“Firstly, yes, I behave differently at home than I do in front of you guys. I have a persona that I lean into for work. The others do the same. Don’t be surprised if you see us acting differently in videos than we do while on the job.”

“Secondly, I actually don’t dress like this all the time.” She snapped and the video cut, and suddenly she was wearing a light pink crop top and pale jeans. She smiled and held up a peace sign to the camera. “I wear things other than red and black! Stunning, I know. Do wear the colors pretty often, though, they compliment my skin tone.”

“Thirdly… a lot of you guessed it, but I figured I’d confirm it since I’m being honest with you guys today.” She blushed a little and brought her legs up to show off her cuffed jeans. “I’m bi.”

“And, lastly, I swear. A lot. Easier to express myself that way.”

“Think that’s all you guys will really care about.”

There was about a second where she considered that, then shrugged.

“Right, you’re all probably wondering what’ll happen now. Well, nothing will change for you guys. This account won’t be changing and neither will the way I act in public. I just came here to publicly address everything because I didn’t want to be hounded by the media about it.”

She flashed finger guns at the camera. “Right. Bye!”

~

Taglist

@iidiotkid @nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet @melicmusicmagic @meimei3841 @roseliali @ultimatetornshipper

#a miraculous tiktok account #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #carapace #nino lahiffe #rena rouge #alya cesaire #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous fic #ml fic #mlb #miraculous team #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

[naferty]

Also, I'm pretty sure I've read all your aus by now

You have? That won’t do. How ‘bout another? A centaur balto au with a slice of iron dad! 

~~~

The festivities are grand and the spirits are high on this beautiful day. The laughs and smiles are contagious and even Tony couldn’t resist joining in. While the town is small, the festival is impressive. Many tourists come from all over to take part in the fun. The many centaur-themed activities present and the town’s high centaur population is enough to warrant a weekend stay and then more, bringing in much-needed revenue to the town, but the main events, the races themselves, are really the whole reason the town is able to hold the festival in the first place. Twenty-five years running now.  

The yearly racing event of a little old town Tony calls home always got everyone ecstatic, including the town’s own centaur population that helped host a majority of all activities. Tony being included on that list. He had taken part in the jump race on the first day of the festival, winning with little problem and keeping his crown as champion. 

His biggest fan, little six-year-old Peter Parker, cheered for him the entire time. With a fan base like that, how could Tony ever lose? 

Now on the second day, the quarter race is on. Much like a regular horse race, the centaurs are running to a finish line. The difference? Centaurs don’t need riders and they certainly don’t need a track. No, instead the town has a pathway created years ago that cuts through the forest surrounding their town and down the main road of the town itself. It starts at the festival, goes through the main road, enters the forest, returns back down the same main road and finishes where they started. The biggest of the races, many would argue, but not one Tony is interested in.

Tony’s fifteen minutes of fame came and went. Now, he’s a tourist like everyone else, walking with his carer and his carer’s family. Ben is a good carer. Perhaps the best, but that could be Tony’s bias. He couldn’t be blamed for it, however. May is a beautiful woman, for having two legs, and kindhearted to a fault. Their ward, Peter, is downright the cutest little two-legged child Tony has ever seen, and no that isn’t his bias talking. It’s the truth. His boy is unchallenged and Tony is willing to die on that hill. 

At that moment, he walks alongside Ben, May and Peter through the sea of two legs and four. Peter sits comfortably on his back while Ben keeps a hand on him to make sure Peter doesn't fall off. Tony is careful to make sure he doesn't jerk the child, but the extra help is always welcomed. The last thing he wants is to hurt his boy. 

They’re heading towards the ‘smithy.’ The lovingly named building that crafted and sold everything related to racing from harnesses to carts to hats and boots. There’s a present waiting for Peter there. Something his boy has talked about non-stop for the past few weeks and something Ben and May had mentioned to Tony beforehand. With Tony’s blessing, they went ahead and ordered it weeks prior. Long before the festival officially opened. 

Ben quickly goes inside when they reach the building, leaving Tony and May to distract Peter and keep the secret a little longer. Peter has no idea and boy is the child going to be in for a big surprise. 

“Are you having fun, Pete?” May says to the child still sitting on his back. Tony’s height makes it easy for May and Peter to be at eye level and for them both to see the large smile on Peter’s face. 

“I am! Will we see the race today?” Peter starts to jump in place. 

“Of course we will, but behave. Don’t hurt Tony.” 

Tony smiles. He’d love nothing more than to say he doesn’t mind, but the language barrier and difference in vocal cords between them makes it impossible. So he’s left to simply listen and hope his face expresses what he means. 

Ultimately, it does. “Don’t say it’s okay. We both know this would hurt anyone’s back,” May shakes her head. “Behave,” she repeats to Peter and like the good little boy he is, Peter listens. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Tony.” The large eyes his boy gives him would make even the most hardened wild centaur crumble. 

Tony nods, making sure his face shows no signs of anger. He honestly doesn’t mind. Peter isn’t a heavy child. In fact, he’s lighter than most. 

Ben peeks his head out, giving them the signal. 

“Okay, Pete, time to get down,” May says and holds up her arms, meaning to help Peter down. 

Peter pouts. “Why?” 

“We got you something. You need to get down so we can give it to you. Come on.” 

Peter goes down grumbling. Tony knows the boy loves the height and usually fights tooth and nail to stay, but he figures the present will more than make up for it. 

Once on the ground, May asks him to close his eyes. The prospect of a present finally settles and excitement soon took over. Peter closes his eyes, going so far as to use his own hands to stop himself from peeking. 

When they’re sure he isn’t looking, Ben and the crafter wheel out the present. Said present is a carriage. A simple one with a child seat on the front. The special order Ben and May requested meant to cater to Peter. For you see, his boy has taken an interest in carriage driving after watching it on television. Something about the sport caught his boy’s little eyes. The child couldn’t stop talking about it. 

Ben and May had talked to Tony about it. The two own a plot of land but have no animals to call it home. Tony is really the only resident of the place. It fell down on him to make Peter’s little dream come true. He is the one who’s going to pull the carriage after all, but they’d never force Tony to do so. If Tony is going to do it, it will all by his own free will, and how could he ever say no? 

So here they are. The carriage is customized to allow Peter to reach the reins properly. Of course, the reins are really superficial since Tony will be in charge in all manner, but it gave Peter the official feeling he wants. 

Sitting on Peter’s little seat is the harness meant for Tony. The basic breast collar, the girth and the reins themselves. Colored in the most beautiful mahogany that is going to complement Tony’s black coat that Tony’s own champion money paid for handsomely. The best for his boy. 

“Okay, open your eyes,” May tells Peter. 

When Peter opens his eyes and sees the carriage he jumps in joy. He giggles and points at the craft. Excited beyond a doubt. “A carriage!” The child runs to it. The wheel of the thing is nearly his same height. 

“It’s all yours, Petey,” Ben informs him and earns himself a shriek of delight. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Peter hugs both Ben and May, thanks them seven more times, gives Tony’s front legs a tight hug and determinedly tries to climb the carriage to reach his seat. 

“I think he likes it,” May says with a smile. 

“I think so, too.” Ben laughs as Peter nearly makes it to his seat. “Hang on there, Sport. Let me help.” 

“Hurry! Hurry, Uncle Ben.” 

“I’m hurrying. Keep your hat on.” 

A hat plops on Peter’s head. A stylish, little brown cowboy hat. It makes Peter shriek even louder. 

“A real cowboy’s hat!”

An excited child is not one to be reckoned with, so Ben and May work quickly to set up the harness on Tony and get it connected to the carriage. Peter waits impatiently on his seat. His little legs kicking wildly as he watches his aunt and uncle. 

Peter grabs for the reins when it’s all set and ready. Like on the television, he begins to crack the reins, saying words ranging from ‘mush’ to ‘giddy-up’ to get Tony moving. Tony doesn’t budge until Ben and May give him the go-ahead

The two adults double-check everything. When they’re satisfied they eventually give Tony the green light. “Go on, but be careful, okay?” They opt to stay behind and let Peter go on his own for his first try. They’re showing a lot of trust in this decision. 

Tony nods and trots off when he hears a “he-yaw!” from Peter. From the angle Peter moves the reins he’s led back through the crowd and towards the area the finishing line for today’s races are located. He moves at a slow pace and is even surprised when Peter pulls the reins to slow him further or even stop him when families, humans or centaurs, come in their way. A responsible racer in the making. 

When the crowd grows bigger Tony knows they’re near the finishing line. Peter is a fan of all races, and now that he has his own little carriage the child couldn’t resist not going where the excitement currently is. That and perhaps showing off that he’s an unofficial racer. 

“Mister Tony, please slow down,” Peter says when they’re in the middle of the gathered bodies.

Tony does so and looks back to make sure Peter is still safe and okay sitting on his seat. As he does the barrier separating spectators from the running centaurs makes itself known. Tony sees his chance and rushes in to grab a good spot for both him and Peter. 

The crowd cheers loudly. A sign the racing centaurs will appear soon. Tony makes a grab for Peter and sets him on his back to get a better view of the race. They wait for the winner and Peter cheers excitedly for his favorite centaur runner. Peter removes his hat and waves it, trying to mimic the cowboys of the television and their dramatic antics. It’s at that moment a strong gust blew through and took the hat right out of Peter’s hand. Both centaur and child watch helplessly as the hat lands right in the middle of the track. 

“My hat!” Peter cries in panic. A gift from his aunt and uncle, who already struggle with money, about to be trampled by brute centaurs mere minutes after receiving it. Neither he nor Tony could do anything about it. They could only stare at it despairingly as the racing centaurs grew closer and closer, passing each marker as they got nearer. 

That is until a four-legged body jumps over the fence from the inside and joins in on the running. Tony is a little more than surprised when he recognizes the body as Steve. The wild (or feral as some bigots would often call them) centaur of their town. Tony has seen him a couple of times. He knows of Steve. Knows his name. Knows the wild centaur lives in the forest but will occasionally make a trip into town for one reason or another. Ultimately the town lets him be. Steve doesn’t cause trouble and the town sees no issue in his wandering, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the townfolks are welcoming either. 

Eyebrows are raised as the gathered townsmen notice the very same wild centaur running in the race now. A few cry out in outrage. Tony himself is left a little speechless when Steve catches up to the predicted winner with little trouble. Even at a distance, he could see Ty, the yearly champion, glare at the wild centaur and even go so far as to swipe at Steve. 

Steve avoids it expertly by leaping to the side then comes back, pushes further and jumps head of Ty to grab the hat that’s waiting innocently for its impending doom. Steve manages to grab the hat and move out of Ty’s way, skids over to the barriers, jumps over those and disappears into the crowd that scramble to move out of his way in a panic. 

Tony moves quickly to search for him. He doesn’t know why Steve would grab the hat and he certainly hopes it’s not because the wild centaur suddenly grew a desire to wear cotton shirts and denim. Peter holds on tight on his back. Tony is careful not to jostle him too much. Least he wants to catch a falling child. 

The disbanding crowd makes it hard for him to move. So hard that he’s forced to stay put for a solid minute or two as the bodies part way. Something that frustrates him. Peter’s hat is somewhere and Tony can’t do a thing to find it! 

“Mister Steve!” Peter calls behind him. 

Tony turns and sure enough, there is Steve making his way towards them. Hat in his hand. Undamaged and even clean. Tony watches him warily until Steve hands the hat over to his boy and smiles. 

“Thank you,” Peter puts the hat on, thankful to have it back. “What a crazy thing to do, Mister Steve. All to show off to a pretty boy.” 

Caught off guard, Tony looks to his boy and then back to Steve. Oh, he isn’t prepared for that comment. He certainly isn’t prepared when Steve doesn’t deny it either. Choosing to smile warmly at Tony. As if to express it true. 

Unable to keep eye contact, Tony looks down. He’s blushing. He knows he is. Did Steve truly do all that, putting himself front and center, to impress him? 

It’s at that moment that Ben and May catch up to them and Peter eagerly tells them what just happened. His boy talks their ear off as Ben brings him down and May grabs Tony’s harness. They lead him away. Tony nods to Steve in goodbye.

Steve is about to say something when he’s interrupted by Ty, the racing champion, barging in. He pushes Steve away and nearly makes Tony jump. Something he doesn’t want when May is still holding his harness.

“Yeah,” Tony elongates the note. He’s hoping his sarcasm is showing. “Almost as much as you did.” 

“Hey there, Tony,” Ty says in a voice that’s meant to be sultry yet is anything but. The winner follows him. “Did you enjoy the race?” 

“Thanks.” Clearly, Ty doesn’t catch it. “Let’s go celebrate. I know this lovely little spot by the lake. Ditch your carers and come with me.” 

Tony shivers in disgust. “Sorry, Ty. Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.” 

Ty stops. Clearly he understood that one. He grins. “Ooh, well maybe your taste runs more toward,” Ty looks back, “feral.” 

Tony stiffens. He glares at Ty and he’s ready to give him a piece of his mind, but Peter calls out to him from Ben’s arms. “Mister Tony! Come on, we’re going back home!” 

“Sorry, Ty,” he’s really not, “my boy is calling me.” 

He turns his back and follows after his two-legged family. May is no longer holding his harness, leaving Tony to follow on his own. He keeps up no problem, but the crowd does pose a challenge. At one point he’s farther than what his boy is comfortable with. 

“Mister Tony!” 

Tony follows the voice. His family turns a corner.

“Mister Tony?” 

Tony turns to join them and stops in his tracks when Steve skids to a halt right in front of him. Their noses touching as Tony reels back a little. 

“Oh,” is all he can say when Steve pulls away. His ears are low and his eyes are wide. As if he’s just as surprised as Tony about their situation. 

“Tony - I, uh,” Steve stumbles. He smiles awkwardly. 

“Tony?” Ben calls out. 

“Mister Tony, hurry!” Peter waves at him. 

Tony looks away for just a second. That second is all it took for Steve to disappear. Tony searches, but Steve just outright vanished into thin air. He has no choice but to leave when his family calls for him again, but he does look back one last time to see if he’d catch sight of Steve. 

He doesn’t. 

#text post #long text post #naferty writes #stony #stevetony #centaur stony #centaur tony stark #centaur steve rogers #yes tony is very much jenna here #i regret nothin' #it's been a while since i've been able to write #show it some love? #dauntless-hufflepuff-pride

[breathingwysteria]

Hyperbole & A Half; Illustrated Novels as Gateways to More Traditional Comics

Hyperbole and a Half, autobiographical webcomic blog, turned illustrated novel; One! Hundred! Demons!, autobiographical comic compilation of personal “demons;” both detail the funny, heartwarming, and often ugly parts of the human experience as they unfold for each author as an individual. Both are told in short story form, with an intra-homodiagetic narrator (the author serves as both narrator and active character), accompanied by illustrated panels that invoke a sense of physical and emotional movement that the reader can easily conceptualize. With so many major similarities, why does each work receive such different classifications? What makes a comic a comic and not an illustrated novel? How do these seemingly disparate definitions affect the way we read them? Can illustrated novels be considered gateway materials to comics? I think so. Before we jump into that exact why, let’s look at the defining characteristics of comics.

Text, images, and some semblance of sequential flow in time and space are the most major markers of comics, utilized throughout history, found in ancient work like Egyptian tomb paintings all the way up to modern comics and manga. Speech bubbles erupt from the mouths of static character images, narration is often delineated by straight-lined boxes and a change in tone, real movement through space and time happens in the empty “gutters” between panels. Although illustrated novels and comics are constructed differently, they are still processed in the brain in fundamentally the same way. Children’s literacy researcher, Evelyn Arizpe, notes that when reading illustrated stories, regardless of form (comics or traditional storybooks), “the eye moves between one part of the picture and another, piecing together the image like a puzzle.” If picture books and comics are processed in the brain in the same way, why are they considered different mediums? Linguist and cognitive scientist, Neil Cohn, applies his academic specialties to comics, attributing the difference to things like panel placement and what he calls “navigational structure,” the direction our eyes track when piecing images in a comic together to create a sense of coherence when reading.

Traditional storybooks, unlike comics, typically utilize one image per page to convey everything from character relationships to arrested motion; comics achieve a more fluid and nuanced version of this by using panels as snapshots or windows into character worlds. Where then does the illustrated novel fall between these two states, and where does Hyperbole and a Half land? Illustrated novels rely more heavily on the text narrative of the story and the readers imagination, associated images usually only serve to enhance the story world or solidify ideas and images that would otherwise be difficult to conceptualize or to emphasize an exciting or emotional moment in the narrative. Hyperbole and a Half leans more heavily toward the multiple-panel style of comics to help amplify the narrative. Perhaps this stems from the novel’s genesis as a blog-turned-book. In 2009, Hyperbole and a Half author, Allie Brosh began a blog of the same name, where she chronicled events from her personal life, like the adoption of one of her two dogs; illustrated pet peeves, like the internet usage of “alot,” a misspelling of “a lot,” personified as a shaggy, fang-toothed monster; or her fear of spiders, captured by an image of an oval with spindly appendages replete with strapped-on knives, guns, and a swastika tattooed above the eyes. Brosh’s book maintains the same familiar tone, regularly interspersing images meticulously drawn by the author herself. Her use of illustrated images that convey character motion, emotional state, and even dialogue exchanges are reminiscent of both regular comics and contemporary memes.

In Brosh’s chapter titled “Motivation,” she chronicles her own struggle with self-starting and follow-through. She illustrates a frequent conversation she has between the “her” who knows she must complete a task, and the “her” who continues to procrastinate for no conceivable reason. Instead of floating thought bubbles, she makes this conversation concrete by utilizing a kind of split screen effect,where both versions of herself take up space within the same panel, as does their dialogue.

Most of Brosh’s panels behave in the same way, providing the reader with concrete examples of often abstract concepts, like internal monologue and discussions with oneself.

One! Hundred! Demons!author, Lynda Barry, achieves this same concept by forcefully changing the reader’s perspective. As she reveals the story of her struggle with impostor syndrome as an author and her childhood tendency to let her imagination run away with the descriptions in the Classified section of the newspaper, the reader follows her through her childhood musings and is dropped into the middle of one of her fantastical plots.

Only when Barry transitions back to a narrative focused on her own more present-tense position as a narrator do we as readers get dragged back into the present-past-tense of her childhood self.

Brosh maintains a slightly smoother sense of temporal immediacy by clumping her panels in “Motivation” together, as one “Motivation Game.” Readers are taken along the same journey, into and back out of, the author’s imagination and altered psychological state, but Barry’s follows tactics familiar to comic readers, while Brosh blurs those lines a bit for readers unused to comics.

This difference in delivery of the protagonist’s inner-world carries over into the way dialogue is associated with each character as well. In the above examples, from One! Hundred! Demons!, Barry uses the classic speech bubbles historically associated with comics; Brosh, on the other hand, utilizes both classic speech bubbles as well as free-floating text that the reader infers to be audible speech through context clues.

In the chapter “The Helper Dog is an Asshole,” Brosh retells the story of her and her partner’s adoption of a second issue-riddled shelter dog. She uses both dialogue vehicles on one page, in succession, the traditional speech bubbles allow each character in the top panel to convey separate thoughts, while the speech in the middle panel is only spoken by Brosh’s caricature of herself, as she is the only character “facing” the audience.

Brosh utilizes a similarly comic-style tactic when expressing active motion or a change in mental or emotional state. In “The God of Cake,” she recounts a childhood obsession with conquering her mothers demands that she not decimate her grandfather’s homemade birthday cake with her youthful inability to control her own sugar intake. She masterfully illustrates this rapid descent into the kind of one-track-minded madness only children ever master with a four-page sequence of successively blurry panels.

No, that’s not a mistake of my scanner, it’s printed that way in the book; while a little difficult to read, I think it conveys an emotional whirlwind with an immediacy that helps the reader understand just how much untamed tenacity is bubbling beneath the surface for this child character through the remainder of this chapter.

Another tactic that Brosh employs, that seems like a holdover from her work’s origin as an online blog, is her use of a colored filter over a panel to illustrate distress or another intense emotion. In the same chapter retelling her story of the “helper dog,” Brosh lists the myriad and often confounding behavior issues the new dog frequently displays, like her visceral and adverse reaction to other dogs. Brosh posits that the new dog must simply be unable to comprehend or abide by the fundamental existence of other dogs in the world. To depict the abrupt and unpredictable change in this dog’s mental state, Brosh uses a red tinted filter, along with grumpy-looking smiley faces and hand-written text over her base illustration of her new dog lunging toward another dog in the distance, teeth bared.

You can almost hear the Kill Bill sirens going off in the background.

While Brosh’s artistic approach is reminiscent of internet memes, it also resembles the cartoon-y illustrated style of altered mental states in comics. In One! Hundred! Demons!, Barry juxtaposes alternating bright contrasting colors with radiating squiggly lines in a few of her panels to symbolize the acid trip she and her truncated crush are having on their roam through China Town and Skid Row.

Instead of giving the audience a sense of almost seeing through the perspective of her dog’s psyche, like Brosh does, Barry’s interpretation of her own childhood experience makes the reader feel a little like a sober friend along for the ride, understanding what’s happening, but not able to reach quite the same level of empathy.

Although comics are typically regarded as a reading material relegated to childhood hobbies, books that fall between the borders of comics and illustrated novels, like Hyperbole and a Half, prove their usefulness as a narrative medium, and for readers afraid of being seen reading a full-blown comic—or have never even attempted it, can consider them the shallow end of the comics pool, a lighter commitment than the image-heavy ocean of traditional comics.

Brosh, Allie. Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened. Gallery Books, 2019.

ISBN: 978-1-4767-6459-7

#this is for a class assignment #I will not be keeping track of discourse or suggestions

[warriorslocke-red]

Elkfeather:  “...Oh we just...ran into each other going the same direction in a nowhere field.”

Elkfeather: “I must have gotten lost in a strange part of the moor. It was such an ugly place, the air was stagnant and sour. I couldn't even scent the heather on the breeze. It felt like there should be wind but there wasn’t, it was just as far as I could see...a lot of nothing.”

Some time ago...

A none-specific amount of time, but probably not too long... Probably. Oh, you get the gist of it by now

In any case, yes, a lot of nothing was a good way to describe it. The sky was dark, without the colors of dusk. The field swept wide in every direction, the grass felt brittle and dead. There were no mountains peaking above the horizon; it was on a flat empty plain. It was unfamiliar, and unusually devoid of features, even more than she was used to. But no matter. A dignified queen always kept her head on even in the most stressful of situations.

…Nearly every situation anyway. But this one was different.  A WindClan cat should feel at home on the moor! There is no danger on their territory they can’t outwit or outrun. It is their greatest pride after all, they do not cower or creep beneath brambles or thickly woven trees. The endless exposed sky faces them and they embrace the feeling of open land and unhindered wind.

So why is it that on this moor she felt so...afraid? Without the sight of the horizon, the world felt so empty. The sky was blank, there was no sight of the sun and no sight of the stars that usually brought her comfort. There was nothing looking down on her. But...it was a moor all the same, right? She should have felt secure here. And yet nothing could have been further from the truth. She felt exposed. Watched. But there was no one around. She scented the air. Nothing. Not a scent. Not a rustle. And yet…. And yet she was not safe. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, every instinct drilled into her mind screamed in her head in unison that she was in terrible danger, that something here meant her harm, and no matter how fast she ran she would not escape it. Eventually she tried running anyway, aimless, uncontrolled, desperate to find something, anything in this empty moor. She thought for a moment that this must be what it felt like to be a rabbit stalked by an unseen hunter.

The indignity of her frantic panic pained her but she was helpless to stop it. She ran as fast as her paws had ever carried her before, but everything continued to look the same. She had the feeling if she ran until she dropped dead she would find no familiar landmarks, and never outrun whatever she felt was watching her. But she continued nonetheless. Until eventually, something else stopped her as the earth vanished below her paws. 

If the situation could get worse, it somehow had. She was completely stuck. The soil felt like it was trying to eat her and thorny roots clawed into her skin. It was suffocating and all the while there was that persistent pesky feeling that something was right on her heels, getting closer and bound to pounce at any moment. She thrashed and struggled and felt a sharp painful jab in her spine. Then there were real claws on her back and she yowled so loud it hurt her throat. 

There was suddenly a scraggly row of trees towering above her that somehow (perhaps in her confusion?) she hadn’t noticed herself coming towards, nor had she noticed the loose soil of abandoned rabbit burrows that she’d apparently caught herself in. Regardless, she tumbled backwards out of the hole and cam up swinging wildly at the claws that had pierced her.

Elkfeather:  “Back! Get back, I’ll shred you! Just because I'm a queen doesn’t mean I've forgotten how to defend myself! ”

Plumtooth:  “Agh! Sorry, geez! I thought you were a rabbit kicking around in the dirt like that. Excuse me, next time I’ll just let you flail around in a collapsed burrow!”

Elkfeather:  “I didn’t need your--! Wait...who are you?”

Plumtooth:  “Who am I? Who are you? I was just patrolling the border and I come across you, in a place you’re not supposed to be! So you’d better get off ThunderClan land before the rest of my patrol catches up to me.”

Elkfeather:  “Excuse me? Does this look like ThunderClan’s forest to you?”

Plumtooth:  “Well it’s um...T-there’s no WindClan scent markers, so yes, it is still our land. But I’m...actually not supposed to fight with queens, I think? Are you supposed to be escorted home or something?”

Elkfeather:  “I don’t need a cat clearly hardly out of apprenticeship escorting me anywhere. Why don’t I just wait for your patrol, then?”

Plumtooth:  “What--? Oh right, yes my patrol! They’ll be here er... soon. Any moment now.”

Elkfeather:  “I knew you were bluffing. I should have guessed. I don’t need ThunderClan assistance, and I don’t have time for you, so good day!”

Plumtooth:  “F-fine! Works for me! I hope you have a bad day!”

It’s fascinating how even in the most obviously dire of circumstances, clan cats from rival clans have a remarkable ability to keep being as unreasonable and standoffish as possible, even when there’s absolutely nothing to be gained from behaving in such a way. Something really needs to be pressing a claw to their throats in order for anything to get done. Fortunately, (or perhaps unfortunately), there was currently about a dozen claws pressing hard against every side. 

Something about this place made one feel so alone, and small, and terribly vulnerable. So, without a better alternative in sight...

Elkfeather:  “Actually, I have decided for your own sake, some cat should make sure you don’t get into trouble since you’ve clearly lost your patrol.”

Plumtooth:  “Well I just decided-- for your sake-- that you being a queen and all, some cat should act as your guard until you find your way back to your own territory.”

Elkfeather:  “For StarClan’s sake, I told you I still know how to fight for myse-- Oh forget it. We are in agreement then, and after this we will never have to see one another ever again!”

Plumtooth:  “Agreed!”

#warrior cats #warrior cat ocs #warrior cats oc #wcnl #wcnl ask #plumtooth #elkfeather #hey i binged all of the magnus archives and it fueled me #also BRUH I finished this around JUNE and forgot to post it omg

[sevenstarsinning]

*kicks down door* can i get a muhfuckin Mommy Kink for Vegeta like pretty fuckin PLEASE.💙💙💙💙🤠

We co-wrote this one and like the daddy kink, this is more of Vegeta with a mommy kink without calling it that. Hope that’s okay!

Another long day at work came to an end and you couldn't wait to get home and relax for the weekend. Your daughter was going to her dad's for a few days and Vegeta had pretty much moved in. That meant lots of alone time with no interruptions.

You unlocked the front door and entered to find your living room in complete disarray. Vegeta was slumped on the couch and your daughter was in the process of drawing on his arm with a marker.

"Why does it look like a tornado blew through here?" You asked as you deposited your keys on the small table near the door.

"Because I'm the Prince of all Saiyans." Vegeta muttered without looking up.

You sighed and kicked off your shoes, "and that means?" 

"It means I'm not responsible for the mess." He barely shifted on the couch.

You glared at him but decided to yell at him after your daughter was gone. You helped her pack a bag and get ready for her dad to come get her.

"He's not coming in this time, is he?" Vegeta stood by the front window watching for your ex to show up.

"So you can threaten his life again? I'm not that stupid, Vegeta," you replied as you bent down to help your daughter put her shoes on.

"It's not like he didn't have it coming," he grumbled. His body tensed when a car pulled up on the curb outside.

You stood and grabbed your daughter's hand before turning to Vegeta. "You better behave."

Vegeta stood in the doorway, making his presence known while you walked your daughter down to the car.

"Have fun with your dad and call me if you need me." You knelt and hugged her before letting her go.

"I see he's still here." Your ex opened the car door.

"That's none of your business." You glanced back at Vegeta to make sure he was still at the door and not charging at your ex.

"I don't like him and I don't want him around her," he said as if it was really his decision.

"I don't really care what you think about him. He cares about us and he would burn this entire city to the ground if anything happened to her. Can you say the same?"

He rolled his eyes and closed the door before walking around to the driver's side. You waved to your daughter as he sped off.

By the time you turned around, Vegeta had already gone back inside.

You closed the front door behind you and got a harsh reminder of the mess in your living room when you turned around.

"You're really going to leave me to clean this up?" You asked.

Vegeta was standing at the foot of the stairs waiting for you to go up and fuck him for the rest of the night.

"Just leave it. You can clean it later." He waited impatiently.

"And you're not going to help at all?" You crossed your arms and stood firm.

"Why would I? It was the child that made the mess, not me."

"You were supposed to stop her from doing it in the first place!"

"No, you told me to watch after her. She's still alive so my job is done." He was growing more impatient by the second but you weren't giving up that easy.

"Vegeta, clean up the mess." You emphasized each word to get your point across.

"No, you clean it." He refused. He was even more frustrating than usual and you were growing annoyed.

"Clean it up right now or else." You glared at him.

"Or else what, woman?" He narrowed his eyes at you.

"No sex until you clean it up," you said simply.

"What?! All because of a mess your terrorist of a child made?" He shouted.

"Do you know how frustrating it is to live with two children? Especially when one is a grown ass man that should be able to clean up after himself?"

"I am not a child!" He shouted and stepped towards you.

"You sure act like one! Maybe I should treat you like one?!" You were fuming and wanted him to understand that he needed to help out.

"I'd like to see you try," he shot back, taking another step closer to assert his dominance.

"Fine. If you won't act like an adult, go to the spare bedroom and don't come back down until you're ready to help like a good boy."

"I'm not some weakling you can order around, woman." He was curious about your behavior as he moved closer.

"If you want to touch me again, you'll do as I say." You refused to back down.

"You won't last the night. You'll be begging for my cock," he said in a low voice.

"Don't underestimate me, Vegeta. I'm not afraid to punish you," you warned. You could feel the mood shift between you and knew exactly how to make him listen.

He laughed, "punish me? And how would you do that?" He was clearly intrigued as he hadn't left yet.

"I have ways to bring a disrespectful little saiyan like you to your knees." You challenged him with a smirk.

"I've faced down the most powerful enemies around. There's no way a human can bring me to my knees." He said it with confidence but you could tell he was weakening.

"I know you're dying to taste me again. Just be good for me and you'll get what you want."

"Be good?" He tested the word as it felt foreign to him.

"Yep, be a good boy and I'll let you have whatever you want." You stepped closer to him, running your hand up his chest.

"What kind of witchcraft are you pulling on me, woman?" He asked, trying to ignore how your hand felt on his chest.

"It's called being a mom, no witchcraft required."

He looked down at your hand and back at you, "but you're-" 

You silenced him with your finger on his lips, "clean up this room and I'll show you what else I can do."

You brushed past him and headed to the kitchen. He didn't call after you or complain, he only let out a grunt before he began straightening up the room.

You grabbed something quick to eat while you waited and after a few minutes, he appeared in the opening to the kitchen.

"It's clean."

You were surprised and went to check his efforts. He had actually cleaned it up pretty well besides a few things here and there.

You turned around to see him waiting behind you, "such a good boy for me. Are you ready for your treat?"

"Yes, but it better be worth it."

You smiled and rested your hands on his chest. "You know I won't disappoint when you did so good."

You leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Go upstairs and show me how sorry you are for talking back."

He grunted but nodded his head as he followed you up the stairs. His compliance was definitely different. Once you made it upstairs, you pulled him into the bedroom.

"I shouldn't forgive you so easily for raising your voice the way you did." You pushed him towards the bed and stripped out of your clothes, leaving a trail of them from the door to the bed.

He laid down and you crawled on top of him, straddling his hips before he could remove his own clothing.

He looked up at you questioningly but remained silent.

"You really don't deserve a treat." You lowered yourself onto the bulge that strained against his pants. 

He groaned and grabbed your hips, "but you said-"

"Didn't you learn your lesson about talking back?"

"Yes," he grunted and bucked his hips to feel more. You rolled your hips and rubbed harder against him.

"Tell me you're sorry for being a bad boy."

He snarled at you, "sorry."

You grabbed his jaw with one hand, "say it the right way."

"Sorry for being a bad boy."

"I'm not hard to please. Just do as I say and this won't happen again." You caressed his cheek and rubbed against his cock just right.

"Fuck, woman," he grunted and dug his fingertips into your hips.

"Something you want?" You cocked your head to the side as you watched him struggle.

You were both aware that he could toss you down and fuck you if he wanted to, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"No, this is fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"You don't sound very convincing." You started moving a little faster, pushing yourself closer to coming.

He gripped your hips tighter, "I want more." He demanded.

"That's not how a good boy asks for what he wants." You continued to move.

"Please?" He begged softly, barely holding on.

"Please, what?" You pushed a little more knowing he was seconds from breaking and overpowering you.

"Please give me more," he pleaded, "I'll be good for you."

#vegeta x reader #supremeleadershitlord #lynn

[allisondraste]

on writing kiddos

Hi, hello there, it’s me again back with the first bit of meta in a really long time. I’ve been incredibly distracted with school as well as my longfic, which was actually the inspiration for this post.  Just to provide some context, I write a story that spans the lives of my two protagonists from the time they are young children, all the way to their mid twenties, highlighting pivotal moments in their childhood that have had some lasting impact on their present day selves, and as such, I have spent quite a lot of time writing from the perspective of precocious kids and moody teens.  

Fortunately, I love kids, and I’ve had years of experience in both being a big sister and working professionally with kids as both a childcare worker and a therapist.  I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time around kiddos and learn the inner workings of their amazing, rapidly developing brains, and so I’m here to share some of the things I’ve learned AND how it can be applied in a writing situation.  I know that lots of people have apprehensions when writing kids, and so I hope that my anecdotal tips will be helpful to someone out there.

I’ll drop the rest behind a handy dandy read more to spare your all’s feeds. ;D

Age and Cognitive Development

When we write adult characters, part of getting their characterization pinned down is understanding how they think, and the same thing applies to kiddos! Cognitive and socio-emotional development are long-researched topics, so there are a multitude of varying theories, and it can be quite complex to break down into neat categories that apply to all kids.  In fact, all kids develop at different rates, despite following the same general trajectory.

Generally speaking, children start out understanding the world primarily through their senses, reflexes, and movements (interactions with the environment), and end with a fairly complex system of abstraction and understanding of hypotheticals.  (Note that these development ranges are based upon those who are neurotypical and neurodiverse characters would not necessarily have the same markers, so if anyone has any specific tips for writing neurodiverse kids and would like to chime in, please feel free to do so!)

0-2 years - highly sensory/motor based, lots of reflexes; learn the difference between self and environment and differences between objects.  Emotions develop more rapidly, beginning with anger, disgust, fear, surprise, happiness, and gradually developing more and more complicated feelings.  Even at 2 years old, they are likely to not have a solid grasp on labeling the ways they are feeling, and things are mostly behavioral and reflexive. 

2-7 years - children begin to understand symbols and develop language, beginning with the basics and progressing to fairly complex thoughts.  Children between these ages think in a very concrete fashion and are highly reliant upon objects, but they do begin to pretend and roleplay. Children around these ages are egocentric and usually struggle to take the perspective of others. However, they begin to develop the ability to identify and express their feelings and thoughts simply, but struggle to understand the thoughts and feelings of others. 

Mommy had a scrunched up face when she looked a the mess in the house. Billy didn’t really know why her face did that sometimes. (approx 4ish)

7 - 11(ish) - Development of perspective-taking and concrete problem-solving. Thoughts gradually become more complex and holistic, though children at this stage of development take things literally, and at face-value. They typically can understand their own feelings and infer the feelings of others from facial expressions, body language, etc., although they may be inaccurate in their assumptions. 

Mommy’s face scrunched up when she looked at the mess Billy made in the floor.  It was the same face she made when Daddy didn’t take his shoes off before stepping on the carpet.  It usually meant mommy was annoyed  (Approx. 7-8)

Mom’s face wrinkled when she looked at the mess Billy had left in the floor.  He began to pick his things up so she wouldn’t fuss at him. (Approx 10 or 11)

11+ - The ability to think in the abstract and understand hypotheticals begins to develop around age 11, however, it’s different for everyone.  Children and teens usually start to have rather complex thoughts and make inferences based on subtle cues.  They’re able to manipulate information mentally and come to develop their own opinions and conclusions. 

Billy’s mother wasn’t even home yet, and he could already see the look on her face she would have when she saw the mess on the floor.  He hurredly began to scrub the stain from the rug.  He was going to be in so much trouble. He knew it.  

Teenagerdom - Most teens have all the complex thoughts and emotions that adults have, but often have less experience and/or ability to cope with and regulate those thoughts and feelings. Many teens are stuck in this place of being expected to behave in an adult way, while still being treated as a child.  It’s a rough time.  Not to mention, teenagers experience a re-emergence of  egocentrism that takes the form of “Everyone is watching and judging me all the time,” and also “Nobody has ever experienced what I am experiencing and if they have experienced it, then they haven’t experienced it to this degree.”  That all settles down with cognitive maturation and experiences; however, the experiences of teenagers often extend well into the 20s. 

Examining the mess on the floor, Billy knew that his mother was going to kill him.  Murder.  She’d chew him up and spit him back out, never to see the light of day again.  It was the end.  Unless of course he could scrub the stubborn stain from the rug.  This had to be the worst thing that could have possibly happened. 

Personal Experience and Intelligence

As I mentioned above, those age ranges are broad, general “this is sort of what should be happening when,” but they’re more guidelines rather than hard and fast rules.  When writing children, it is helpful to consider the personal experiences a child has had in their lives up to that point as well as their intelligence.  Those are not the measure of a person (even a little one), but they make a huge difference in the rate at which a child matures and interacts with the world.  Generally kids who have more difficult upbringings and those who end up parenting themselves and/or caring for siblings, often seem older than they really are, particularly in regard to their behavior. 

Just to provide some examples for reference, the children that I write in my story are mostly nobles who have relatively comfortable, safe, and happy childhoods.  My Cousland, Liss, is generally a carefree, impulsive, emotional, messy, privileged child, and so I modeled her development more closely in line with the “guidelines.”  Nathaniel is also a noble, but he’s more thoughtful, and has kind of been placed into a parental role in that his dad is emotionally abusive at the very least, and after his mother dies, he is the rock that his siblings stand on, and at that point in time, he is only 10.  He has to grow up a lot faster than he may have had to otherwise. As a very strong counterpoint, there are other characters who do not have any environmental privileges during their childhood.  A very good portrayal of this sort of thing is this comparison of Isabela and Hawke’s respective upbringings.

Both intelligence and life experiences can lead to a quicker rate of cognitive development and maturation in some cases, that does not mean that they are “grown up” or in anyway done developing.  Even the brightest kids, even the kids who have faced unbelievable adversity are still kids and they often still experience impulsivity, emotion dysregulation, and other things that one might not see in adults with the same experiences.  Furthermore, some kids may not even experience advanced development, instead regressing from the lack of social support and modeling from attachment figures. 

Basically, nothing is hard and fast. 

Personality

The next thing I wanted to touch upon is personality.  I think there is a tendency to portray all kids as Standard Kids (which I have endearingly coined Standard Kid Syndrome).  It is all well and good if the intention is just to show a Standard Kid; however, if you really want to dig deep into a character, into who that child is, it’s so important to consider personality traits.  From birth, children have dispositions, and as they grow and learn more about themselves and the world, those dispositions become personality.  Personality traits should shine through very early on!  Kids can be open to experience or rigid and anxious, they can be introverted or extroverted, they can be impulsive or restrained, they can be aggressive, meek, funny, serious, meticulous, silly, cool, gruff, grumpy, snarky, sassy, nerdy, quirky, shy, friendly, withdrawn, and so on and so forth.  Children are new humans; they are not incomplete humans. 

The Kid Voice

When writing from the point of view of a child, all of the things discussed above factor into word choice.  Just like writing adult characters, the way a kid talks in dialogue, or narrates even, is influenced by a blend of so many different things.  Young kids’ descriptions are going to have simpler sentence structures and words.  They may introspect less and observe more.  They may express themselves through their bodies and actions more.  They may have trouble describing what they’re feeling, or understanding what they’re seeing.  Teens may describe things more dramatically and intensely than similar adults would.  They may not.  What is important is considering the mix of traits and experiences they have in relation to cognitive development.  It’s really no different from writing any other character.  It just takes research and planning to get in The Zone.

TL;DR

- Understanding how kids think is a good starting point to writing kids

- Personal experiences, intelligence, and the interaction of qualities can influence how a child thinks in a multitude of ways

- Kids have personalities!  They’re not blank slates that have yet to be filled.  They are whole people, and it’s good to give proper care to show those unique, wonderful little minds that they have

- It’s not so much different than writing adults! It just takes some time spent looking through a different lens!

- This is not a comprehensive reference by any means, so please feel free to chime in!

#writing reference #meta #long post #kids #it is the night #and i must sleep now #yikes #the things i do to get a meta idea out of my head

[cyanpeacock]

Hmm.

So we tell our children stories, to help them understand painful things about the world, in a more palatable form. Like, if you put your baby's cradle in a tree, the wind's gonna blow and baby will die.

I come from a literate family. My mother behaved abusively and neglectfully towards me, and later struggled to make amends, in strange ways.

I asked difficult questions, when the seas were calmer, because I was exposed to difficult experiences and ideas.

Naturally, we have stories for that. I'm gonna name the same three I always do, 1984, Catch-22, and Brave New World. An aside goes to Cold Comfort Farm.

So, I'm like, 15-17 when I read these books for the first time. Good stories, well written, but I notice the parallels with the outside world, and I am disturbed by and angry about it.

This... was apparently the point? Of my mother giving me those books?

Some kind of... we can't communicate. We can't talk about how things feel. I can give you something that might help you understand, on my mum's part.

She'd recognised my compulsive fleeing into fantasy to evade ~the real world~, and my emotional-cognitive dissociation, although I don't know that she would have called it that. She was trying to... explain how things are through a medium I could understand? Because I couldn't understand it in the language I had acquired through talking to the Other Children(tm). I was demanding explanations of the world, and all the concerning things I saw in it, and how I was supposed to live with it.

It made things a lot worse, at times.

Now it's different. "Better," notionally, but really just different.

It depends which parts of the books you remember.

It's easier to remember the dismal parts of the books when times are dismal. The happy moments are easier to recall when things are happier. You can still do the inverse, but it's hard. With practice, it gets easier.

I'm very angry, because... I couldn't understand these things.

They're just stories. Stories warn us about the past, and the future, and the present. Stories give us guidance on how human beings live. I understand this now.

Every book tells a different story. Every good book tells the same story, of the life cycle.

That's just how it is?

And you just... take what you can get, and try to stay close to what you know, and explore when it's safe enough, and when you have all you need, you try to acquire new things and/or change things in your environment to maintain a sense of interest and reward?

That's it. That's survival.

Sometimes it feels awful. Sometimes it feels good. We try to make it feel good, because alive things usually want to stay alive, and that's just, like, a thing with any creature based off deoxyribonucleic acids. Motile bacteria move towards a food source, because they get a reward from it. We're no different, in that regard.

It's a fucker, though.

When the environment is inhospitable, and no alternative presents itself, a creature can commit suicide to escape the pain that comes before a natural death.

This is also a natural mechanism. If there is no evident chance of survival, acquire control over how you go. Make it a pain you can anticipate, and enjoy what you feel of it as a marker of your passing.

And... we literally can't control what we feel, at least not as children, although the ability can be developed. We can "control what we feel", as in, we can divorce ourselves from our pain in order to survive. This manifests as dissociation, parts, alters... breaks in the stream of consciousness that are noticeable and problematic to the body involved, or others around it.

And this is also natural?

We just have words for it, and some people don't like new words, and others don't like the way you use them, for reasons known to them should they choose to introspect on it enough?

Argh.

Anyway, my soul is pissed. My soul is pissed to have been born. I didn't want this. I can only presume my energy needed it to atone for some great damage done in a past life. Can a peacock commit sin?

Okay, I have a headache, I'm nauseous, and I'm tired. Time to try and sleep again, because this shit is wack.

#fliptext

[blackgirlsuperherorants]

I know Freddie Mercury isn’t a superhero, but he’s also maybe a superhero, and I guess I’m gonna put this movie discussion here, because... this blog is already used to my bullshit.

No, but, this is actually a serious thing. This will be lengthy, because I’m approaching this not as a rant, as per usual on this blog, but as a study? I guess? I mean, without research, because I’m in grad school and my brain will crumble if I add any extra research, but yeah. 

I have seen a lot of criticism of the Bohemian Rhapsody movie that I have been giving a lot of thought to. To be completely fair, I sort of have always had this view of Freddie Mercury as a godlike figure. And I love Rami Malek. So, I have been checking and double-checking myself for bias, which is the thing to do in this situation. 

I really enjoyed the film. I am also a screenwriter (MFA student) and I understand and cannot totally ignore the problems with the film. 

One of the things we’ve been taught to do, in my MFA program, is pay attention to things like cultural markers and identity markers in our writing. As in, if we write a bisexual character, what makes them bisexual? If we write a South Asian character, what makes them South Asian? Often, writers will write “diverse” characters just for the sake of having them in the picture, but they will inadvertently be devoid of whatever it is that makes them... part of their culture. This is not my criticism of BoRhap. In fact, this post will not be a criticism, per se. It’s... it’s an examination, and a question. And, full disclosure, I should absolutely be working on stuff for class, right now.

This will be focusing on the portrayal of queerness in BoRhap more than anything. 

When I saw the movie, being queer myself, I was very... excited to hear Freddie say, on screen, that he thinks he’s bisexual. Like, what a moment, in film. I don’t think that happens, often, and I don’t think screenwriters write shit like that. I believe it’s because bisexuality is misunderstood. People assume bisexual men are gay. People assume bisexual women are straight. People think of bisexuality as something you do while you’re in college out of curiosity, or the last stop over to gayville. People think bi people who date or marry members of their same gender are gay/lesbian. People think bi people who date or marry members of a different gender are straight. It’s just a very, very misunderstood sexual orientation, and those of us who identify this way (I mostly do, although I kinda like queer as a general term) really walk on eggshells all the time trying not to ... be constantly judged from all parties, I guess. So, to hear a character say it in a film? And it’s sincere and not a character flaw or played for laughs? I C O N I C.

But the film also undercuts that line immediately, with Freddie’s girlfriend yelling at him that he’s gay. Because a man can’t be bisexual, yenno? If he likes dick at all, he’s gay. (Of course this is wrong as hell, but whatever.)

I guess, that’s part of the reason so many people are unhappy or even angry with the portrayal. One criticism I keep seeing is how it treats queerness as a cautionary tale. How Freddie gets caught up in this “gay underworld” lifestyle and it literally kills him. How redemption is him “straightening up”. (Which actually does not happen in the movie. The movie... ends with him finally settling down with JIM, a man, JIM! How that was read as “straightening up” or I guess becoming hetero to some people is beyond me.)

And mentioning that, there’s criticism of showing Paul Prenter, who I understand re: Queen fans, to be a slimy slimeball piece of crap, as the villain, because Paul is also a gay man. 

So, this is my concern, or I guess, my issue, with these criticisms: much of this is based in the reality of the situation. I’m not suggesting that this film is historically accurate. I’ve seen discussions of timeline issues, invented moments, and Freddie actually never told his bandmates he had AIDS until the day before he died (unlike in the film). But I struggle with the argument that it presents queerness as a cautionary tale when Freddie’s battle with AIDS is actually what happened. He actually died of AIDS related illness in 1991. That’s not to say being gay killed him. A lot of people were gay in the 1980s and did not contract HIV or die of AIDS. But unfortunately, Freddie did.

So, what is the line? When we’re handling stories based on true events, based on real people... what are we supposed to write? Would it have been worse to show Freddie as a healthy man who died in his sleep of natural causes, ignoring his battle with AIDS completely? 

What about the Prenter situation? The man wasn’t a good person, and wasn’t good for Queen or Freddie. I’m not extremely well versed in Queen history, but I do know that Paul Prenter is, well, a villain in the eyes of Queen’s fans, and he did do snake shit to Freddie. Does the fact that he’s also gay mean that should be left out? Or should they have erased Paul’s queerness, so that it’s not suggested that the evil gay person ruined Freddie’s life?

Some of my opinion on that matter should be clear, but I also don’t really know the way they should’ve handled this stuff. I thought, personally, that they handled AIDS delicately, and maybe a little too delicately, but... I thought it was done fine. Freddie wasn’t even blamed for having the disease. And the invented scene where he tells the band before Live Aid (I don’t know that he had even been diagnosed, yet, in real life), was a touching, beautiful scene. Nobody scolds him, or says “you shouldn’t have fucked all those people!” They aren’t angry. They cry together, and tell him he’s a legend and they love him. Then they go get a drink. It wasn’t... at all... very “cautionary tale,” to me. Especially because directly after that moment, he goes and finds Jim Hutton, the man he’s been wanting for a long time, and finally pursues being with him for real. So, what’s the caution, here? Don’t be gay, just be gay? I don’t... get it....

Like, it’s a hard line to tow. Do you... make a huge show of an icon dying from a horrible disease that ravaged the LGBT community terribly during the 1980s? Or do you.... not mention it at all? Or ... do you do what they did and mention it lightly, and try not to make it a huge deal? I don’t know. I’m sure you don’t really know, either. You’d probably try your best, if you were writing this, but ultimately, it’s hard to know what the move is, here. 

That’s not to say that the movie doesn’t have faults. It doesn’t know which story it’s telling. It sort of moves like a “brief history of” type of thing. It’s also 2 hours and 30 minutes long, and still feels like it didn’t go in depth at all. 

I also agree that we see much of Freddie’s vices and little of the other members’ vices. I mean, we get hints of Roger’s affinity towards being with multiple women, but barely. And John and Brian were basically angels. Which... can’t have been realistic, considering they were hot rock stars in the 1970s, when everyone was fucking everyone and everyone was snorting cocaine. I do wish they would’ve showed them all behaving like rock stars, more, instead of showing Freddie throwing lavish parties and the other guys sort of shaking their head and going home to their wives. But also, we don’t see very much of Freddie’s wildness, either. The movie is very, very tame, as rock star biopics go. There’s not even a sex scene. There’s cocaine on a table, but nobody snorts it on screen. There are parties with lots of boys making out and whatnot, but Freddie isn’t even shown really participating in that shit. I honestly think it’s even this tame because the living Queen members had a say.

Like, if Brian May and Roger Taylor weren’t involved in the production, I’m sure we would’ve seen more of their vices, too. And probably more of Freddie’s vices. I think it’s silly for people to suggest they are jealous of Freddie and made it look like Freddie was the only one partying to make themselves look better, because I think Freddie looks damn near innocent in the film, and I think that’s thanks to Brian and Roger protecting his legacy. For instance, we learn towards the end that Freddie has AIDS. But WE NEVER SEE HIM CONTRACT HIV. We don’t see him sleep with some dirty bear in the back of some gay bar in NYC or something. We just... learn he has AIDS. 

That can either be cause for criticism or praise, I guess. From a writing perspective, generally you wouldn’t randomly reveal a character has AIDS without some hint as to how they contracted it, in a narrative like this one that spans like 15-20 years. And also, maybe you could stretch it as an example of that “cautionary tale” business, like “even though Freddie was a good boy, he still got AIDS because of all the gay.” Which... is a reach, and I’m sorry I pulled it out of the sky. They also did one of my least favorite movie tropes, which is “character coughs up blood, so you know he gon die.” Although, IDK if that’s something that every happened to him. Singers can cough up blood just from damaging their throat while doing certain things with their voice, and getting infections and things...

Anyway...

I just... I get the criticism, and I get the instinct to be hypercritical of this movie. After all, Freddie was one of the most unapologetic and influential queer artists in the world. In history. You want to make sure it’s done right and with respect.

But, I genuinely don’t know how they could’ve approached this differently. I mean, I see how changes could be made to make it a better film, narratively speaking. But I’m not sure how I’d write a movie about Freddie Mercury and discuss his battle with AIDS... without the reality that Freddie succumbs to the illness in 1991. Or, how you write about the doomed dealings with Paul Prenter, without acknowledging that he’s a creep, even if he is gay.

See, when shit is based on a true story, it’s harder to navigate these things. Because, I totally understand the reaction to what many perceive is a slight against their people. But, IDK, if I’m writing a Freddie Mercury film, I’d know that he’s going to die, and from what, and I’d know that he kept it to himself, and explore why that is. 

And as for Paul Prenter, fuck that guy. One can be evil and gay. Just as one can be a sweet baby angel and gay (like Jim Hutton.)

The movie has problem. (Another topic for another day). These aren’t problems it has, to me. 

I’d be open to hear others’ opinions, here, but only if you promise not to yell at me (CAPS IS YELLING) or call me names or be a general jerk about things. 

#bohemian rhapsody #rami malek #freddie mercury #queen #gwilym lee #brian may #ben foster #roger taylor #joe mazzello #john deacon #text #long post

[mysticsparklewings]

Beach Nights (Gelatos Test)

Here we have another, slightly stranger, art supply that's been on my wishlist to try for a while: the Faber Castell Gelatos! Which, for those that don't know, are one of many options available on the market for water-soluble/watercolor crayons/pigment sticks/etc. I grabbed up every unique color my local Michael's had when I went in one day and they were on clearance for $0.97 each. They retail for usually around $3 a pop if you buy them individually like this, and so I jumped on the opportunity. I ended up with a total of 35 colors to pick from. They do come in sets--some smaller ones of 4, a few that have 15 colors each, and there are a couple of bigger gift sets with around 30 each, as well as other specialty sets that come with a few gelatos and some other things for specific projects. As of yet, I can't comment on the arrangement of any of these sets, but I do like these well enough that I would like to end up with the full range of 80 colors eventually, so I've already worked out a few sets I'd need to purchase going forward to make that process as inexpensive and quick as possible. So perhaps I'll update this to comment on that at a later date, we'll see. Even so, I felt like I ended up with a pretty good range to pick from, just missing a couple of colors here and there that I didn't get simply because they weren't there at the time. I even ended up with a handful of metallic colors, which are pretty interesting, though I didn't use any of them here and when scanning artwork, metallic colors consistently fall flat anyway. Though I was pleasantly surprised that in swatching the metallics they don't lose hardly any of their metallic sheens after being hit with water. (As metallics in water-soluble colored pencils tend to become not-metallic anymore when that happens.) At first, I wasn't sure what to draw to test these things out. They come in little lipstick/chapstick/lip balm/whatever tubes, where you twist the bottom to get more product to come out, but are mostly flat on the end and so they're a little too big and super creamy to get super precise lines, unless you were to take a wet brush to them to pick up the color or be so bold as to cut chunks off to make them into a finer point/crisper edge, and even then I'm not sure how long said finer edge would last with how soft they are. My first thought was a galaxy, but that seemed a little too easy/obvious, and I had a feeling my gel pens would give me a fit over the top of these, based on how they don't like a lot of wax and they aggressively don't like watercolors. Eventually, I decided to try replicating one of the pictures I'd taken when we went on vacation to the beach recently since that would be broad enough and not require such fine detail other than the silhouetted buildings, which I had no intention of trying to do with the gelatos from the very start. Although I had made this artwork at a much larger size, that may have been a somewhat viable option. But I like relatively small art pieces. (Though this doesn't look exactly like my reference partly because of the unpredictability of art and partly because my eyes got confused while I was figuring out so of the powerline details, as well as I added the visible moon and stars and birds for some more visual interest). The one other thing about the gelatos I'm not crazy about is that some colors, mostly the pastels and some brights, melt almost seamlessly when hit with water, while others, mostly certain darker colors, either take more work and water to melt nicely or in some cases just won't fully dissolve the lines/texture marks. At least not on the cold-press watercolor paper I was using; I suspect some colors may have faired a little bit better on smoother hot-press paper, but I've yet to test that out. This has its advantages and disadvantages. It can work and give you some interesting textures, as you can see peeking through in a couple of places here. But if you want a super smooth, seamless look then you'll have to be careful and pick which colors you use accordingly. I tried a couple of different methods of applying the gelatos, mostly just to see what would happen. The most obvious thing to do is to apply the dry gelato to dry paper and then come back in with a brush to melt them down. But I also tried wetting the paper and applying the gelato straight to the wet surface, which was interesting and in most cases seemed to prevent harsher lines and textures being left behind, probably because the colors were already "floating" on top of the page without settling into the fibers. And because of that, I ended up inadvertently trying a wet gelato on dry paper.  That was okay, but not much different from the other methods I'd already tried. I also tried mixing two gelato colors--Boysenberry and Fig--on a plastic palette by scribbling a bit of each right on the palette and then adding a couple of drops of water, and then I applied my new custom color to the drawing with a brush. This was interesting, and likewise, I think those that prefer more traditional watercolor techniques would probably like this method best. But I also like this method as it gives you a way to make a few more colors if, like me, you just don't have what you want/need and don't want to risk trying to blend/mix the gelatos straight on the paper. (Which I did try and is very much an option, as is blending two colors by using just water on the paper). And just as a side note that the edges of my scene here may not be perfectly blended or applied consistently because I lightly drew a rounded rectangle as "this is the size and roughly the area where I want the color to go" since I knew the gelatos were too imprecise to try and get right up the edges, and I was using a slightly larger piece of paper than usual. And I didn't use any tape to isolate the area, which in hindsight was probably a better idea, but oh well.  Same thing with the funky outline; I defined the area with a glitter marker and tried to cover any gelato that was too far outside the guideline I'd given myself, but there were a few spots I had to cover up a bit with a white gel pen. Speaking of which... I was very right about my pens not liking whatever this gelato stuff is. The white gel pen did okay, but it wasn't as vibrant as I'd hoped and it did get clogged pretty easily, but I had a struggle with black pens similar to my Wire Sunset piece. Except for this time, after trying three pens I saw the light at the end of the tunnel instead of continuing to struggle with more. After a bit of thought, I ended up going with my black "Shark's Eye" Jane Davenport Mermaid Marker, since those use a dye-based ink that behaves similarly to watercolor, but not identically. That way I knew the color would go on top of the gelatos but as long as I was careful and only used so much, wouldn't reactivate any of the colors underneath and leave me panicking with a big mess.   And in the end, even if some lines are bit wobbly/imprecise and I had a few smudge accidents, I think the mermaid marker ended up being for the better because the buildings weren't pitch-black in my reference, but I was really not into the idea of trying to draw enough detail to convey that, and yet because the mermaid marker ink is similar to watercolor, the pigmentation was just inconsistent enough that I think it implies that by accident. In a good way. Overall, I'm pretty happy with how the piece turned out and this certainly convinced me I want to try collecting all the gelatos so I can use them for backgrounds more often, despite some of the difficulties I had with them. They're a unique tool that takes some getting used to. And this does make me want to try some other brands of water-soluble crayons, but I'm not sure if I'll follow through with that just because I feel like these are really good enough on their own for me unless I find some unique colors in other sets I'd just really like to have that I can't get in the gelatos. Time will tell, I suppose. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[unholyhelbig]

Mitchsen Prompt- Aubrey is a doctor and after a long day at work, she wants nothing more than to head home and spend some time with her fiancé, Beca. But after being called in for another emergency and saddened not being able to head home yet. Her heart stops and fear spikes seeing its an injured unconscious Beca being wheeled in to the emergency room.

A/N: Okay, so I may have gone a little overboard on this one. It’s a lot longer than my usual stuff. But I used to write hospital stuff for another fandom. Then I actually got a job in a hospital [OH MY GOD IT WAS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE] and I hope my writing got a little more realistic. But I probably got some technicalities wrong, so please cut me some slack. 

–> Also, heads up, whoever is sending these types of prompts, I love you. They’re out of the box and super fun to write, so thank you! 

Aubrey’s body ached. Every single part of her weary frame was trembling from stress and pressure on her joints. But despite herself, she loved every aspect of her job; she loved the way the stethoscope hung around her neck, the way it felt when she told a family that their loved one was going to be okay, and most importantly- she loved coming home knowing that she had done every single thing in her power to save the lives brought in through the terminals.  

Today was different, however. Today, all Dr. Aubrey Posen wanted to do was curl up next to her fiancé and forget about the troubles. She wanted to forget about the little boy who ended up succumbing to his injuries, and the mother who clutched onto her as she struggled to stay standing; her knees giving out once the horrid news reached her ears.

There were days like this. There were always days like this.

The blonde ran a hand through her hair as she walked past the main doors, a sense of urgency suddenly washing away from her. She had a few more thresholds to pass before she got out those doors and could finally claim a night as hers. The moisture-filled night complete with thunder and lighting that made the hospital even more hectic than usual.

“Oh! Bree!” her breath caught in her throat as she passed the nurses station on the first floor, mouth dry as she raised an eyebrow at her perky little friend. Chloe. The woman had a knack for treating children, she was leaning heavily against the edge of the desk, looking over the chart as her own stethoscope rested by the edge of the counter. “Heading home for the night?”

“Finally,” She smiled softly at the pediatrician.  

“That’s good,” The redhead beamed “Any fun plans tonight? Are you and Beca going to watch a movie or something?”

Aubrey cocked her head to the side, an amused expression gracing her features. “Alright, Dr. Beale. As much as I love you, we both know when you’re stalling on charts.”

“I would never.” She gasped, feigning offense, but all with a sly smirk. “What movie are you going to watch?”

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

Chloe chuckled slightly as she turned her attention back to the diagnosis that she was filling in. The lines were taut and the motions were fluid- paperwork tedious, but necessary. Before Aubrey could turn away from her friend, three even beeps filled the small hallway. Both girls rushed for the pagers on their hips, Chloe knitting her eyebrows together at the blank screen. “It’s not me.”

“It’s me,” Aubrey mumbled. “It’s trauma one.”

“Can’t ignore that.”

“I suppose not.”

Aubrey steadied herself, drawing in a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She had shut down for the night, she was ready to get home and change into some sweatpants. She would have picked up Beca’s favorite meal from the Chinese place and grabbed some actual alcohol that was over the proof of 1% because god knows, the producer and doctor would need something to take the edge off after a day like this- an experience like this.

Instead, she opened her eyes and started to sprint towards the ER. The place reeked of blood and sickness. The way the lights sprung on with a fluorescent glow and the different beeps of monitors filled her ears was so familiar that it didn’t’ matter. Nothing mattered but getting to the emergency room with those patients. If her interns were so inclined to paging her, then it was bad. It had to be bad.

“If a patient isn’t on death’s door than you will be,” Aubrey snarled while one of her main interns, Jessica joined her in her fast walk. She had a chart in her grasp, her eyes flashing with worry. She pulled at her scrubs, uncomfortable with the fit or her own anxieties. “What are we dealing with?”

“Dr. Posen-“The blonde hesitated, causing the older woman to stop in her tracks. Her eyes were wild, her stomach dropped as she clenched her jaw in annoyance. It was a look that would stop traffic. She cleared her throat. “Female, 23. A fractured ulna with two broken fingers. There’s a slight concussion against the frontal lobe- we scheduled an MRI to check for internal bleeding. A stellate laceration against the upper left hairline that requires five or six stitches- Flo is on that now…”  

Aubrey drew in a breath, a calm and collected breath, as she held up her hand. “Why in the hell would you page me after an 18-hour shift for simple injuries with no detrimental factors?”

She knew she was being unfair to the mouse of a girl. She was probably doing what another resident or attending had told her to do. The woman wasn’t soft though, you couldn’t be when you had to put all emotions aside in order to save lives. It was a rough way to live, but she left it at the door- she tried to do exactly that when she had all intentions of leaving the hospital that night.

“Aubrey,” Jessica said, her voice tender and eyes lacking anything but concern. It made the taller woman clamp her mouth shut and lean back slightly so she wasn’t in the intern’s face. Something was wrong, it had to be. “I didn’t page you because of the patient’s injuries. I paged you because of who the patient is.”  

Her mouth was dry as she cocked her head to the side. God, she was so stupid. Of course, her staff wouldn’t pull something like this as some elaborate way for her to cover a shift. This was trouble. Trouble that made Aubrey resume that same exact pace as before- but faster. Faster as a cold sweat dripped against her palms.

“Dr. Posen, wait-“

Jessica’s words didn’t’ meet her ears as her cheeks burned. They were red and splotchy, tears threatening to bubble over her waterline as she rounded the corner into the Emergency room. It was quiet tonight- a few people complaining about a whooping cough and a broken leg here and there. But even quiet was strange in a hospital this size.

Aubrey clenched her jaw as she grasped the metal chart the read “Mitchell” against the top in dry erase marker. Her eyes scanned the information. Well, at least she taught Jessica well enough to understand how to relay information. If she wasn’t in such a rush she would congratulate the woman who was following her around like Lassie.

Instead, she walked down to the last cubicle, ignoring the odd stares from the nurses and even a slight nod from a security guard who seemed to understand that the blonde tornado of a woman wasn’t to be questioned.

Again, she steadied herself and grasped the thin blue curtain that separated her fiancé from the rest of the world. It reminded her of when she got a stomach ache in middle school- she’d have juice shoved in her palm and maybe some saltines before being told to curl up until a parent could pull her into the safe clutches of home. This was almost the exact same.

Beca was propped up against the bed, the back raised as her arm rested in a makeshift splint that they had fastened in the ambulance. A thick rustic edge of blood had dried against the side of her face from the large scrape against her hairline. She was also coated in dirt. A lot of dirt that soaked through her simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants that she usually wore to the gym. She had a lazy grin on her face, her midnight eyes darker than usual.

“Jessica?”

“We gave her 20cc’s of morphine to dull the pain, ma’am.”

“Hi, baby!” Beca slurred, a lazy grin on her face as she reached her one good arm out towards her girlfriend. Aubrey just grimaced, waving Jessica away to fast-track that MRI that they had discussed a bit earlier. She was struggling to keep her composure as she closed the curtain and wondered over to Beca’s bed. She sat on the corner.

She sighed at Beca reached for her grasp, her touch cold and muddy, the blonde relenting as she squeezed her fingers, reaching over and draping the corner of the blanket over them much to the younger woman’s protest. “Bec’s what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Some bushes.” She said, whole- heartedly “It’s not as bad as it looks.”  

“You have leaves in your hair.”

“That’s not the only place they are.” She giggled, making it hard for Aubrey to scold her. It was a rare occasion- seeing her fiancé behave like she wasn’t in charge of everything in the room. She was stubborn and that always showed in her actions. The morphine had lowered some walls.

“What happened to you?” Aubrey said through a slight smile, not being able to resist that stare.

“You said you were working late,” She started innocently, struggling to remember the details. “So I called up Stacie and Amy to go out for a few drinks, you know?”

“Mmhm,” Aubrey listened intently despite the sentences being drawn out as Beca scanned her mind. The three of them going out for drinks was a bad idea anyway- of course, Aubrey had been known to down a few shots once her friends actually got her going. Beca was no different.

“Stacie got locked out of her apartment, so me, being the noble human that I am, said I would climb through the window.”

This struck some fear into the older woman who had scooted closer to her girl, biting the inside of her lip with worry as she cocked her head to the side. “Baby, she lives on the 5th floor.”

“I know that now,” Beca grumbled like a child “I got sticks shoved up places I didn’t even know existed, Aubrey.”  

A bark of a laugh escaped Aubrey as she shook her head, “You have a broken arm, you know?”

“I felt it,” her eyes widened “Bones are fucking loud, babe.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aubrey ran her free hand down her face tiredly. She was admittedly exhausted. When she was on duty she didn’t have to wait long for test results and things to get done, because something always needed to be tended to. But Beca was the only thing in her life that kept her grounded- and apparently, gravity was the same for her small fiancé.

Instead of scolding the girl when she most likely was in a lot of pain, Aubrey shifted her position. She pulled her hand away from Beca, ignoring the small whimpers as she climbed skillfully into the bed next to her, careful not to poke or prod at any of the fresh wounds. Instead- she let Beca let out a content sigh and curl into her side- well, the most she could in the state that she was in.

Aubrey was gentle as she placed her cool fingers under Beca’s chin and lifted her dark gaze up to her own. “What am I going to do with you, Little one?”

Beca let out a content sigh as she didn’t respond, instead, she stretched her neck and pressed a soft kiss to her fiancé’s lips. The younger girl tasted earthy and fresh, like a night camping without the trademark fire and marshmallows. Both girls knew,

It was going to be that kind of night.  

#Beca Mitchell #Aubrey Posen #Mitchsen #pitch perfect #fanfiction #request

[cloudravine]

Fairy tales and their significance in SKAM

Here’s a translation of an excellent comment written by #teamtruelove about the “Ønske deg av hjertet alle gode ting” clip. 

The original fairy tales which are discussed can be found here and here.

Please let me know if there’s anything in my translation that you don’t agree with! <3

In the fairy tale translation challenge on the Hei Briskeby channel, the boys read out excerpts from two fairy tales: “The Twelve Wild Ducks” and “The Town-mouse and the Fell-mouse.”

The queen's nosebleed is what starts off “The Twelve Wild Ducks,” whereas the SKAM trailer ends with Even's nosebleed. “As she leaned against the fence and looked at the red blood and the white snow, she reflected that she had twelve sons and no daughter, and she told herself: had I a daughter white as snow and red as blood, then I would wish the same for my sons.” The nosebleed is what reminds the queen of something she’s been missing and yearning for all her life, and so, in SKAM, I don’t think it means that Even is going to get hurt. It means that he’s going to get the balloon squad back.

When her blood falls on the snow, the queen gets a daughter as she wished — but the price for this is that she loses her sons, who are transformed into wild ducks and take off. When the boys' sister Snehvit og Rosenrød becomes older, she goes and looks for them. She’s given the chance to save them, under the condition that she picks cotton clothing for each brother without saying a single word until her task has been accomplished. At one point, she’s condemned to be burnt at the stake because her stepmother has taken her children from her and, having smeared blood on her mouth, claims Snehvit og Rosenrød has eaten her own children. The innocent woman can’t speak out, for talking would break the spell and make it impossible for her to save her brothers — but her brothers appear at the last moment, giving her the chance to finally speak again. In the SMS roulette video, the balloon squad uses flame emojis when they’re talking about Even. Now, Even must be given the opportunity to speak for himself. Are the Bakka boys going to be the ones to make this happen at last? I believe we’ve been looking at this the wrong way the whole time. Many have been saying that the balloon squad is after Even and that they're going to sacrifice him to the bonfire — but actually, they’re going to save him, and he’s going to save them back. Just how many constellations of people saving each other are there left this season?

Before getting into the second fairy tale, I’d like to mention this: someone has pointed out to me that Twin Peaks has a long scene in which the characters eat carrots and talk about the importance of telling the truth. In SKAM, what if carrots are not only a reminder of something beautiful Sana and Yousef shared, but also a symbol of truth? Sana eats the first carrot and tells all the truth that there is to tell about herself — or at any rate one of her truths, namely that about Saranors2. The next to eat carrots are the Bakka boys, though Yousef appears to be dejected in contrast to the others in the group and ends up taking a noticeably smaller carrot. The last carrot we’ve seen so far is eaten by Noora.

“The Town-mouse and the Fell-mouse” is about two mice from two very different worlds. They’re not able to agree on who has the best life, but they decide to visit each other. First, the Town-mouse goes to the fell. She thinks it’s okay, but in her opinion it can’t compare to the luxury of the town. Then, the Fell-mouse goes to town and is met with an abundance of food and drink, so much so that the Fell-mouse gets drunk on beer (which she had never tasted before) and ends up dancing so thoughtlessly that she’s almost devoured by a cat. She narrowly manages to escape and goes back home, saying: “You say that this is a good life, a better life than mine? May God grant me less, then, rather than such a big farm and a hawk for futility! I was lucky to slip away alive.” The town and the fell represent the buss vs. the looser van in SKAM. Sana is the fell-mouse who is almost lured into the russebuss and behaves in an irrational, dangerous way, but eventually manages to escape the claws of the buss without losing her friends in the process.

However, I also think the fairy tale about the mice can be flipped around. When Isak and Sana talk in “Fakker over vennene sine,” they end up disagreeing in some respects, just like the two mice do. Their main disagreement revolves around who has it worst. Isak has been criticised (rightfully so) for not quite understanding the scope of Sana’s predicament, but the same can be said of Sana as well. When she tells Isak that nobody can see that he’s different, she seems to imply he has it easy in comparison to her, but that’s not ncessarily true. She’s right, nobody can see that he’s gay — and that means that Isak must constantly decide whether or not he wants to make people aware of it, or whether he should simply let people think that he’s straight (which is what most automatically assume without even realising). Isak must take the conscious, active decision to do something which Sana’s hijab does for her. No wonder that many queer people embrace some of the stereotypes out there and make them into their markers, their banners, their hijab! I feel like this is a way of taking away the haters’ weapons. “Gay” can’t be used as an attack when one is comfortable and proud of being it. But this also means that LGBT people must go around continually affirming their identity, without necessarily having a coming out talk with each person they meet. Another consequence of homosexuality not being visible externally is that the feeling of being an aberration can be aggravated every time someone assumes one is hetero. That is a very real struggle, just like hate towards Muslims is real. But, like Isak told Sana, I think a lot of it is caused by ignorance. Much of the perceived criticism against homosexuality which gay people living under the radar have to deal with every day is usually plain thoughtlessness and lack of awareness. The use of the word “gay” as an insult is actually not only thoughtless: it’s also intrinsically wrong. Be it as it may, “gay” is a word which has become part of our day-to-day language and is often uttered without thinking and without any ill intention. Not everybody who uses it is homophobic. This is illustrated in Mahdi’s remark to Isak in “Ikke vær frekk”: “What’s your deal, are you a homo or what?” We know by now that Mahdi is anything but homophobic, and yet even he makes that kind of comment without really considering the implications it could have.

I suspect that the impending drama at the end of this season will give both Sana and Isak the opportunity to better understand the full extent of each other’s situation. They’ve learnt so much from each other already, and they can still learn much more.

Sana and Even are placed at the two ends of the trailer. The trailer starts with Even and ends with Sana, whereas the chain reaction starts with Sana and ends with Even. The only thinkable option in my mind is that Sana and Even’s stories belong together somehow. Their experiences have so much in common. And we see them both from their own unique perspective: Sana on the inside, Even on the outside. Sana in the present, Even in the past. For me, it’s obvious that the two characters’ subplots are connected to each other. Sana starts a chain reaction which (as it seems right now) might end up with Even finally getting the chance to get back together with the Bakka boys — but could this process also set something off which might have repercussions for Sana as well? After all, this is Sana’s season, so I assume it’s her who’s going to be the most affected by all this drama.

#i found this comment incredible and immediately felt the need to share it :) #lowkey hoping i didn't make any ugly translation errors fdgdhjs but i promise i really did my best #skam #sana bakkoush #theskamfam #text: skam

[meydi21]

Proceed with Caution: Disclosing Autism On The Job

Proceed with Caution: Disclosing Autism On The Job In the article, Microsoft Wants Autistic Coders. Can It Find Them And Keep Them?” Vauhini Vara reported: “ . . . millions of adults with autism often find themselves in a difficult bind. They struggle to get and keep jobs because of the disability, but if they disclose it so they can seek accommodations while applying or working—just as someone in a wheelchair, for instance, might request a ramp—they risk facing discrimination from managers or colleagues who mistakenly believe autism, because it affects the brain, must make them less able workers.” The Virginia Commonwealth University website states: disclosing “may be a major cause of anxiety or concern for people with disabilities as well as those who assist them when looking for a job.” It’s important to understand the sensitive subject matter of disclosure. In a recent phone conversation I had with Adam Glass, the Career Path Coordinator at The Autism Initiative at Mercyhurst(AIM), Glass noted that some students state something along these lines: I don’t want to be treated differently. I don’t want to be associated with autism . . . I don’t want to be seen for my weakness. Despite the college students’ justifiable trepidation, as part of the AIM program at Mercyhurst University, Glass encourages the students to disclose their disability. He explains they don’t have to necessarily disclose autism upfront but can choose to disclose a symptomology disclosure. In other words, to disclose a coexisting condition such as sensory integration challenges or a subset of a condition such as over sensitivity to specific uniform fabrics. Glass takes time throughout the year to explain what disclosing a diagnosis of autism can and cannot do, and poses all options, including what happens if you do and what happens if you don’t. He asks each pupil to choose what feels right for you and advices to follow your dreams not stay in a bubble. He informs students of their legal rights and advices if you don’t disclose, you won’t know what options and accommodations you might have access to. He helps students to interpret the law and to understand their employment rights. When Glass and his colleagues travel to meet with employers, who have autism hiring initiatives, they bring some of their students along. And quite often, meeting face-to-face, the potential employees ask the autistic students, “What do you need from us?” What Glass is doing is inspiring, and something that ought to be implemented on high school campuses and college campuses nationwide. His primary goal is to empower and encourage. And part of this goal is achieved through teaching the basics of disclosing. He teaches autism is an integrate part of you, but it’s never you. He emphasizes the divide between individuals who push onward and those that don’t. What I would call resilience. And what autistics can offer that others cannot. When an individual is considering whether or not to disclose a diagnosis of autism several factors come into play: ·     How self-confident and knowledgeable about autism is the individual? ·     Does the individual have a mentor or support person? ·     Is the individual aware of disability rights? ·     Is the individual able to ask for reasonable accommodations, if needed? ·     Is the individual resilient and able to face probable stereotyping, assumptions, and misinterpretations? ·     Is the individual self-empowered? Before setting any person, whether young or old, on the path of disclosing in the workplace, we must be realistic. Most autistics, after disclosing on the job, face some form of discrimination, myself included. Take for example what an audiologist from the UK wrote: “If I choose to disclose my AS (Aspergers) at work, management is initially understanding but then put me in difficult environments due to my experience and end up refusing to make any environmental or procedural adaptations for me. This leads to increased absence, anxiety, rigid thinking, inflexibility and ultimately meltdown (which occurs outside of the workplace, negatively affecting friends, family and romantic relationships). I usually resign before I meltdown at work. I am concerned that I will become unemployable, if I develop a reputation for unreliability in such a small industry . . . We don’t ask for ‘special’ treatment. We ask for certain conditions to allow us to function at the same level as the rest of the workforce. Once these conditions are met, you will find you have the hardest working, most loyal employees around.” A day treader with Asperger’s Syndrome had this to say, “I don’t know what’s worse, being judged because no one knows you have autism or knowing that if you tell people you have autism that action alone is going to come off as extremely strange. In theory, I won’t only be judged for my autism, but for the mere action of disclosing.” A 30-year old autistic man, who wished to remain anonymous, wrote: “I deeply regret sharing my diagnosis. My coworker thought Aspergers was an extremely awful disability that makes people uncomfortable. He had no reference point. And nothing was ever the same again. It resulted in the end of our working relationship. If I was ever to go into another job, the last thing I would ever do is tell them I was autistic . . . because they are just going to misinterpret it. I mean it’s a deal breaker for all NTs (neurotypical/non-autistic); they are never going to look at you the same. It’s not that I am afraid of what they think. I just know that once I tell them that it can never be undone. That’s not just in the workplace. It’s with doctors, family members, even my own parents . . .” That’s the thing about an invisible condition: sometimes we have a choice of whether or not we want others to know. And for good reason, some of us choose not to disclose at all. There is still a lot of misinformation out there surrounding the autism spectrum condition, still a high likelihood of facing the wallop of discrimination, once an autism diagnosis is mentioned. Ironically, today’s business and university leaders often denote autism with an aura of less than, using the words ‘they’ and ‘help them,’ and implying, and even stating, workers on the autism spectrum are incapable of leadership and management—even as large numbers of autistics are the very ones entrusted to educate our children as teaching assistances, general education and special education teachers, and college professors. Furthermore, some of us ‘with autism’ are in highly influential positions, serving as civil servants, defense lawyers, oncology doctors, and pediatric nurses. Whether we publicly admit our autism/Aspergers or not, we are out there in much larger numbers than currently reported. And it’s common knowledge that Silicon Valley and Bellevue, WA hubs, and other technology city centers, are overtaken by professionals with autistic attributes and traits—but maybe by another name—gifted, geek, nerd, genius. To this day, five years after my diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome, I ponder the pros and cons of being out of the “autistic closet.” In considering whether someone should disclose they are on the autism spectrum, a marching band of pros and cons arise. Anyone who is autistic can easily venture into the feasible benefits and risks of disclosing on the job. We all know, and some have lived at some level, the risk of backlash from supervisors and co-workers. And some of us are fortunate enough to know the benefits of an inclusive and accepting work environment. There isn’t a right or wrong answer to disclosing autism or Aspergers on the job. Still there is a potential threat—it’s always there. And there are ramifications, regardless of any precautionary measures taken. In reality, autism is a baby in the realm of marginalized minorities. Swarming is false, outdated, and unsubstantiated information about autism spectrum disorders. Beginning to fly, queries of whether or not autism is even a disorder. And false information certainly abounds. When paid professionals in the field of psychology are mistaking sustained eye contact, empathy, imagination, and ability to make friends as markers against feasibly having autism, how can we expect that the average non-autistic will get it? When “sensitivity” trainings and conventions about autism are saturated by educators and presenters who are non-autistics, how are we heard? And how many immediately box us into constricting conclusions of less than, needs special treatment, fragile, or a charity case? How many think us to be like the one autistic they already know or have heard about? How many of us lose who we are and become something we are not, in the eyes of another, with the mention of autism? “Disclosure provides opportunities to educate and inform other people about autism, and to advocate on behalf of those within our community who may not be in as good a position to do so for themselves,” stated Maura Campbell, a senior manager in the Northern Ireland Civil Service, and former board member of Specialisterne. “It allows you to challenge head-on the myths and misconceptions that abound about autism, partly due to its stereotypical portrayal in the media and popular culture. When people express surprise that I have Asperger’s (which is generally the case), I have an opening to correct some of the inaccurate impressions they may have about autism . . . ” But she is also a realist. “When I ‘came out’, I was asked a couple of times what treatment I was receiving. No matter how hard I tried to tell people that the diagnosis was a positive event, a confirmation of who I already was, they behaved as though I was conveying bad news. What I learned from this was that people do not always receive information in the same way as you present it to them. They often apply their own filters, overlaying what you have said with their own preconceptions and assumptions.”  It is true disclosure during the hiring process or on the job can unintentionally lead to unfavorable consequences. Particularly, if a place of employment is not neurodiverse friendly or is not well educated in autistic culture, history, traits, and attributes. Whether or not to disclose is very much a personal choice. Alternatives to not disclosing autism at a place of work:      State subtle needs    Work to blend in     Establish a support network outside of work     Find a trusted coworker to help interpret unspoken rules and workplace culture    Reevaluate disclosing at a later point    Establish own accommodations  Practice self-care on the job As a general rule, when weighing the pros and cons of job place disclosing, for either yourself or someone you know, keep in mind that the act of disclosing has the potential to lead to direct opportunities for employment success. When an employee discloses on the job: Employers have opportunity to consider workplace adjustments and supports (reasonable accommodations, peer mentors, the establishment of a disability resource group).Job candidate can ask for reasonable accommodation during the job screening process (list of topics that will be asked during interview, an interview over the phone, an overview of the hiring practice, an alternative to resume, a portfolio or video that showcases skills)Springboard for other possible work opportunities within the company (customized job description, creating a new job role, being a neurodiversity trainer or peer-support person)Opportunity to present past workplace supports and how the employee previously excelledWorking with a vocational counselor or other employment specialist to establish support measuresProtected under ADAPlatform to state needs and educate about disability or conditionTransparencyLead to policy change and open new doors for othersAvoid the possibility of an employer feeling mislead or misinformed Yes, there are multiple ways that the act of disclosing a diagnosis of autism or Asperger’s Syndrome can assist a job seeker or an employee. I would definitely recommend disclosing at work (on my good days). Even so, as previously mentioned, the idea is very subjective and dependent upon multiple variables, including the workplace culture, one’s ability to state workplace needs and to stick up for one’s self, the individual’s own understanding of autism, and whether or not there is a support person available. When in doubt about workplace disclosure, I suggest that those on the autism spectrum ask other autistics that have been in the same situation, research into the pros and cons, and make a personal decision that best fits the individual.

[rememberstilinski]

stranded || dylan o'brien (part one)

word count: 1954

warnings: death

prompt: none (prologue)

author’s note: this took forever to post and i am so sorry! i know it’s really short, but the next part will be a lot more interesting i promise! i hope you like this

tags: @ sharenaloveyoux

masterlist

9 Years Later

“Come on, slow poke!” Dylan yelled from up ahead.

“Oh shut up, Dyl! You cheated!” Y/N yelled back, gaining speed on Dylan.

“I didn't cheat! You're just slower than the turtles.” The smirk was evident in his tone of voice. However, Y/N smirked because she had caught up and was right behind him. She had the perfect opportunity to speed up and trip him.

“Than how come I'm right here?” Y/N asked. His head turned to me while the two children were still running. Dylan's eyes grew in shock and then ran into a tree because he wasn't watching where he was going.

Y/N continued running but looked back and saw Dylan on the ground, but he picked himself up and began running towards their destination. She continued her pace and eventually made it to the rock that Dylan and Y/N agreed to run to.

“I win!” Y/N cheered when Dylan caught up to the rock. The grin on Y/N’s face only grew when

“That shouldn’t have counted.” Dylan panted, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “I ran into a tree.”

“I still won. It’s not my fault that you can’t look where you’re going.” Y/N placed her hands on her hips, smirking down at Dylan. He finally gained his breath back, and his amber eyes moved from the dirt covered floor back to Y/N’s.

“Fine, you win. I’ll get you at swimming and baseball though, so you can count on that.”

“Whatever. We got to get back to the house though, mother is giving us baths today.” Dylan agreed with her and they walked back to their home. They’ve been on this island for their whole lives really. Y/N is only nine years old and Dylan is 10 or 11, mother isn’t sure.

It took Dylan and Y/N about five minutes to get back to the far east side of the island. Mother told them they weren’t allowed to go any further west of the island, but she hasn’t told them why. When the children walked inside, mother was gathering soap, towels, and their fresh pairs of clothes.

Y/N typically wore an oversized blouse that belonged to her mother and Dylan wore a set of shorts that mother had made for him. It wasn't much, but it worked. Mother turned around when she heard the door open and shut. “You guys ready?” The woman with red, out of control, curly hair asked holding her items.

Dylan shrugged. “Well, I mean, I guess.” Like most children their age, Dylan and Y/N didn't really care about being clean, they just wanted to play outside.

“Mother, do we have to take a bath?” Y/N groaned throwing her arms in the air dramatically just as Dylan had done all the time.

“Of course. Just because we don't live in civilization, doesn't mean we won't behave uncivilized.” Their mother scolded.

The family walked down to the waterfall not too far from their home. It was a waterfall that emptied into a river and it was deep enough for the family to bathe in. Dylan had eventually reached an age when it was time for him to wash himself, but Y/N always struggled to wash her hair so mother would help her.

Mother was still clad in her clothes even though she was soaked from being in the river. Her fingers massaged into Y/N’s scalp as she washed her hair. “Mom, why do you wear clothes when you bathe?” Y/N queried as she played with the bubbles the soap formed in the water.

“Because it's proper.”

“Why don't Dylan and I wear clothes when we bathe?”

Mother laughed. “I gave up on you two years ago. I would put clothes on you, but you two would just take them off.”

Y/N nodded as she thought. Mother continued rubbing the soap over Y/N’s body. “I wish I looked like Dylan down there.”

“Why?” Mother turned her head so she made eye contact with Y/N. Dylan used his own bar of soap as he washed his hair.

“Because he can aim when he goes psst.”

“I can hit a mango dead center.” Dylan smirked.

Mother let out a breathy laugh, but went back to her work. “Why does he have one that aims and we don't?” Y/N looked to her mother.

“Well,” Mother was stumped and didn't know how to explain the situation. “Boys and girls have different parts. A girl has a--”

Dylan cut her off as he continued cleaning his body. “A cowry shell. Y/N looks like a cowry shell down there.”

Mother didn't know exactly what to say. “So that's what we call mine? A cowry shell. And we call Dylan's a--”

“No, no, no, no!” Mother stopped her words before the discussion could go any further. She touched her mouth and the soap from her fingers was now over her lips. “Never mind. This has gone a little far. I should've explained certain aspects of life years ago.”

Y/N rubbed the soap in her hands. “Explain now.”

“I need to think about it first.” Mother concluded. “I'll explain it to you after your spelling lesson tonight. Come on, let's rinse off.” They each went underwater and rinsed off the soap.

Later that night, after spelling and dinner, the family all sat in the open living area. It had begun raining outside just as it usually did in their tropical home. Mother had explained just about everything, but that led to more questions.

“Why do people get married?” Dylan asked. After his bath, he put on an oversized white shirt that had belonged to Y/N’s father before he passed away. Y/N wore a blouse that mother gave her long ago as she got older.

“When a man and woman love each other, they feel the need to take vows. Vows are like promises. They make promises in front of the whole world. That's called a marriage ceremony.” Mother explained and Y/N and Dylan listened intently, their full attention on what she was saying.

“What about the aspects of life?” Dylan wondered. Mother hesitated. She stood up and grabbed the basket of fruit by the door and walked to the makeshift kitchen area.

“Well, when a girl becomes a woman and a boy becomes a man…”

“When's that?” Y/N asked as her and Dylan got off the floor, following mother to the kitchen.

“It's different for everyone, but you'll know when it happens to you.” She began placing the fruits in the bowl next on the counter.

Y/N was full of questions. “How?”

“Y/N, your body will become rounder. You'll grow breasts like mine and every month you'll bleed a bit from the opening between your legs.” Mother said softly, looking down at her beautiful daughter.

The little girl winced. “I-I don't want to bleed.”

Mother kneeled down to Y/N’s level. “It'll only be for a few days. And it's a great thing. It means your body is healthy and you can have a baby!”

Dylan listened to his mother speak and cringed. “Do I have to bleed?”

“No.” Mother shook her head. “Your body will change, too. Your voice will grow deeper. You'll be taller. You'll also grow hair on your face.” Dylan touched his jaw as his mother spoke to him. “I think you'd look very handsome with a beard. Unless you'd like to shave it off.”

Dylan sighed in relief. “Whew. Dodged a bullet there.” He pretended to wipe a layer of sweat off his forehead. Mother laughed and shook her head.

“I want the baby now.” Y/N said all of a sudden.

“You can't. You're not ready yet.” Mother chuckled. “Even when you are, you need the man to make the baby that will grow inside your tummy.”

“My tummy?”

Mother hummed. “There's a special place inside a girl where the baby will grow. It'll be safe and warm until it's ready to be born into the world.”

“How does the baby get in there?” Dylan questioned.

Mother sighed. Now this was going to be the hardest and most uncomfortable to explain. “After marriage, the man and woman lie very, very close together.”

“I know. Y/N, it's like the iguanas. You know, like where they get so close you can't tell where one begins and the other one ends?”

Y/N nodded. “That's it?” She looked up at mother to see her nodding.

“That's… most of it.”

“That's what I’ve been waiting to hear all day?” Y/N sounded disappointed. Mother just continued nodding, happy she dodged that bullet.

A few weeks passed and all of a sudden, mother grew very sick. She showed no sign of getting better and she knew that she wasn't getting better. The symptoms showed the signs of her end. Coughing up blood, endless tiredness, pale skin. Mother knew it was time to begin explaining what was happening.

One morning, the kids sat on the floor next to her bed. “I can feel that the sickness has moved into my lungs. That means I might not get well.”

“What's going to happen?” Dylan asked, his voice shaking as he spoke.

“You may have to be here without me.” Mother’s voice was raspy and showed her weakness. “If God wants, I'll be with your father. We'll be your guardian angels, watching over you as you grow up.”

Mother knew where she wanted to be buried, so she had Dylan and Y/N help her to the spot. It looked over the ocean around the island and it has a perfect view of the house. “This is where I want to be buried. It's my special place.” She sat in the grass as her children set her down.

“Hollow up the ground and line it with moss. Fill it in, and smooth it over with earth. We’ll carve out a marker and it will say ‘Here lies Y/M/N. Mother of Y/N’.” Mother looked to Dylan. “Dylan, I know I'm not your real mother, but I would also like it to say ‘Mother of Dylan’.”

Dylan had tears in his eyes as he listened to the only mother he's ever known speak of such terrible things. Y/N cried as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

For the next couple of days, Y/N and Dylan prepared for the death of their mother. Y/N put all the bouquets of flowers she'd made around the hole Dylan had dug in the ground. Dylan carved the head marker and placed it where mother wanted it.

The day finally came for mother to be put in the place she wanted. It would forever be the hardest thing Dylan and Y/N would ever have to deal with. Mother had written a prayer that Dylan and Y/N would say for her.

Y/N didn't have the strength to read it, so Dylan did it for her. “May Y/N and Dylan l-love one another and take care of one another. A-and let them k-keep up with their lessons. B-be prepared for the ship w-when it comes.” Dylan stuttered as he spoke trying to keep his voice strong. He felt that he had to be strong for Y/N.

That night the two laid in the bed that once belonged to their mother. It was still light outside, but they were both very tired. It was a long day and they needed the rest. Their home was quiet and it felt odd without their mother there. They were all alone.

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien imagines #dylan o'brien smut #dylan o'brien smuts #dylan o'brien au #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinski smuts #stiles stilinski au #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf smut #teen wolf smuts #teen wolf au #stiles x reader #dylan x reader #stiles #stilinski #dylan #o'brien #dob #dob imagine #dob imagines #dob smut

[askanautistic]

Hi I'm allistic but I work with a young autistic boy. I'm a private aide for him during the school day. I want to help teach him coping skills and self-management to understand when he needs sensory input or a break from the activity, and I don't want to use ABA b/c I've seen that it can be so harmful. However, when he gets mad, frustrated, or overwhelmed he tends to punch and kick, and it's usually me. His anger escalates quickly and I don't usually have time to talk him through coping (1/2)

(2/2 about allistic with autistic student) coping and calming strategies and he begins to scream, punch, and kick. When I ask other teachers and my supervisors for input, they tell me it’s all for attention. Anyways, can you give me any ideas about potential coping and self-management skills for kids who get angry quickly and can’t or don’t verbalized it? And when to work on it so that it can become a habit when he starts to get angry/frustrated? Thanks in advance!- Try to work out if there’s a pattern. Particular tasks that frustrate him, a particular time of day when he starts to get more prone to anger, or even if it’s potentially something he’s eating, as some children are more sensitive to additives in food and it has a dramatic effect on their behaviour.- Find alternative ways for him to communicate (even if he’s usually verbal or has communication methods in place). It might be that he’s losing the ability to communicate before he’s losing his temper, without anyone noticing. So having alternatives and encouraging their use will mean he’s less likely to lose that ability and grow frustrated (if that is the case).- Encourage breaks and the use of sensory toys/input consistently, rather than as a last resort to help calm him. Perhaps utilising these things throughout the day will help prevent his frustration/anger from escalating.- Try to model some self-evaluation/coping skills, as this will demonstrate coping skills and also take some of the focus off of him (instead of everything being about how he feels and what he needs, which can be quite a lot of pressure and overwhelming focus, you could say, “I’m getting a bit sleepy, I just need to get up and stretch,” or if you can see he’s stuck, “I’m finding this a bit confusing and I’m getting a bit annoyed at myself, so can we take a break?” Or depending on how he communicates, you could use the same method (showing him a card, pointing to a picture, something that demonstrates how you feel and/or what you need).- Give him breaks from you. It’s quite intense having to spend the whole day with a single person, or constantly having adults with you (even if you get on with that person). You might need to just supervise from a distance sometimes, or get other staff members to spend time with him sometimes. I work with kids and the majority of the kids in my class could get away with doing things like talking when they should be working or have some opportunity to slack off a bit or be silly without someone noticing, and kids aren’t always going to be focused or perfectly behaved (neither are adults for that matter!) but kids who are constantly 1:1 don’t have that freedom. So it’s good to be mindful of that. - If he’s able to/has a reliable communication method that he does use at the moment, discuss his anger with him when he’s calm. Find out whether there’s anything you can do that would help (for example, if he starts to show signs of getting angry, would it be better if you moved away from him to give him space). Try to come up with agreed was of him managing and then put up reminders.  Perhaps then when he gets angry he’ll know he can take himself off to a different area to calm down (and the agreement would be that you understand that he needs to go and will let him without trying to talk to him about it until he’s returned). Or there might be a cushion or even an actual punching bag that he can use (and having a reminder of that and knowing that that item has that purpose might help him direct his aggression towards that instead of you).- Create activities to help you come up with ways for him to tell you what bothers him and what he needs when he is angry. You could talk about it and write lists or you could use pictures and cut and paste options. For example make up mood boards with cut and paste or the option to stick on options for ways to cope (for example on an ‘anger’ board, the option to shout into a pillow, to go to a quiet space, to punch a punching bag, to run around, to be alone or to be with a different member of staff, and let him choose which things he would like to do when he gets angry). You could also try the same thing to give him a way to show you what kind of things make him angry. Rather than singling him out if this makes him uncomfortable, you could make one for yourself to model, or you could ask other children to make them too.- Simplify communication as much as possible for times when he’s already past the point of being able to communicate as he usually would. For example, having a colour chart or a few faces where he works will give him the opportunity to just stick a marker on the appropriate emotion/colour, so that he can very quickly and easily show you that he’s angry. You could encourage him to use it throughout the day, and even have your own one to model with.- Sometimes it helps to acknowledge that feeling that way is horrible for the child/person themselves. Being angry and out of control os scary, and having other people reacting to you can make you feel even worse. For a kid, realising that they’re not the only one and it’s normal to get angry can (in some cases) help alleviate some of that stress so that they can better manage things.- It can make a huge difference to model things yourself and to make the effort to relate. It might not work in all situations but I’ve frequently had children exhibit better coping skills through copying me (for example, children who would get upset at the sound of the alarm seeing me covering my ears and then doing that themselves and also seeming to be reassured by the fact that I don’t like the noise either). I’ve also had children with anger problems recover quicker from the post-rage downer when I’ve explained that I get angry too and I know it’s horrible when you get angry and then other people get angry and upset with you and everything just gets worse and worse. - Try to get other staff on board with any methods you are using. This means that they won’t question him (or you in front of him), make any remarks, or comment on his behaviour when he is angry as any negative comments are likely to fuel it. Positive feedback when he has calmed down might be okay (he might not like to be reminded, but he might respond well to being praised for using coping skills).-  Angry outbursts are basically meltdowns (assuming he is incapable of calming down rather than that he calms down as soon as he gets his own way - those are tantrums) so by that point he has lost some cognitive ability so talking to him or touching him might exacerbate matters. - Meltdowns are also not about the attention, meaning having attention can cause more embarrassment and distress and exacerbate things. So it might help having everyone ignore him, and giving him a private space to retreat to (even if it’s a tent or just a small area that’s sectioned off from view).- Make sure he is getting some kind of exercise. Some children who are often supervised 1:1 end up not really having the opportunity to run around and play properly (depending on who is responsible for them during those times, or the layout of the school, and some children might have motor difficulties that make it difficult to play in the ways that the other children generally play. Engaging with him, or finding alternative ways for him to get rid of any anxious energy or frustration might help (if he doesn’t really run or understand or enjoy games like tag, for example, and struggles to run for or catch balls, find out if there are other things you can do like use trampolines, or a bike, or climbing frame - even if these items are not in his regular play area perhaps he can have some time to engage in these activities).

#anger #meltdowns