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dripdropdown555 · 1 month

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The Bimbo Bounce (I’m back)

Alliteration is a useful hypnotic tool. It gives sentences a bit of extra potency, makes mantras easier to remember, and improves the lifespan of a suggestion pretty considerably. That's the operating theory, anyway. Shall we explore?

Bounce for me; that's simple enough to start things off.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

The phrase sticks, somehow, even though it sounds a little silly. Something seems to make it linger in your head. It has a unique feel to it, a quality you can't quite put your finger on. The syllables seem to echo: bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

But how does a bubbly brain behave? Like a bubble, as you'd expect, with something creating a volume of empty space inside while thoughts slide smoothly across the expanding surface, oily and slick. At first, it feels like your thoughts have more area across which to spread. Your thoughts shift slightly, glistening and growing ever more thin. At least, until the bubble pops.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

And burst it must. Bubbles are ephemeral entities, aren't they? It's alright; you'll scarcely notice. When the bubble pops, your thoughts that are currently floating on the surface will splash to the floor. The empty space inside will rush rapidly outward, turning you into a bit of an airhead. Seems fitting, doesn't it?

Bursting bubbly brains blow pink

Bounce, and pop.

You'll feel the splash like a sudden surge of lust and arousal coursing through your body. The rush of air inside your head might cause you to get light-headed, so you'll spread your legs to steady yourself. Of course that's what you're doing, isn't it? Steadying yourself, not putting yourself on display. Right.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

Burst bubbly brains blew pink

Bimbos brainlessly bounce.

As you begin to bounce to a silent rhythm, it occurs to you that some bubbles have a kaleidoscopic sheen when you look at them, but others have a very solid color within. Your brain-bubble was bubblegum pink, now that you think about it.

Well, as much as you can presently think about anything. That pop did more than just fill your head with empty air. You can feel your intelligence leaking into the space around you, escaping...your absent brain can't contain it any longer.

Bimbos bounce their brains away.

If your brain was still intact, you might think to stop bouncing so you'd be better able to think. But your brain exploded in a flash of pink and wet, and now you're as blank as a bouncing bimbo should be. You're able to understand my words out of some remnant of intuition, but if you pause to try and think them through, everything just goes pink and pops again.

Blank bimbos bounce brainlessly

That seems sensible enough, especially since bouncing feels pretty good. The splash of wet pink thoughts from the pop made your body more sensitive, perhaps by providing you with better things on which to focus. You certainly feel blank, and you are bouncing. Are you a bimbo, though?

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

A side effect of the bubbly brain from before is that you're finding all of this pretty amusing. Certain bits of sentences make you want to giggle and smile, even when you can barely understand them. Might've let too much of your intelligence leak away, but it's all just so silly, isn't it?

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

If you were a bimbo, would you be able to tell? Would you find the situation you're in far more amusing than you should? Would your body be becoming progressively more sensitive as your empty head adjusts to having no thoughts to contain and feeds all that focus to your hungry nerves? Would the bouncing be this arousing all by itself?

That depends primarily on what sort of bimbo you've become, but the answer should be clear by now. Each bounce produces a wave of pleasure, each wave pushes more of the remnants of your brains into the air. The less brains left in your head, the more you smile and giggle. The giggles produce flashes of pink that remind you how very silly and simple this is. All you did was bounce.

Bouncing blank bubbly bimbos are brainwashed

Bounces can take all sorts of forms. You can bounce bits of your body with your hands, bounce up and down in a chair, bounce with the aid of the springs below the bed...all to the same end. Everything is turning pink and wet and silly for you.

This leaves you with only two options: You could let yourself settle, riding the high of the blank bubbly brainwashed bimbo until your brain somewhat reluctantly returns to your head. I won't stop you, you'd simply wake after a few minutes of coming back down.

Or the blank bouncing brainwashed bimbo could shift the energy from bouncing just a little and satisfy that lust your body is feeling. The only real hazard is that your head is already full of air, and cumming your brains out when they've already mostly evaporated could leave you pretty dumb before it's all said and done.

But you've already made a choice, or it's already been made for you. My words could be passing by almost invisibly as the bouncing subsides, or you may already be excitedly picking a toy to bounce on or a rhythm to use while you stroke yourself senseless.

Either way, everything will fade into a yummy pink haze before much longer. I wonder how much bimbo brain you'd need to bounce away before the condition became a bit stuck...

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly

Bubbly brains are bound to burst

Burst bubbly brains blow pink bubbles

Blank brainless bimbos bounce

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

Blank bouncing bimbos are brainwashed

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

Go on, up and down, bouncing yourself all brainless and bubbly. You'll drift awake awhile after you've finished following my instructions.

Do let me know how silly, brainless, or dumb you felt...if you are comfortable expressing it, of course.

(Editors Note: I used to be @slowlymyavenue but tumblr shadow banned me so I have restarted - please follow and reblog here)

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satyricplotter · 5 days

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pairing: dick grayson x reader

word count: 3.2k (i think?)

warnings: rape mention (as per dick's canon)

notes: i keep thinking of applying one of my favourite manga/manhwa tropes with dick specifically, because it works so well, but i don't particularly care to put in the work of setting up that it'd take for it to land as well as it could. maybe later. as it is, i'll give you the quick rundown because i spent two days writing it lol

something ugly about you has made you undeserving of romance. you have spent your entire life puzzling out what it is and how to fix it. nothing much is special about you: the matter’s far from isolation, or becoming any particular sort of pariah. perhaps that'd be easier to explain. no. people leave you alone, your friends cherish you, your family loves you. it is not that you have not known affection, but that you have and so when you crash against the wall that horrible first time, it hurts all the more.

nothing changes after that. there is always a limit to where your interest can reach, unnamed but palpable. a line you cannot cross. it seems to you as if the entire world has reached a silent consensus during a meeting to which your attendance was not required and your input unnecessary. why would it be? this is not about you. after all, your ability to love has not become impaired. you like people. you’ve fallen in love. but who has ever loved you back?

this one facet of life has been closed off to you entirely, and you’ve been chased away from all attempts to form a romantic bond with unspoken threats of shame and implications of disgust. (a bit much of a display just for the offense of being little old you. you come to regard the matter so as you grow older and start curating some self-respect. it still stings as badly as scrubbing your skin raw under hot water, but not all the loathing is directed inward nowadays.)

regardless, you’ve learnt that you are undesirable, and nothing you can say or do will change that. you must be content with the other shapes that love can take. nothing that you want matters whatsoever.

you meet dick grayson one summer evening under exceedingly normal circumstances. you do not know about heroes or rogues, no batmans or nightwings. the person that crosses the threshold is none other than dick grayson, the handsome young man. suspicion does not cross anybody’s mind, and if it does, it comes only a good couple of thoughts after his darling smile and shapely thighs.

obviously you like him immediately. what’s not to like? he’s gorgeous.

you react to him with the tense wariness of someone hardened by years of useless crushes. trying to avoid him. trying to be normal when you invariably cannot. it’s fine. it’ll be fine.

you still crush on him.

it’s inevitable, at this point. he’s too pretty, too smart, too kind not to draw you in. every interaction comes a rush of exhilarating fear. at times, you manage to subdue yourself into normalcy, hang out with him with as much naturalness as you can muster. but then he does something particularly attractive and you’re back in square one, shoulders drawn together and so short with him he probably gets emotional whiplash. it’s as exhausting for you as it must be for him, and he still reacts to it with grace. it doesn’t help.

through your concerted efforts to be normal, or at least appear as much, you and dick become friends. not great friends, mind you, but good enough that you start hanging out on your own without any of your mutual friends present. and you only spend about three hours total pondering the meaning behind the phrasing of his texts. that’s gotta be some form of progress, right?

he sits at a little table away from the window, and beams when you arrive. coffee’s on him and conversation’s on you. you’ve got more in common than you first thought, but you go back and forth between imagining it must be fate and squashing down delusion, telling yourself you’re blowing it out of proportion.

at one point in time, a beautiful, sultry-looking woman approaches the table.

this sucks, you think, glancing away from dick’s bland mask of politeness. all of it is hopeless and it still sucks.

you and dick tense immediately, like you both know what’s coming. sure as ever, the woman smiles and asks for his number. you look away politely, sip at your drink. the proximity makes it useless to pretend you’re not eavesdropping (though it can hardly be called that when she came to your table), but you take care not to make any faces that’d give away the little storm brewing in your stomach.

you think about running off to the bathroom, get as far as shifting on your seat when dick shoots you a troubled look. the woman’s been at it for a little more than is appropriate. a minute or so more of insistence and she’ll be stretching the boundaries of her own dignity too far. you look away with pressed lips and move your hands under the table.

your alarm beeps.

“oh, shit, dude,” you gasp, hoping to land somewhere in the ballpark of realism. “It’s almost seven. we’ve got to go, or else we’re gonna miss the movie.”

dick gives the woman his apologies and swiftly runs out of the café with you hot on his heels. on the way to the movie theatre, you wanna ask the million questions running through your head—why’d he reject her? didn’t he like her? did he not think she was pretty? who is pretty for him? what’s his taste in partners? is he seeing someone?—but you know it’s a futile endeavor. what will you even get out of that? it’s clear dick didn’t enjoy the interaction either. you make small talk about something else, trying to draw his attention away from whatever conflicted feelings he’s moored in right now. just because you like him doesn’t mean you can’t be a good friend to him.

it’s a short walk. soon enough, he’s all smiles again. in the line for the popcorn stand, another two girls come up to him, this time much younger than you two. he’s nicer with them than he was before, but he rejects them all unequivocally.

“doesn’t it annoy you?” you can’t help but ask. when dick raises an elegant eyebrow, you panic and backpedal so hard you might as well have driven a truck through a storefront.

“a bit,” dick says, ignoring your rambling. you shut your mouth firmly closed when he gives you a sidelong glance, and continues, so very casually, “it’s worse when it comes from a friend rather than a stranger. so many people just try to befriend me because they’re looking for a relationship, or they want access to my body. it’s… tiring. i’m sure you can relate.”

“ah,” you say. your tongue feels numb, but you’re burning up under the weight of his gaze. “no. I don’t really get harassed like that or, um, asked out.”

“huh.” dick blinks. “really?”

“yeah,” you force out. blessedly, the attendant calls your attention. you jostle dick forward. “look, it’s our turn.”

dick orders popcorn. you get a large slushy that you’re not gonna finish. you make him pay. he complies with no question. inside the theatre, you spend all two hours and sixteen minutes of the showing in absolute silence. it is not so strange to be fixated on the movie, but you’re usually a little more chatty. under normal circumstances, you’d eagerly take the opportunity to lean closer to him, whisper something about the main character’s penchant for gummies and its relation to the degradation of the American working class. he’d glance at you and thoughtfully smile, and you’d catch a whiff of his cologne when you straightened. for the rest of the movie, the twinkle of his eye as he forwent the film for your conversation would be all you’d think about.

such is not the case now.

you can tell when you’ve been summarily dismissed. in fact, you appreciate when people are subtle about their rejections. it’s always all the more humiliating when they feel the need to bring it out into the open, like your affections have been so blatant they must be commented on, debated.

the rest of the evening is spent convincing yourself that this is good, that this means it’ll be better for yourself going forward. you’ll be less distracted, if anything. dick’s attempts to discuss the movie with you afterwards fall flat, as the only thing you really want is to get home and stare at your ceiling.

when you’ve reached your apartment door, and are turning to enter after a hurried goodbye, dick calls your name.

“look,” he says, running a hand through his hair unsurely. “I don’t usually do this.”

oh, no. dread fills you up. he’s breaking up with you and you’re not even dating.

you swallow. “dick—”

“I like you a lot,” he interrupts. your teeth clang the way you shut up so fast. in fact, you feel a little dizzy. he continues before you can even process that first sentence. “I think you and I could be really good friends, and I’d love if we could continue seeing each other to, you know, hang out and talk. I do truly appreciate your insight. is that okay?”

you blink fast some three or four times. it must be comical, the face you’re making, because the corner of dick’s lips pulls upward despite him trying to keep a serious air.

“I thought we were already friends…?” you say, at a loss for anything else to say.

“yes!” he beams. “we are.”

“okay,” you respond, perplexed. this is so far out of left field. “um. text me when you’re home?”

“yeah.” he grins. gorgeous grin, to be sure, but why? “for sure.”

“cool.” you give him an awkward thumbs up and scurry inside.

it is… baffling. you spend all of that night wide awake and pondering. dick must’ve misconstrued something, or either you missed a crucial step in your relationship. otherwise the end to that evening makes absolutely no sense. the only thing you can conjure up is that dick must reject a lot of people who, like he said, try to befriend him only to get with him or worse, only to fuck, and it’s not very likely most of those people stay in his life once it is clear he won’t budge on the matter. the fact that you didn’t immediately turn your back on him must’ve come to him as a pleasant surprise.

it’s sad. like, really fucking sad, actually.

that very sadness—and the memory of his handsome, bright grin—turns your outlook inside out. why do you like dick? clearly he’s got the looks and the personality, but do you really know him? what do you know of him? you make a list of things you’ve learned about him in the short time of knowing him. it’s not long.

you come to the conclusion, mortifyingly so, that you don’t, in fact, like dick grayson. that, if anything, the only thing you like is the idea of the boyfriend he could be, which is not the boyfriend that he is (you know nothing about that). it’s the social acumen inherent in bagging such a hottie, and the sparkling sexual attraction bound around it, that really prompt your crushing. it’s not dick as a person. frankly, you think, a little hysterically, could be anyone, really. didn’t even have to be dick. he was just there, the handsomest person in the room. an apt target for the voracious hunger of your heart. you’d mooned and mooned over him for ages and it turns out it wasn’t even about him.

god, you’re such an asshole.

in penance, you endeavor to actually get to know dick without the embarrassment of a crush between you. and it does, in fact, help. dick’s eager to get to know you too, now that you’ve both formally acknowledged you’re friends (such a weird practice, fresh out of kindergarten behavior, but, as you soon find out, dick is weird about plenty and not entirely well-adjusted as an adult). you go on outings together, attend one another’s events, text sporadically throughout the day. you learn which video games dick likes, you tell him which movies are your favorites. it’s fun and light and uncomplicated now that you’ve freed yourself from the constraints of romantic expectation.

not everything’s good. dick’s got bad habits, which grate on you. is it so difficult to put the stupid toilet seat down? can he not learn to chop vegetables in chunks smaller than an elephant’s baby teeth? can he, for the love of god, stop yelling at the tv during horror films? he’s got some serious character flaws, too. you find about those a lot more slowly, but they don’t cause too much trouble.

you fight one or two times due to dick suddenly abandoning you in the middle of an outing with no regard for your safety, and his tendency to get pissy instead of saying whatever’s upsetting him upfront when he knows, you’ve warned him that you’re stupidly thoughtless about your actions at times. all those are things you wouldn’t have come to experience if you hadn’t given the man a chance to actually be a friend. it’s kind of heartening, actually, to have come so far.

sometimes your crush rears up its head in the middle of nowhere. it’s kind of hopeless by now, but you can’t help the fact that dick’s attractive. neither can he, anyway. you just watch him sometimes, the way the sun hits his eyes, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. it makes you go tongue-tied and silly, but the moment always passes. it has to pass. you struggle against it, recall every time dick has upset you or insulted you in one way or the other. some days it’s easy as buttering toast, others you can barely think around the searing heat of your desire. those are bad days for all involved.

one evening, when you’ve grown close enough you’ve begun to think about dick grayson as maybe, possibly, only-if-he-says-so-too your closest friend, he tells you about catalina.

he does it over the phone line, during your almost-nightly calls. over the months, you’ve taken up the practice of teasing him about handsome people he clearly finds attractive in a desperate bid to divert attention and train yourself for when you have to do it for real. this is not one of such cases, and as soon as you realize this, you sober up immediately.

he says it so simply. talks about it like it’s just a hazard of life. there’s a tight hardness at the edge of his voice, but other than that, he speaks like it’s normal Tuesday for him.

not so much for you.

“is it okay if I come over?” you request over the line.

for a moment, the only thing you hear is dick breathe. “yeah,” he croaks, and you’re bolting out the room immediately.

you don’t know how to react to this other than with a shaky sort of desperation. it’s been years since it happened. there’s nothing you can do about it now. there’s something big he’s leaving out, which you notice but don’t point out. a big lump forms on your throat as he speaks. dick tells you when you arrive that the woman is behind bars for an unrelated crime and the only way you stop yourself from wishing ill on her out loud is the fact he looks so politely disjointed, you know your fury will only startle him.

and you feel it so frightfully, the fury.

you love dick, you realize. beyond the fancies and the underlying attraction, you love dick as a person, as a friend. he’s one of yours now.

the evening morphs into a casual sleepover. you don’t interrogate him, and he seems torn between wanting to say more and grateful you’re not prying. you keep yourself open to the possibility, but also try to comfort him as best you can. you make dinner. you put on a movie. you talk and joke and quietly watch. he invites you on the bed with him because his couch is a nightmare to sleep in and his guest room is “unavailable”, whatever that means. you don’t even think about it, just follow.

lying together under the sheets with the lights off, the rest of your feelings bubble up to the surface.

you ask before you clasp his hands between yours and look into his shiny eyes in the darkness. you try to tell him, how this single evening and all those that came before turned over your loyalty to him. how he can come to you for anything he ever wants or needs—your ear, your care, your protection. how much you appreciate his trust and how much you wish you could make anything, everything better for him. how much he deserves it.

“I’ll never leave you now,” you vow with fierce conviction, searching his eyes for any signs of doubt. any other time you would’ve questioned this statement with the sheer weight of infinite possibilities, but not now. tonight, truth is absolute and in your hand. “they will never take me from you. I will always be on your side, by your side. i’m serious, grayson. you’re not getting rid of me.”

a glimpse of a watery smile is the only thing you see before dick throws his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “couldn’t dream of it,” he whispers into your hair.

you hug him back as tightly as he is, murmuring platitudes and running your fingers through his hair. he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of your arms. he feels secure enough to do so, and you feel both proud and nauseous about it considering the secret you keep.

that he’s told you this at all, that he’s trusted you with such a thing—you know how big it is. you know you can never betray him.

you consider your inherent monstrosity, that little unspeakable thing that bars your from that special kind of love. you understand, firmly, that any desire you feel will never be received eagerly and joyfully. not by him or anyone else. in silent fury, you vow to die before you be like her, to bestow upon this man your grotesque wanting with no regard for his own desire, for the integrity of his being.

that night, you press a kiss to dick grayson’s hair and let him go forever.

the next morning, dick watches as you leave. you turn back one last time to wave at him from the parking lot, a bright smile and tussled hair you didn’t bother to brush. you wear out the clothes he lent you to sleep, so harried last night in your haste to come over that you’d simply forgotten to pack pajamas. he suspects you hadn’t planned to stay the night at all, but he’d been damned if he’d let you go yesterday.

you’re pretty. he’s always thought so, but this morning, you’re prettier than ever. it’s the radiance of your heart shining through.

I will always be by your side, you’d said last night. you’d meant it completely, then. dick had been dazed, overcome. he couldn’t take the brightness of your eyes, the surety of your affection. he’d buried his head in your neck and fallen asleep breathing in the smell of your shampoo. in the morning, he’d woken up with your fingers carding through his hair and the gentle warmth of your body against his.

that was nice. he wonders what he has to do to make it happen again.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dc imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #not that the night life features as anything other than a mention #anyway for those in the know.... this is the chundan 'i like you because you don't have expectations of me'/'im never gonna like ycy' scene #except set up a little differently given there's no isekai happening here #satplotdb

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slowlymyavenue · 2 months

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THE BIMBO BOUNCE

As the title suggests, this will be a bit of a departure from my usual fare.

I am, as always, very interested in feedback on this piece (and any other.)

Bounce for me; that's simple enough to start things off.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

Bursting bubbly brains blow pink

Bounce, and pop.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

Burst bubbly brains blew pink

Bimbos brainlessly bounce.

Bimbos bounce their brains away.

Blank bimbos bounce brainlessly

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

Bouncing blank bubbly bimbos are brainwashed

Either way, everything will fade into a yummy pink haze before much longer. I wonder how much bimbo brain you'd need to bounce away before the condition became a bit stuck...

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly

Bubbly brains are bound to burst

Burst bubbly brains blow pink bubbles

Blank brainless bimbos bounce

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

Blank bouncing bimbos are brainwashed

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

Go on, up and down, bouncing yourself all brainless and bubbly. You'll drift awake awhile after you've finished following my instructions.

Do let me know how silly, brainless, or dumb you felt...if you are comfortable expressing it, of course.

A message:

Hello yes I’m back, I took a break but now I’m here, please follow reblog and share, dms are open x

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

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Hi, I am currently slowly writing a story about Danny Fenton being a mall Grinch in gotham and later fighting a Batman rouge (think mall Santa only the Grinch instead). I got a few chapters up and some art.

Do you got any advice on writing? I would love to hear it.

Also I really enjoy seeing you on Tumblr all the time,it has made my day happier many a time.

I hope you have a good year despite your haters.

DANNY AS THE GRINCH!? That's honestly so perfect. Please send me the link I love to see Danny just decking people with all his "I hate Christmas" energy.

Thank you for reading all my random dabbles. I really enjoy seeing people react to them. And no worries, I'm used to people hating. My HP and HP blog fics have been getting a lot of messages. Some people just have a lot of free time.

As for advice,

I always pick a character and write their POVS because I like exploring a character's narrative compared to what the audience knows.

You must know the character's mindset to write how they react to things. Know their backgrounds, likes, dislikes, habits, pet peeves, and favorite foods.

Knowing what the character would "see" first is also important. Like when describing settings. Most people (not all I know) do not spend three hours counting the grass stands or how many buildings are on the street, but they will usually spot one thing first - maybe the sunset looks really nice? A group of kids is playing, and screaming to the side? maybe they smell something good?- and their mind launches on to that before noticing other details.

Sprinkle into how they interact with the world makes them see real and more three-dimensional. Show not tell is one of my favorite methods to get that across.

For Example Tim,

He grew up wealthy but neglected. He is externally book smart and even has a good grasp of street smart, but emotionally intelligent, he's not the best.

To tell would be something like:

"Tim is a great CEO. Despite being young he can run a business great, can keep up with the Batman and can even find the time to date."

To show would be something like:

"Tim prides himself in organizing his schedule for a well balance work and private life. His duties as CEO were easier to manage due to his training as Drake Heir. He knew how to smile, charm, and persuade the upper crust of Gotham long before he was running on roofs with Bruce."

Both work well for any situation but showing lets people know why the character is the way they are without making it sound like a list of facts.

I hope this makes sense.

Oh also here are some really reference I like to go back to

Words to say instead of said

body languages phrases

How to build romantic relationships

#dcxdpdabbles #mun speaks

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probablyhuntersmom · 2 years

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Therapists have to pay attention and see if there is a root problem that is different from the issue that a client speaks about (the latter is termed the client's "presenting problem"). The root problem is the goldmine of info behind a client's symptoms and thus how to reduce/manage said symptoms.

I think Hunter's presenting problem is he fears not being useful. We hear this directly from him in Eclipse Lake.

But beyond that, I believe the uneasy undercurrent - the root issue - is what would happen if he is no longer regarded as useful.

It's about "family" (the keyword in the screenshots shared below), except his understanding of family is warped thanks to being brainwashed by his uncle. In his world, the love offered by family is conditional and must be earned. It's about the risk of being rejected and cast out (a.k.a. killed) of whatever is left of their family, if he does not deliver...even though dear uncle Belos never phrases it in such an overt manner.

"Not being useful" is "no more family" at the deeper level. If he isn't attached to the safety and love of a family unit, he is "nothing".

The lie that Belos tells him in the first screenshot, creates the fear that fueled his drive to excel as the Golden Guard. It was the basic script that underpins every aspect of his duties as the specially appointed right-hand man of the Emperor himself.

What's totally nuts to me is how Belos spins a web of lies about being worried that something will happen to Hunter, implying that the threats are from the external world, that he will lose Hunter as his nephew. But fast forward to the part where us in the audience were truly horrified in Hollow Mind. Belos made it sound like the external world was the biggest danger for Hunter. But the biggest threat was in the 'comfort' of home all along.

When the rug was pulled from under our poor boy in that episode, his symptoms of C-PTSD are then in full swing because the "family" he regarded as his safe nest turned out to be the biggest threat towards him: Belos had attempted to murder him in a freakish way.

When Hunter's perceptions about "family" are threatened so directly, it feels way scarier than the dread he felt being "useless" in Eclipse Lake when he failed yet another mission. It isn't about usefulness anymore and goes deeper than that, because if you are cast out, you therefore have nobody to prove your usefulness to in the first place.

And he can't just get rid of these mental scripts about family. The usefulness scripts may be easier to reframe. But the family ones in particular, are highly subconscious stories of his that have been woven in during formative years of his life, and he can't help but make sense of the world through them as his lens. They can certainly be tweaked, bit by bit, which requires that he rebuilds trust again in people, the external world, and himself. Now he might be wondering if "family" is even worth any effort anymore, and wondering about what the word is even supposed to mean.

I wanna see his future parental figure extending the kind of care towards him, which he has extended to other characters like Gus:

(Notice above that when he put his arm around a very distressed Gus in the finale, he is still living out the belief that family is important, which led to him wanting Gus to experience the closest thing to family that Hunter could offer. It's all about reframing and redirecting the underlying belief(s) towards the right people and places)

#source: about 170 hours of me chatting with my supervisors about various cases #toh #toh hunter #the owl house #toh analysis #emperor belos #golden guard #abuse tw #child abuse #child abuse in media #ptsd #cptsd #long post #loz writes a meta

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 2 years

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Hi I’m so sorry if your not excepting asks right now but I was just wondering how your monster Au would react to a Mc (she/her pronouns) who seems really maternal and always try’s to make sure her friends (or just anyone) id happy and well fed, but really it’s because that’s how her mother was and sense passing away that the only way she thinks they can be close again. Plus Mc not really giving herself time to greave sense coming to NRC, and from time to time breaking down silently as to try to not mimic any hurt noises. (I’m sorry if this seems strange my mother passed away recently and your Au has really made me smile, so thank you.)

I am so sorry for your loss, hun. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be going through…

Losing someone you’re close to is never an easy thing to experience. Everyone processes their grief differently and for different lengths of time…and that’s okay. No one can tell you how long you’re supposed to grieve or tell you to get over it. You are allowed to feel the emotions you’re feeling and you are allowed to cry.

I wish I knew what more I could say at this point, and I'm sorry that this took a little bit longer for me to answer but...I wanted to do my best with it and I hope it brings you some comfort.

My inbox is always open for asks, so unless I make an announcement stating otherwise it's okay to send asks and I will do my best to answer them as quick as I can. Please enjoy, and I hope things are getting easier for you 💝

WARNING: Death mentioned, but mostly hurt/comfort.

////-----------------////

It all started with Grim.

From the day they became dorm mates it was hard for the others to not notice how Yuu doted on the smaller monster, comforting him when things got bad or he got messy or hurt. One researcher who observed this behavior theorized that Grim had activated some form of maternal instinct in Yuu, seeing the little chimera as “her own cub” as they put it. This seemed to prove true when Cheka appeared, her voice just as soft and warm when she spoke to the young prince.

Until the others began to notice how this behavior extended to them.

“Are you okay?” / “Here, I made your favorite!” / “Have you been getting enough sleep?” / “Hang on, let me get my med kit!” / “Do you need any help?”

By now everyone–student, staff, and even the researchers themselves–have heard one or more of these phrases over the past two weeks. Yuu did her best to check on everyone, focusing on anyone who seemed most in need of attention or care. Some were a little unsure of how to react to this, though for others it felt…nice to experience positive reinforcement and affection with no ulterior motive. Even those who tried to hide how they were feeling she’d somehow know and gently coax them into talking, comforting and reassuring them as best she could. It seemed as though she were a blessing sent by the Great Seven themselves!

…only, they could sense something was wrong. No one could place what it was, only that it left an instinctive urge to comfort her.

“Maybe she’s sick?” one student suggested.

“No way, she’s fine! She can’t get sick…right?”

“I dunno, man…maybe humans hide their sickness like we do?”

“Did you see what happened in Professor Trein’s class? That cat of his jumped into her lap and refused to leave her alone even when class was over!”

“No way! Really?!”

Crowley hummed with a frown as he listened to the gossiping students. It seemed even they were picking up on the same sense of unease as the staff, though it was clear they couldn’t make out what it was. He turned towards the library, recalling how Grim and the first years passing by had mentioned Yuu staying behind to finish a report. By the time he’d arrived though, he saw no sign of her anywhere.

Wondering if he had just missed her, he was about to head out and check Ramshackle…until he heard it: the unmistakable sound of quiet whimpers and sniffles. Following the sound to the source, he peered around a bookshelf and called out, “Yuu?”

The human jumped in response, her hand quickly scrubbing at her eyes–but not fast enough to stop him from seeing the tears. “O-Oh, headmaster!” she said, a pleasant smile on her face. “Did you need me for something?”

He frowned and ventured closer. “I heard from Spade and Trappola that you were in the library,” he started carefully. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, sir, really! I’ve just been on my feet all day and needed to sit down, that’s all.”

Ah…was this another habit she’d picked up from some of the students? Or…was this something she truly didn’t want anyone to know? Legs bending so he was ‘kneeling’ in front of her, he looked her in the eye and said, “You do not need to hide, Yuu. As headmaster of this school, it is my duty to ensure my students get the care they need…that includes you as well. I cannot help if I do not know what is wrong. So I ask you again: are you alright?”

Her smile faltered, and for a moment it looked like she was trying to think of something to say…before looking away in defeat, her expression distant. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“...for not being strong enough for everyone…when things are supposed to be okay here…”

Tilting his head, he said, “If that were true, you would not be hiding in the library as you are.” She said nothing, but he could see her clutching her arms a little tighter. “What you’re feeling…what you are experiencing…it goes beyond simply missing your world, doesn’t it? You are hurting from a wound that’s not physical…aren’t you?”

There it was. Her expression grew taut, shutting her eyes tight yet tears beginning to fall. Then, in a quiet voice that shook with emotion, she said, “Yes…I…back home…before I came here…my…my mom…she passed away…”

“Oh…oh dear. How did it happen?”

Slowly but surely she told him: about how warm and kind her mother was, how she always took care of everyone as best she could, and how much she loved her family. All throughout it Crowley listened patiently, allowing her to speak and moving close enough to sit beside her with a wing draped comfortingly over her shoulders when she broke down into sobs on explaining what happened to her mother. He waited patiently for her to compose herself enough to continue speaking.

He said nothing when she explained that–by taking care of everyone the way her mother would have–she could still feel close to her in some way. On hearing that the funeral was supposed to happen the day after Yuu arrived, however, his wings pulled her closer until he was hugging her close.

“I…I never got to say goodbye,” she stammered, tears flowing freely now and voice cracking with emotion. “I miss her so much…”

“Shh…it’s okay, little one. It’s okay,” he whispered, his wings shielding her from view as he consoled her. After a moment, he finally said, “Losing a loved one is never going to be an easy experience no matter your age…or your species.” Looking down, he asked, “You haven’t allowed yourself a chance to even grieve properly since arriving, have you?”

“I…I can’t…if I do…”

“It would mean accepting the truth?” he finished, to which she nodded and clutched at his vest. “...it seems as though humans and monsters grieve similarly. While I am not very…skilled with handling emotions like this, I can tell you that it is okay to grieve for as long as you need. You may be human, but you do not have to deal with this alone. The staff and I…the students…we will be here for you.” Gently running his talons through her hair, he thought for a moment before he said, “It won’t be the same…but if you wish, we may hold a service wherever you want in order to honor your mother’s memory.”

“...really?”

“Yes. Whatever you wish, I will grant it within my power. Food, decorations…even a small ceremony with your close friends or one with the staff and other dorm leaders. Just say the word, and we will make it happen for you.”

Yuu was silent. Then, in a quiet voice, she asked, “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

“...sir…?”

“Hm?”

“...thank you…”

“You’re welcome, Yuu…”

////-----------------////

I left the ending a bit more open-ended so that you could imagine whatever sort of service your Yuu would have wanted and who would have been invited to it, but just know that–despite these boys tending to be more about themselves when it comes to things happening unless forced to do something in the game, I’m sure that they would come together to help someone grieving their loss in this situation.

Again, I’m so sorry for your loss, and I know this took me a little bit to write, but I wanted to do my best with this ask. I really hope that things get easier for you and that you have a good support system to lean on. Please take care of yourself and remember: take each day one step at a time 💝

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #twisted wonderland dire crowley #dire crowley #twst dire crowley #tw death

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nobodyfamousposts · 1 year

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RotTMNT: The Show Must Go On

For @tutant and the Magic Leo AU.

———————————————

Leo woke up to pain and confusion. His head feeling like someone had been drilling into it. He blinked several times, feeling like he’d fallen asleep somehow. Did he just wake up? How did he sleep while standing?

The rest of his body felt fine, though. Better than fine, actually. Light. Energized. Like he could do anything.

Something felt off though. Nothing seemed the way it should, though he couldn’t begin to question how. But there was one thing he did know—the only thing that made sense in the ringing in his brain. The new absolute truth around which his thoughts and memories formed as he slowly crawled his way back to what he was sure must be reality.

His only rock—his only guide in the maelstrom of confusion was a singular sentence running through his head, repeating endlessly:

“The show must go on.”

The pounding in his head lessened the more he thought about it.

He didn’t know where it came from. He didn’t know why it was there either. But something about it felt wrong as it resonated within him.

He hesitated, blinking in confusion as the word blinked just as easily out of his head.

It…it felt…wrong it’s WRONG—

Again, it was like his mind skipped. What did it feel? Something was telling him to get it out it’s not supposed to BE here!

…it felt something, right? But what?

It was perfectly normal.

Oh.

Yeah, now that he concentrated, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Honestly, now that he focused, it was a beautiful phrase. The perfect phrase, really. The sort of thing to live your life by. How had he never thought about it before?

…why was he thinking about it now?

Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something? He was sure he was supposed to be with…someone?

“There we go.”

There was someone else here, so that answered that question. This must be who he had been here with.

Oh wait. He recognized him! It was Hypno, an enemy! Mesmer-Ron, an amazing magician and hypnotist.

Of course he knew who the man was. He had been a fan. Why was he here with him, though?

Mezmer-Ron spoke, pulling his attention.

“Are you ready?”

Ready? For what?

He frowned, trying to concentrate. What had he been doing? Why was he here? Where were—

“Are you ready for your audition, my boy?”

He blinked. Something snapped into place.

Oh. Oh right, he was here for the audition. How could he forget?

“You just need to get the books.” Mesmer-Ron reminded him, gesturing through a door.

He followed the magician’s directions and peeked into the room where there was a central podium with some books inside. No signs of any guards, though some symbols on the floor and walls indicated cause for warning. And nothing in the way of the books themselves other than a glass case.

Oh.

This would be easy.

He sent a smirk over his shoulder.

“You got it, Boss.”

He strode into the room with confidence even as he saw and felt the hidden dangers. But he didn’t let any of that stop him. Why would he?

He was going to ace this.

“The show must go on.”

Of course it must.

Life was a show.

And what else was he supposed to be but a showman?

———————————————

Well, this was easy enough. Certainly easier than he had expected.

He had been worried once he saw one of the Turtles at the Magic Town House as well. After all, where there was one, the others surely were nearby. And all of them together would no doubt ruin his heist plans. This would be his only chance at Houdini’s Journals and the power contained within! The absolute last thing he needed were the mutant teenagers interfering!

But it seemed that what he had feared would be an obstacle turned out to be quite a useful resource.

After all, these were Houdini’s Journals—practically mystic spellbooks in their own right. What if they were trapped in some way he couldn’t tell? What spells or tricks might have been put in place to keep away potential thieves?

Hypno had been planning to go in himself and brave whatever trials may have been in place.

But…

Well, if he had someone else to send in first, why not use them?

So he directed Blue to enter and steal the Journals for him while he waited outside in relative safety. He had expected a number of scenarios. For nothing to happen. For the boy to be transformed into a frog. So many ways that he could fail to only a few routes of success.

But this…

It was amazing! Better than he could have hoped!

Clearly the ninja title wasn’t just for show as the teen dodged, jumped, ducked, and slid past one trap after another—all with a perfect poker face that didn’t even bely the effort! And with the few tricks that he couldn’t dodge, he deflected and parried them so easily!

Hypno had always been one for a good performance—both from the seats and on the stage. He was a perfectionist like that.

And Blue certainly did not disappoint.

Then best of all was near the final reach. The glass itself was spelled to repel intruders and seemed all but impenetrable. He hadn’t been sure that Blue would manage to make it past that short of breaking glass, and he had been prepared to run in the very likely case that it set off alarms. Yet instead, Blue parried another attack from a magical trap with sword in one hand while having somehow managed to take and switch out the Journals with the other in what had to be the finest display of slight of hand that Hypno had EVER seen!

It was practically a show all in itself! Surely, the great Magicians of the past themselves would have approved!

Then to top it all off, once he was done, Blue leapt back with Journals in hand and fell through a perfectly placed portal to wind up right back outside of the room and at Hypno's side, landing in a perfect bow with the Journals presented to him. Practically—no—actually bow-tied!

“How?” “A good magician never reveals his secrets.” Blue replied with a grin.

“That’s true.” He replied, taking the Journals with some reverence.

And sure enough, it was no trick. These were the actual Journals. He could practically FEEL the secrets and knowledge contained within.

…and yet…he hesitated.

What if their power was too great for him? He of course had confidence in his own capability, but these were the journals of Houdini himself. There was no point in using them if doing so would corrupt or change him.

He needed someone to test it first, he realized.

“But luckily,” he mused, turning to the other in the room, “I have a volunteer.”

Blue looked up at him in confusion.

“Did I pass?”

Hypno grinned. “Of course! I dare say you have quite a lot of talent there.”

The kid beamed. It was adorable, really. He remembered when he had been that young and enchanted by all that magic had to offer.

…in fact…

Why not use this?

If what he had witnessed so far was correct, Blue was a fan of magic. And that showmanship was perfect for stage presence. Perhaps the boy had some talent for magic that Hypno could help foster. And there was something in him that wanted to build that. A future magician. A legacy.

It would be also all the better to allow him test the Journals and see just what they could really do. A bit of influence to nudge Blue in the right direction to want to learn more, to devote his skills to the craft, to excel in magic—what feats could be accomplished? What limits could be broken?

Plus it would mean one less Turtle to disrupt any of his future plans…especially as he had little doubt that the other Turtles would try to step in once it was known he had the Journals. Perhaps having one of the brothers on his side would help to counter that possibility?

Yes, there was everything to gain here.

“It just so happens that I’ve been on the lookout for such bright young talent! I think I may have a place for you.” Hypno announced.

“Really?” Blue asked. His face showed curiosity, but there was excitement there in his eyes. Something that he was fairly convinced his own power hadn’t put there.

“Of course! I’m a magician of my word!” He clapped Blue on the back, grinning as he began to lead the way out.

“And every magician needs an assistant.”

After all…

The show must go on.

#rottmnt fic #magic leo au #leonardo

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perplexingluciddreams · 5 months

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can I ask a question if ur ok with it? I i rlly want semiverbam and nonverbal ppls thoughts and information on this over anyone else. can semiverbal mean u struggle with speech bc u often do not know what to say if it’s not a topic on your special interest? or otherwise your scripts which consist of like “that’s nice” or other short phrases.

like I can try to have conversation but my brain will go blank and I literarily cannot think of what to say therefore I cannot keep talking. or if I do talk I must repeat the same two word phrases over and over. i have struggled to make friendships bc of my issues with talking. we try to talk and get to know each other but even after YEARS they get barely anything out of me. I can say words it’s not a physical struggle but my brain can’t know what to say to say words often. so all of my life I’ve been known as a very very quiet barely speaks shy kid. I even often have trouble talking about my special interests if it’s not done over text rather than talking.

I have a very strong inner monologue lots of words but when it comes to actually talking I struggle. there are times I do talk fast and more though. And times around certain people I feel it is easier. but often it’s not. and even if I’m comfortable around a person I can still struggle.

but I’m not sure if this is a semiverbal thing or if I would still be verbal. i don’t want to wrongly use a term. any help on what semiverbal means and If any of this sounds relatable?

Hi, anon, I will do my best to answer your question. I can only speak from personal experience, as someone who grew up semiverbal and is now permanently fully nonverbal due to late regression.

Firstly, semiverbal is a community term (as in, not have medical definition, not used by doctors or professionals). It means someone who struggles with speech and/or verbal communication all the time. If this is a constant struggle for you (as in, not completely verbal sometimes and have “episodes” other times), I think you can use the word semiverbal to describe that experience.

It sounds like you struggle more with the language/word side, and less with the physical speech side. And social issues like struggling with back and forth conversation, cannot speak about any topic other than special interests, etc. can all overlap.

What you have written here sounds relatable to me in some parts, for how I was when I was younger, when I was semiverbal. I also had difficulty with my mouth blurting out things I didn’t mean and didn’t want to say, things that didn’t match my thoughts. But that was only partly due to the physical lack of control. It was also because I didn’t understand what I was saying/repeating. I didn’t have the ability to match my thoughts with words, or words/phrases with meanings. If I could see that I was “supposed” to say something, then if the physical ability was available to me at that moment, I would just say something I had heard someone else say, that had some kind of link. I could identify when something had a link or was on the same/similar topic, because of how my brain finds patterns. But I never understood what the majority of it meant - only understand for the most simple sentences and phrases.

I was rarely rarely able to use unique words or sentences to say my thoughts and feelings and experiences. My brain was blank or “quiet” a lot (still is). I mostly didn’t know when I should tell something, even important or dangerous or emergency things. I only grasped that I was supposed to say something when someone else talked then there is a silence and they look at me 🤷🏻‍♂️. Then I have to sift through the noises they just made, find a recognisable word, make a link with a script I remember hearing, and send it out my mouth. This is an example of how another aspect of my autism (low awareness, low social understanding) affects communication abilities/opportunities.

I personally don’t have a strong inner monologue, and I did have physical struggles with speech so not only language problems, but I can relate to what you’re saying in some ways. I was also a “very very quiet barely speaks shy kid”.

The language/word side is very important to communication. It is not only about the physical speech.

The main reason for the difficulties I have with communicating overall, is the language issues. And the language issues is the same, when I had physical speech before, and when I don’t have that ability anymore now. That is the main underlying struggle for communication.

I hope this answer was helpful for you. Anyone else who wants to add on, please do! And if I left anything out, or miscommunicated something, please correct me. This is my final disclaimer - I am only one person with one experience and this is all I know.

#anon ask #semiverbal #semispeaking #language issues #language disorder #language disability #words from my head

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starlingflight · 4 months

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Running

A/N: On the 4th day of my New Year's Resolution to write everyday, I made Draco suffer. Continues below the cut or on AO3.

The roaring crackle of the fire still echoed in his ears. When he closed his eyes, it was to be greeted by the shimmering orange inferno; when he inhaled, he could still feel the smoke cloying at his lungs, or at least, that’s why Draco assumed he still couldn’t breathe one year later.

The other possibility, that this was simply who he was now, was too much to bear.

A knock at his bedroom door forced the Fiendfyre in his mind to retreat, though it still burned, waiting, in the dark recesses of his brain, where it lived.

His mother did not wait for his permission before opening the door. She looked as she always did; hair perfectly arranged, robes unwrinkled, haughty self-importance etched into every line of her face. Draco turned away, finding a spot on the wall to her left and staring at it intently.

“We’re going out,” she declared, voice commanding.

Draco said nothing. He merely jerked his head sharply up and down once in a vague approximation of a nod. The most he’d communicated with another human being in days.

“Be in the entrance hall in ten minutes.”

This got his attention. Draco’s eyes swivelled back to her. “Me?”

“Yes,” his mother’s tone was not one he typically argued with. “You’re part of ‘we’ aren’t you?”

His head was already shaking before he’d even really considered what was being asked of him.

He didn’t know where his parents were planning on taking him, the only places he’d been in the past year were the grounds of Malfoy Manor and the Ministry of Magic for hours of questioning and meetings and a trial. A trial where he’d only been allowed to say the very specific phrases given to him by his parents' representation. Someone else’s words coming out of Draco’s mouth, it was hardly a turn up for the history books.

“Refusal is not an option,” his mother said in response to his shaking head.

“I thought we were done?” The trial had ended a week ago. The Malfoys had been declared innocent, a word which, apparently, had a very different meaning to Draco’s previous understanding.

He suspected a large amount of gold had changed hands, though he’d made no effort to confirm if this was true. Ignorance, as Draco knew all too well, was bliss.

His mother sighed, whether in frustration or concern, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. “You’re not legally mandated to leave the house, Draco.”

That was all he needed to hear. “Fine. In that case, I won’t.”

Her sharp stare pierced him. He braced himself to hear her barked commands, commands he would follow simply because it was easier than arguing with her. He had lived his whole life unquestioningly following his parents, there was no point stopping now. The time to stop had been months ago. Years ago. He’d never even considered doing so, which was proof enough that he was beyond salvation.

“You’ll have to come out eventually,” his mother warned, apparently deciding to give him a reprieve for the moment.

The door closed firmly behind her.

Draco crossed from his desk to his ornately carved four poster bed, collapsing on top of it fully clothed. He lay there for what he knew must be hours only because the sky outside his window turned from bright, summer blue to dusky pink to inky black.

His mother’s words echoed on a loop in his head, mingling with the screams and the booming blast of curses that permanently reverberated there.

He could not think of a single reason why he should ever have to leave his bedroom again. He had no friends, no connection to anyone outside of this house that he would like to maintain. His mother would undoubtedly ensure food and water were sent to him. It wasn’t as though he needed to work, there was enough money in his name that he would be kept alive quite without any effort at all on his part. Whether he deserved it or not.

He could just lay in this bed, slowly fading until he died out, like one of the stars he’d been so laughably named after.

This course of inaction he settled on was disrupted by another knock at the door. Another knock that did not wait for a response.

Draco did not look directly at his father, a force of habit at this point. All of the horrific scenes that he’d witnessed, yet somehow it was the sight of his father’s face that he couldn’t bear to see now. When he did, everything Draco had been, and everything he would inevitably become in the future stared back at him, and that was harder to stomach than anything dark magic could inflict.

“Your mother sent me.”

His father’s words hung heavily in the air. Evidence of how much things had changed, if the two of them needed Draco’s mother to bring them together when, for as long as he could remember, he and his father had been inseparable.

“She wants us to go to the Falcons match tomorrow – we can sit in the box… it’s private.”

“I won’t be here.” This declaration bypassed Draco’s brain and tumbled straight out of his mouth with no conscious decision from him, yet it felt right. The first sentence he’d uttered in a year that didn’t turn to ash on his tongue.

Even in the dark, even when he wasn’t really looking at him, Draco could sense his father’s frown. “Where will you be?”

“That remains to be seen,” Draco replied matter-of-factly.

His father’s cane tapped impatiently against the hardwood floor. “And what, exactly, will you be doing?”

“Another mystery to be solved,” Draco muttered. He could add it to the pile he was already unable to stop himself puzzling through. Mysteries such as why he’d done things he’d done and how had he done them. Questions he didn’t even know if he wanted to know the answer to.

“Narcissa!” His father’s voice echoed out into the hallway. His mother’s heels came tapping along in response a few short moments later.

One flick of her wand and the darkness Draco and his father had been dwelling in was illuminated. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s speaking in riddles.” His father shook his head. “He says he won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s good!” His mother said, her tone too bright. “You need to get out of the house, darling. Where are you going?”

Draco shrugged, his eyes wandered to the emerald green canopy above him. “Wherever the first Portkey will take me.”

“Portkey? Draco, that sounds rather drastic.”

He didn’t respond, too busy mentally calculating the minimum arrangements he would need to make to get out of the country. The cacophony of noise that raged in his head quieted slightly from the distraction. The tightness in his chest eased infinitesimally too.

“When do you plan to return?”

Silence stretched out between them. The only answer Draco could give.

“Darling, we’re supposed to be returning to normal.”

Normal It was striking how one innocuous word could twist his stomach into knots and set his pulse racing. His skin itched, too tight over his bones.

His mother took three quick strides into his room, crossing her arms as she stood at the end of his bed. “I won’t pay for it,” she said firmly, because when reason didn’t work, the next logical course of action was to turn to threats.

Draco’s eyes met hers. Ice clashing against steel. They both knew she would. She’d give him anything he wanted. Perhaps that had been the problem all along.

#hp fanfic #draco malfoy #post canon #angst #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #malfoy family drama

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adultswim2021 · 5 months

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Robot Chicken #68: “But Not In That Way” | February 1, 2009 - 11:30PM | S04E09

Time for the Robot Chicken program that we all know and love. I will do my best to talk about this episode in a way that it deserves; dashed off and under the influence of marijuana.

To be honest, the only sketches I hated in this were really short. The Peanuts “I got Iraq” joke really made me irrationally mad. Hulk Hogan voices a black guy at one point, which isn’t great. Not only is he a white dude, but he’s also a racist white dude! Why can’t people be pissed off at this? Terrible to think about: He has dropped far worse bombs.

Last time I covered Robot Chicken, I made the decision to go soft on it and try to focus on the positives. That’s for two reasons: the joke I hated most was the phrase “rape shoes”, and I was really struggling to figure out a way to complain about it without sounding woke. Most of the sketches I merely didn’t like and I wasn’t feeling very inspired trying to come up with ways to bury them, because they were bad for reasons I normally cite over and over again. In other words: I was being lazy. I literally just didn’t feel like coming up with words, and knew “focusing on the positive” would yield a shorter, easier write-up.

It is an unfortunate coincidence that, on the evening I decide to pledge myself to being more savage with the show, I managed to LAUGH TWICE at this episode, putting it in the running for maybe the strongest Robot Chicken episode of all time. The Inuyasha sketch was decent and had some funny lines that made me smile. Also, I legitimately perk up when Seth MacFarlane is on this show, as insane as that sounds. I must have Stockholm syndrome or something. But this was a funny idea for a sketch, and it was decently executed. The ending was lame, but usually the endings of Robot Chicken sketches are VERY BAD, so I welcome lame.

A Punky Brewster sketch was almost good, but I really do dislike Robot Chicken’s penchant for overly jerky characters being overly jerky. I’m pleased anytime I'm asked to think about Soleil Moon Frye breasts. I simply don’t know why!

The two actual laughs: the ALF cutaway where he calmly observes the birth of a litter of kittens and asks “is anyone here gonna freak out if I eat that afterbirth?” got me. For Robot Chicken, this is remarkably restrained. Another sketch would be about ALF trying to eat the kittens, then the mom cat fighting ALF in a zany kung-fu fight, and then when she returns to the kittens she finds they've all been smoked by Willie, mistaken for crack for some reason.

The lengthiest sketch of the show is Shawshank Redemption but set at Arkham Asylum. Lord help me, I liked the stupid detail that Batman is personally overseeing the Asylum like a prison guard. Also the poopoo humor actually caused me to laugh out loud, however briefly. There was a couple moments in this episode where the punchline was farty noises, and I hated them, because they just sounded like overused sound-effects to me.

Also, lucky for the show, one of my all-time favorite things to do when I played with action figures was to make them shit on each other. This tapped into some seriously primordial stuff in my id.

MAIL BAG

I've heard a lot of hype on reddit and CNN about you being "the funny man of Tumblr." Any tips & tricks you want to share?

Very simple my dear girl; first 1) you gotta make funny friends then two 2) you gotta steal from those funny friends

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #robot chicken

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pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

Note

I think I generally agree with what you said on that post, but the issue isn’t well-intended criticism towards someone who welcomed it about their work. the issue is that people will criticize others’ work completely unprompted, and often against a boundary that has been set. there are SO MANY fic writers on here who explicitly state they don’t want criticism, constructive or not, and yet still get it. everyone has the right to an opinion, but they also have the right to keep it to themselves. and that’s often the kinder thing to do.

not to mention the posts that will go around saying stuff like “every fanfic writer NEEDS to do this so that you don’t suck anymore.” that type of tough love, blunt advice may be beneficial to some people, but for others it just really hurts. if that sentence were changed to, “if you want to improve your writing, you should do this,” it would be easier to take or leave, whereas the former feels like someone going “you suck and you need to improve for my personal comfort” straight into your face.

while I think it’s admirable that there are many fic writers who use it as a method of improving their craft, there are just as many who do it purely for fun. they’re happy where they are and don’t care for making it stressful by thinking about improving. does doing a thing purely because it brings you joy lessen the worth of it? I don’t think so.

I’ve mentioned this wrt like. Critique of characterization (specifically people venting about popular “fanon” that doesn’t particularly make sense with a character) but there’s a BIG difference between making posts on one’s own blog or engaging in open discussion on a blog where it’s been invited and critique that hasn’t been asked for. In the case of fanfic, I fully agree that critique of specific works (a particular author or fic) when it hasn’t been asked for or is explicitly crossing a boundary is out of line.

But I would also argue that targeted critique in that manner is more akin to amorphous hate, brought about more often than not by a particular stance against the author. I’ve never read a single author’s work and thought it appropriate to approach them personally, unasked, and give them criticism. I don’t believe anyone does that with genuinely benevolent intent and it isn’t what I’m talking about. When I think of critique wrt fanfic I mean broad community-wide criticism, discussing common trends and dissecting the fandom at large—things like tropes and characterization and overarching writing styles. This is, imo, where the difference in critiquing professional authors and hobbyists lies: in whether or not it is appropriate to give unsolicited criticism to their work individually.

But I truly feel that this community has a bad habit of pushing back aggressively to posts that aren’t directed at any particular person, specifically because they take them as personal attacks when… they’re not. They’re rlly not.

The best “other side” to all of this that I’ve seen is @prettyboykatsuki’s tags here. It’s a bit of a long read but very worth it, I fully agree with everything he said—particularly towards the beginning where he mentioned that fanfic has a low barrier of entry and is subject to a certain level of judgement that other forms of art don’t tend to suffer from, and the end about how we must acknowledge the merit in & effort it takes to get so far in order to encourage people to improve if they so want. But I truly believe all of that can be the case AND my comments about the merit of critique can be true as well. It’s blatant when a criticism is being made because someone is bitter or haughty, yet at the same time a valid critique shouldnt be dismissed solely because of phrasing or because it isn’t positive. It’s the responsibility of both the critic and the critiqued to be civil and respectful, the burden doesn’t lie solely on the critic to sugarcoat everything they say and tiptoe around things so that people won’t take it personally.

Fanfic authors who don’t want to (or cannot, for whatever reason) take it seriously are valid, I never said otherwise and in fact I specifically said that in my post. It doesn’t mean their efforts mean less and it doesn’t mean that their writing holds less worth. However it is therefore on them to respectfully ignore the critique, take action if such things bother them (unfollow blogs that might discuss things like that regularly, block tags, etc), and have the maturity not to take it personally even if it does apply to them, rather than being passive-aggressive or even downright aggressive in response. The choice is theirs but they don’t get to dictate what others post, either. Especially as critique is a valid, thoughtful form of engagement that I and many other authors truly encourage!

#ask.🌧#anon

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iviarellereads · 10 months

Text

Nona the Ninth, Chapter 18

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one!)

(Eighth House icon)(1) In which someone realizes she was very, very wrong about something.

When Nona and Hot Sauce get upstairs, Cam is unplugging equipment and stacking chairs, and the Angel is writing on the board, doing inventory in case they get looted so the kids' things won't be disturbed too badly. She asks Hot Sauce to turn off the generator and bleed it afterward, and for Nona to stay behind.

As Nona approaches the Angel, Cam does so as well, only she trips and stumbles into the Angel, groping the woman in her attempts to right herself.(2) The Angel asks if she can ask Nona a question, and Cam says alright, but Nona doesn't have to answer. Nona says she'll try, but she couldn't read the map.

Instead the Angel shows Nona's drawing again, and asks how she drew it. Nona doesn't know how to respond, and says, with her hand?

The Angel urged tersely, “Did you get this from a picture?” Nona looked down at the animal she had drawn, and thought perhaps she understood. She said, “No, I made it up. It does work, I promise. See these things? They’re its ears,” she said, in much the same tones as she would have explained to Kevin. “This thing is its nose, and you can’t see it because I didn’t draw it, but the mouth is under here. When first it was born it used to live in a river, but then it got cold so it had to get large. I know the legs can’t rotate, but you don’t think that’s stupid, do you?”(3) She looked up at Camilla and the Angel, then said, “Am I in trouble?”

The Angel talks to Cam, despite Nona being right there, and says she did her veterinary training in a political firebrand phase, and at a school with archaeology and special zoology classes. Cam admits she's never seen the animal before. The Angel says she wouldn't have. It's a "cradle creature."(4) Cam says she's heard the phrase before, and the Angel seems skeptical.

There's a long silence as they try to figure out what to say next, all three. Then, Cam asks if she can ask a question, taking the sunglasses off. The Angel consents, and Pal asks if the Angel ever received medical care from a necromancer, ever might have even if she didn't know for sure, did she ever receive an implant?

Nona is shocked, as Pal has just broken about fifty home-rules. But the Angel suddenly looks stricken, older, withered. Pal says he doesn't mean any harm, but Noodle interrupts, growling at Pal's ankles. The Angel puts Noodle in the kitchen with a toy, and returns slightly recovered. The lights go out, Hot Sauce must have finished with the generator, and the Angel asks if Nona would like to sit with Noodle, she can even listen from the door. Nona asks to stay, please.

The Angel tells Pal how the other teacher thought Cam was a prostitute. Pal says what he knows about sex work could fit in a teaspoon with room left, and the children call her the Angel. The Angel knows, though it's a very strange interpretation of her nickname.

Pal asks what the implant is. The Angel says not to come closer, she'll jump out the window if she has to, and her body is designed to deny a necromancer any answers.(5) Pal says he's not her enemy, but she says he became her enemy in the last five minutes when he used necromancy on her, and he can be nothing but a Lyctor. Pal swears he's not a Lyctor, on the life of Camilla Hect. The Angel searches his face, and seems to find what she wants to see.

She slumped back in the chair with her chin sagging to her chest, and she glanced at Palamedes, drawn and gaunt and complete. “Then that’ll make this easier,” she said. The door next to the corridor opened. The Angel flinched so hard that it looked as though she might be having a fit. Nona turned her head and saw Hot Sauce. Hot Sauce looked at the open curtains: she looked at Nona. Then a huge, rippling sound entered Nona’s head. She was aware of a tight, hard noise, pop—pop, distant and then much much closer—as though her whole head was exploding. Everything went black, but she wasn’t asleep. She had the biggest and most frantic headache and she was terrified, her body wasn’t working, she could feel nothing and perceive nothing. The headache got worse and worse and worse, then suddenly it stopped, and she didn’t know anything at all.

All sense of time leaves Nona for a while, and then the headache comes back, and gets better. Her senses come back, and her mouth is "full of something disgusting and sticky."

An unfamiliar voice argues on a radio over the order, and then argues with the Angel over what to do with Nona's body. The Angel is furious nobody told her who Nona was, and the unfamiliar voice is worried about how bad they've just fucked up, even though they agree with the result.(6) Still, there are perhaps ten or eleven people outside ready to shoot and trying to get in. Nona hears a loud noise, as furniture being dragged across a floor for a barricade, and feels a pressure in her head which gets worse, then better, then her vision starts to come back.

The unfamiliar voice says they're going to behead "these two", and for the Angel not to watch. The Angel says that's just a superstition, and the voice says "Yeah, well, Aunty always told me it was ninety percent superstition and ten percent for the fun of it." Big feet stomp over to Nona, and she can no longer play dead. She sits up, and feels another pop in her chest, then shrieks that they shot her again, that's twice! The Angel says to stop, she's obviously still alive, and starts apologizing to Nona.

Nona gets free of the Angel's grasp, and looks for Cam, finding her very still on the floor, laying faceup, covered in blood, hands clasped to her chest. Nona opens Cam's eyelids, and Cam says alright, it's fine, time to get up. When she opens her hand, there are two bullets in it.

Nona looked up. There was the Angel, sitting on the floor, looking as though she had seen two ghosts. Near her was the new person—a compact, medium-sized person with a machete strapped to each thigh and a small, heavy gun in their hands, not wearing an air mask, not wearing a hat. A mask hung around their neck as though they’d been in a hurry and hadn’t pulled it up yet. Their face would have been fierce and handsome if it hadn’t been puckered with shrapnel scars on both cheeks, across the nose that should’ve been flattish but had been broken once, in a peppery storm of burns at one temple. These scars meant they weren’t fierce and handsome; they were super-cool and fierce and handsome. Their hair had been buzzed short on one side and kept longer on the other, the long part dyed a shriekingly electric blue, and their brows were dark and their eyes were darker, smudged with camouflage makeup above and beneath. And Nona had known who they were the moment their body moved, but the machetes helped. It was Our Lady of the Passion, for the first time unmasked. “Pash shot us!” she wailed. “And my teacher! Palamedes was talking to the Angel and someone shot us through the window and now the carpet’s gross! This is the worst day of school ever!”

Cam asks if it was Pash, but Pash says they didn't shoot, and how do Nona and Cam know they're Pash, did Crown tell?

“No,” said Camilla, who had relaxed her left hand minutely. “Why weren’t we told she was one of us?” “That’s they to you,”(7) Pash said, “and you’re not one of us either, zombie.”

Pash says it was Merv Wing who shot, and who was ready to move on the Angel the other day when Nona made the radio call to Crown. Nona says it was a fake radio call. The Angel is baffled that the Crown she met was the Crown that Pash has been going on about, and asks what Nona is. Pash says Nona is the Lyctor project, and the Angel has just called the wipe protocol on her.

The Angel said, “Give me the radio.” Pash unbuckled a real wireless radio from her belt and tossed it to the Angel, who caught it neatly, even though her hands were still shaking. She tapped something into it and held it up to her ear and said, “This is the Messenger.(8) Holding pattern downstairs, please.” Then: “Yes, we know,” and “Yes, we know. These are unusual circumstances.” Then: “Yes, but if you’re so hot on protocol, why aren’t you letting our designated lifeguard extract us from the building?” Then: “That’s ridiculous.”

Cam moves some chairs into the doorway to the cloakroom, as the Angel demands to speak to the commander, is obviously denied, and says anyone who comes upstairs will be shot and anyone who shoots besides the lifeguard will be before a tribunal along with Hope.(9) She signs off, and cusses.

Pash turns over a desk and hops behind it, the Angel joining her. Cam asks how many, and Pash says ten, and what kind of weapons they have, then blusters that Cam's in for it now, no Crown to save her either. Cam asks if Pash wants her help getting out. Pash says she doesn't need Cam's help, at the same time the Angel agrees to it, and admits she made the order for Cam to be shot. Cam says she can let out some deferred aggression after. Pash accuses Cam of withholding info from We Suffer, but Cam says they've both been lying to each other then. The Angel asks Nona to go into the kitchen for her own safety, but Nona doesn't want to leave Cam.

Suddenly, Nona realizes the building is much too quiet for ten people to be raiding them. She looks down the hall and asks where Hot Sauce is. The Angel says Pash locked her in the generator room. Nona wants to see her, but the Angel says Hot Sauce saw Nona get shot and didn't react well. She can't quite explain this before a distant sound of glass breaking rings.

Pash and Cam banter about defences, and Nona thinks about how lovely Pash is. Pash sees Nona making googly eyes at her, and pulls up her mask and lowers her goggles so Nona can't see her.(10) Another smash, and Pash observes they're taking the stairs. Cam relaxes and asks Nona if she still wants to stay. Nona decides Hot Sauce might need her, and begs Cam to stay safe. Cam says it won't take long, and smiles at Nona before telling her to go.

Nona scrambles down the hall and to the generator room. She unlocks the door and finds Hot Sauce laying down, having been sick.(11) Nona starts wiping down Hot Sauce's face as Hot Sauce asks if she made it up, over and over. Nona explains what's going on, and Hot Sauce trembles. Nona notices a gun stuck down Hot Sauce's waistband and tells her not to carry it like that, Pyrrha says people who do that shoot their balls off and it sounds very rude but she believes her. Hot Sauce says Nona's sweet.

Hot Sauce asks again if she made it up, and Nona asks what she thinks she made up. Hot Sauce says, that a bullet got Nona in the head and made a hole. Nona tries desperately to lie, but doesn't feel successful and does feel exhausted by the effort.

Some loud noises outside, and Nona clings to Hot Sauce, who eventually clings right back, and Nona knows Hot Sauce will be alright now. They give each other scared comfort until the noises stop. Hot Sauce almost seems to have fallen asleep, but when there's a knock at the door, she rolls away and pulls the gun smoothly. It's just the Angel, though, not limping or anything, come to get them to leave. Nona asks how Cam and Pash are, and the Angel says they're fine. Nona asks if the classroom is "munted"(12) and the Angel lists the damages, but says it could be worse.

They go out to the classroom, where Nona hugs Cam tightly, listening to her heart for a long moment.

Nona notices that Hot Sauce is in the corner where Nona got shot, and looking strange. Hot Sauce feels Nona's pulse in her throat, and Nona puts her whole will into making that pulse strong. Hot Sauce acknowledges that Nona is alive… but she saw some of Nona's brains come out. The Angel suggests Hot Sauce come talk to her, but Hot Sauce tells her to shut up suddenly, shocking Nona that she'd talk to her deity that way.

Before she could get any more shocked though, Hot Sauce raised her other hand, and the gun with it. She pressed the muzzle up against one of Nona’s temples. Nona dragged her eyes up to Hot Sauce’s face, stunned. “You’re out of the gang,” said Hot Sauce, and squeezed the trigger.(13)

=====

(1) That's an odd icon to see here, too. "Eight for salvation, no matter the cost" perhaps? (2) Initially I expected this to be an instance of surreptitious pickpocketing or somesuch, or perhaps the switch point between Cam and Pal. Mind, it could be all of the above plus the necromantic delve to find the implant. (3) Debate rages on as to what animal Nona drew. I'm in team elephant because… (see 4) (4) I think this could be an explicit reference to Lois Lowry's The Giver. There are no animals in the world of the Giver, but children are given a stuffed toy each, known as a comfort object, only nobody believes they were ever real, nobody even stops to question whether they could have been. (The Giver is a really deep book considering it's often read in grade school curricula, and the series it spawned goes some truly wild places.) In the book, the comfort object Jonas's younger sister has is an elephant, and it's the one he learns was real and comments on afterward. Whether that part is intentional or not, "cradle creature" also refers to the cradle of civilization, which is to say, Earth. It's definitely an original animal, one we'd recognize. (5) How can that be? What could it mean? (6) Sorry about the whole "thinking Nona is actually dead" thing, though, cause I found this very relatable. "I'm glad this happened but I absolutely dread having to explain how." (7) Again with the third-person neutral pronoun for the Angel. Or is that the plural? Would be fascinated to see how a translation into a language that distinguishes these cases handles this line… (8) So the Angel is the Messenger, that's a valid translation surely. Only, remember what Pash keeps calling her? Aim. As in AIM, as in AOL Instant Messenger. She's another reference name artifact. (9) Unjust Hope, the leader of one of the other BOE factions in opposition to We Suffer's. (10) Nona loves everyone. She thinks everyone's beautiful. I bet that can be really uncomfortable when you aren't used to that sort of attention, even if it isn't coming from someone you've been raised from birth to hate and fear on principle. (11) Watching your friend's head explode from bullets will do that. (12) Munted is NZ slang for destroyed, ruined, that sort of vibe. (13) Not twice in one day, and once by her dearest friend besides.

#the locked tomb #tlt #nona the ninth #ntn #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona #camilla hect #palamedes sextus #the angel (ntn)#our lady of the passion #hot sauce (ntn)

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writingstothevoid · 2 years

Text

A Cat in a Dog’s World

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Rating: G

Relationships: Virgil and Logan (could be interpreted as romantic/queerplatonic towards the end)

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41411421

Summary: Logan has always been a bit different. While hanging out with Virgil, he finally comes up with the proper way to explain it.

“I think I’ve figured out what’s wrong with me,”

Virgil looked up from his phone and met Logan’s eyes for a split second before darting slightly away. His mouth was pressed into a slight frown, likely from Logan’s use of the word “wrong” – though Virgil suffered from his own self-deprecating thoughts, he didn’t want others to suffer too, especially not those he cared about – but he didn’t say anything, instead waiting for the other to continue.

After a few beats of silence, Logan finally did, his eyes locked firmly on the cat he was petting. He found that statements that beat around the bush but acknowledged the existence of a problem were some of the most effective tools in forcing himself to say things he didn’t want to say. It let the other person know there was something going on and pressured him into explaining himself while also buying himself a bit of time to think.

“I feel like a cat in a world made for dogs,” he grimaced as he spoke, wishing he had an easier way to phrase how he felt, one that didn’t use those flowery metaphors Roman loved so much. And yet, this was the way that felt the most true.

When he didn’t elaborate any further, Virgil spoke up. “What do you mean?” he asked, not unkindly (not yet).

Logan let out a sigh, trying to find the words to explain the mess inside of him. He could talk someone’s ear off about every fact he had ever learned, from ways to maintain a healthy lifestyle to his beloved biology, but he never could seem to get the hang of describing his emotions.

“People tend to dislike cats because they don’t understand them. They take the knowledge that they have of how dogs act and behave and apply that to cats, not understanding that cats feel and express themselves in very different ways. Thus, when this strategy fails, the person believes that the cat must be selfish and evil and emotionless.” Logan stated. It was easier to start on a global scale and work down to a more personal one.

“Right,” Virgil replied, looking more and more confused as Logan continued to dodge around what he really wanted to say in the masterful way only someone who had spent years perfecting the art could achieve.

The bespectacled man let out a sigh and hunched in on himself as he finally forced the words out, “People expect you to feel and express yourself in very specific ways, and when you don’t they consider you odd at best and evil at worst. I… have tried very hard for a very long time to do the things that are expected of me, believing that everyone has to force themselves to fit the mold and that I should just suck it up and push through it. Recently, however, I’ve been trying to figure myself out more and I’ve been… happier.” Finally, he looked up at Virgil.

“I like being alone. I like keeping myself to myself. It comes more naturally to me to use logic over feelings when helping others. I value my independence more than anything else. And I don’t want to believe that I am broken simply because I live in a society that pushes me to change everything about myself. I would rather be alone and happy than surrounded by people who want to change me, not understand me. Does… does that make sense?” He asked, a rare hint of hesitance creeping into his voice.

Finally, Virgil gave him a hint of a smile. “Yeah, Lo. I think it does.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth quirked up, “Thank you, Virge,” he paused one last time and the lightest hints of a blush appeared on his cheeks, “I believe that… having you as a friend has helped me realize that. You made me realize that I can have friendships that do not force me to give up pieces of myself to make the other person happy. You don’t push me to give anything that I can’t or won’t give. So… thank you, Virgil.”

It was Virgil’s turn to blush, “Yeah, of course, Lo. You, uh. You too.”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #could be interpreted in just about any way #projecting so blatant it could be seen from space

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gladrial · 1 year

Text

Northampton Echoes: Chapter 17

Soooo….Is anyone still interested in this? I never meant to drop this fic for so long; it's always in the back of my mind. If you're still here, thank you for your patience. I can't promise when I'll have it completed (because life happens), but I do have a few chapters in the chamber awaiting a beta, so there should be more relatively soon.

“Do you think we should tell him how unsanitary it is swimming in there?” Donnie asked, though his tone seemed more amused than concerned. “It’s rife with bacteria.”

Raph watched as Mikey did another cannonball into the pond, splashing April in the process. She protested lightly, then caught Raph’s eye and gave him an encouraging wave. He and his brother both returned the gesture, Don probably assuming it was for him.

“How many times have we been forced to wade in sewage?” Raph eventually noted.

“Point taken.”

It had been April’s idea to bring them all out here, thinking it’d be a good place for him to talk things out with Don. She’d explained that a “public setting” (which, apparently, referred to common areas of the farm) might help discourage a scene being made and that by the trees he’d be able to pull Don away for some privacy too. He didn’t argue. It’s not like he had any ideas on how to make this any easier. They waited for a time and day when Casey wasn’t about. No need to tackle them both at the same time.

Even now, sitting next to him along the treeline, Raph had no idea how to begin. He’d played out the scenario many times in his head. It never went well. Mulling it over had not made him in the best of moods, which is probably why April had insisted on this outing sooner rather than later.

Raphael watched as Donnie took another bite of one of the sandwiches they’d brought in the picnic lunch. He personally hadn’t touched any of it; the thought of eating made him feel queasy.

At least Mikey was having a good time. He had changed tactics and was trying to coerce April into the pond with him, reaching out of the water and tugging her by the ankle.

“No! No! Stop!” April screeched in the distance, who must have agreed with Donnie’s assessment of the pond contents and looked none too thrilled at the prospect of being pulled in.

“KNOCK IT OFF MIKEY!” Raph and Don both shouted in unison.

“AWWWW!” their little brother groaned, releasing April’s foot and sinking back into the water.

They both shook their heads, chuckling, and, despite everything between them, the moment felt good. In spite of the tight quarters, he and Don had spent very little time together since arriving. He decided to take the opportunity to divulge a little more: “Besides it didn’t hurt me when I went swimming the last time I was here.”

Don paused thoughtfully and Raph felt like his stomach was full of rocks. “You’ve been out here before?”

“Uh...Yeah. April showed it to me,” he admitted. It was as good a place to start as any. The conversation wasn’t coming out of leftfield anyway. Now he’d ask him why and they could go from there.

“I owe you an apology for the other day,” he instead offered sincerely.

Or he could make this as hard as possible , Raph thought bitterly, with a heavy sigh he couldn’t contain.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, shrugging the comment off quickly in an attempt to get back on track.

“I think it’s great that you’ve been helping April with her training. I mean that,” Donnie quickly insisted. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t resented it some. Stupid, I know.”

“It coulda been you,” Raph suggested before the multiple meanings of the phrase had even occurred to him.

“I suppose,” Don reflected. “It’s my own fault. It was just easier to get lost in my work. Focusing my thoughts on that was better than...thinking about anything else.”

“I get it,” Raph nodded.

“Besides, it’s no secret you’d be better at that sort of thing,” he stated with a complimentary tone, before adding, “And it was probably good for you too. April suggested as much to me when we first arrived here; that it was important for everyone to have something to do.”

“That sounds like her,” Raph agreed, trying to order the words correctly in his brain. I’m with April. April and I are together. I’m so sorry.

“I didn’t realize how long I’ve been withdrawn. The days just sort of bled together. But expecting Leo has got my spirits up,” he admitted and Raph had to agree that he hadn’t heard him sound this perky in a long while.

Great. Let’s kick him down when he’s starting to feel better . Raph tried to mask the bubbling feeling of resentment at being put in this position...despite knowing he’d been an equal player.

Right before their trip to the pond, he’d attempted to stall, though to what end he didn’t know. Putting it off wasn’t going to make things any easier. Still, Raph told April that he didn’t want to leave Leo alone. If no one was there and he woke up… The thought of his wounded brother waking up alone and confused, wandering around and having no idea where he was or what was going on was too much to bear.

But nothing stopped her when she got an idea in her head. She’d found an old baby monitor in the attic and Donnie had been more than happy to alter it so that the reception range was boosted.

Raph caught himself absently listening to the soft, steady hum. If Leo were to wake up right now, that would get him out of this...for the time being.

“Does she ever talk about me?” Donnie suddenly asked and Raph felt like bashing his head repeatedly against the nearest tree.

“Sure,” he sighed in exasperation, eyes shut tightly. Fuck all of this. He had fought valiantly to keep a neutral expression on his face, but ultimately had lost the battle.

“You don’t have to bust my chops,” Don chuckled, shaking his head. “I already know what you think. ...She’s great though right?”

“Yeah. Great,” he agreed with an unenthusiastic monotone, every intention he had of actually trying to get this over with squelched.

______________________________________________________________

As they headed back home, it was no secret from anyone’s demeanor that he hadn’t talked with his brother as planned. He’d kept his distance from April the remainder of the outing, knowing she’d prod him otherwise. But as they neared the farmhouse, he knew she wasn’t going to be avoidable for much longer.

“I wish we would have seen more animals,” Mikey griped, kicking at the dirt.

“We might have,” Donnie suggested. “If you weren't the loudest thing in a ten mile radius.”

Raph watched as his brothers veered off toward the barn, before glancing at her nervously.

“Well, he doesn’t look terribly broken up about it,” she teased lightly, as though she had already expected this outcome, a thought that made him angry at first, but he wasn’t sure why. Ultimately, it felt pointless to dwell.

Sitting down on the porch swing, she offered him a consoling smile, indicating for him to join her by tapping on the seat next her. This wasn’t a conversation he could avoid, not that he had expected to.

“I couldn’t go through with it,” he sighed, sitting next to her with an accompanying creak of old wood.

“No kidding,” she offered, sarcastically.

“You weren’t there!” he insisted, irritation getting away from him. “Trust me; he made it impossible.”

“It’s never going to be easy, Raph,” she stated sympathetically. “But the longer you put it off the harder it will be.”

He threw her a sharp glare in response and she immediately understood.

“I know I contributed to that...to us putting this off, I mean,” she added. “And I’m sorry. I’ll do it instead of you, if it makes it easier.”

“NO!” he immediately insisted. The very idea that she’d be the one to reveal all this to Don, while he found some place to hide, made his skin crawl. “I just...I need the right opening. I’ll-I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Alright,” she agreed airily, her eyes lightly closed as she enjoyed the warm breeze.

He studied her face, marveling with how at ease April seemed, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. There were times when this demeanor had irritated him, but he knew better now of the personal burdens she carried. He couldn’t help but wonder at how easily she remained centered when he’d all but given up on mastering it himself.

“How can you be so calm about everything?” he asked genuinely, realizing after the words were out that if he had asked the same question of her a month ago, it would have been with a condescending tone. Now, he felt more comfortable speaking his mind around her openly without feeling defensive.

“Raph, you know better than anyone that I’m not,” she replied with equal sincerity, opening her eyes with a small sigh.

That much was true. It hadn’t occurred to him until just then, but his brothers would probably be shocked to see April in the state he’d seen her when she’d hit her limit. The realization only made him feel closer to her.

“No, I know,” he agreed. “It’s just...you usually are. You seem like you have it all together. You take everything in stride.”

“Raph, in the little time you’ve known me I’ve been kidnapped by alien robots, had my dad taken from me, become a target of an underground ninja organization, and found out that I’m not entirely human.” She turned, looking at him earnestly. “But you know what? I’ve survived it. We all have. I’ve learned things are going to happen beyond my control and the only thing I can do is respond to them the best I can as they happen.” April rested her head against his shoulder, taking his hand into hers. “And this thing with Donnie...it’s going to work itself out too. You’ll see.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’re slightly clairvoyant too,” he teased.

She chuckled, “That’s all I need!”

______________________________________________________________

Raphael hadn’t known that the combination of intense boredom and anxiety he was experiencing could possibly exist. He listened to his brother drone on, not understanding even a third of what he was saying, but, more importantly, he still found it impossible to broach the topic of April.

“Mutagen, as we know, is very unpredictable in an uncontrolled environment. But, after successfully developing a retro-mutagen, I feel a lot more comfortable working with it,” he explained, finally getting to the Plain English portions. “Which is why I’m confident that this will help Leo.” Donnie revealed a vial containing a blueish-green liquid.

Raph eyed it skeptically. “What’s he supposed to do with that?”

“Ingest it, of course,” Don answered.

He’d come out to the barn to try and hash things out with his brother, that way Don would be in a place he felt comfortable. He had gotten little sleep the night before picturing how it’d play out, starting with Donnie being irritated at interruption from his work. But it hadn’t played out that way. On the contrary, he seemed happy for the company.

In many ways, he’d felt isolated ever since they’d arrived at the farmhouse, his brothers and Casey not trying to reach out to him at all. In retrospect, was it any wonder April and he had gotten so close? She was the only one that had made any effort.

But Donnie excitedly explaining the various things he’d been working on made him realize that it went both ways. He hadn’t tried either. And April had said the same thing about Mikey feeling alone. Maybe they had all been here, alone together.

All this overthinking wasn’t helping him get the job done. Even so, it felt near impossible to begin when his brother seemed so happy just to have him around. I didn’t really come out here to hang out, bro. Just wanted to let you know I’m with the girl you’re crazy about. Have a nice day.

He glanced at the medicinal mutagen again instead. It glowed in an unsettling way.

“You sure that stuff isn’t going to fuck him up?”

“Raph,” Donnie sighed, “Why is it you always have to second guess everything I try to do? How many successes will it take before you’re convinced I know what I’m doing?”

It wasn’t an unfair statement, he decided internally, though his mouth said, “It’s not just me. Leo does it too.”

“Don’t remind me,” Donnie agreed. “At least you come by it honest. You’re skeptical by nature.”

All this sitting around doing nothing but listening was beginning to get to him and it didn’t help that he was tied up in knots over what he needed to say. Restless, he got up and went to the truck Casey had been working on, sliding under on his back to get a look at his progress.

“So,” he continued, reaching for a socket wrench. “Since you think it’ll help, why don’t we just give it to him now? Maybe it’d help him wake up.”

“I considered it, but I’d rather not. In his condition, he wouldn’t be able to tell me if he was having some kind of unforeseen reaction. How’s that rust bucket coming?”

“Case may not know much, but he knows his way around an engine. Not sure that this thing ever had much hope though,” he admitted, adding after a moment, “…Weren’t you also working on something for April?” At least he managed to bring up her name, maybe he could somehow segue from there.

“Yes. But I put it on pause and redirected myself back to this when it looked like Leo would be waking up soon,” he answered, before asking hurriedly, “Why? Has she been asking about it? I’m all finished here so I can get back on it right away.”

He seemed genuinely concerned he may be disappointing her, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was on any time table to work miracles. Even if he were, April would put Leo’s well-being first anyway.

It brought to mind all the times they’d unfairly push him to ‘work faster’ in the heat of the moment. But, more to the point, it only reminded him of how much he desired to please her.

Telling Casey would be easier , Raph sighed to himself. We’d just fight it out and be done with it .

He pulled himself back out from under the truck. “Donnie listen,” he said looking at his anxious brother pulling out another random device, presumedly the one he’d been working on for April. “…I was just asking. April is the most patient person I know. Don’t worry about it.”

______________________________________________________________

She’d been anxiously awaiting Raph’s return from his talk with Donnie and found herself cleaning out the fridge in a fit of nervous energy, taking a brief moment to give Ice Cream Kitty a pat in the freezer. Most of what she tossed were expired condiments and well-intentioned leftovers that got consistently overlooked for junk food.

When he finally walked in, one look at his face told her he still hadn’t gone through with it. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without a word.

She sighed, but decided not to push, understanding how hard this had to be on him. “You know what you need?”

“To fast forward in time to after all this is over?” he suggested bitterly.

“You need a sparring session,” she replied, ignoring his comment.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” he conceded, leaving the room.

She knew he was going into a dark place, but also knew the best way for him to work through it was physically. She closed the refrigerator door and went to collect Mikey from the living room.

“Sparring session out front, Mikey. Go get Donnie.”

“Alright, my ninja!” he agreed enthusiastically, turning off the TV and sprinting outside.

It didn’t take long before she wondered if it shouldn’t have just been kept between her and Raph. Casey and Don were desperately trying to one up each other in an attempt to garnish her attention and it wasn’t exactly conducive to her concentration. She breathed deeply, blocking them out and focusing on her target.

April threw her tessen at Raph, who only just managed to dodge, and effortlessly caught the bladed fan upon its return. After several attempted strikes between the two of them, he managed to knock her over with a leg sweep. Instead of landing flat, she performed a back handspring and socked him square on the jaw and he fell to the ground.

“I'm almost a full-on Kunoichi!” she declared victoriously, in an attempt to point out just how much she was not paying any mind to the others. She half-suspected that the reason a punch had landed at all meant that Raph was equally distracted by their buffoonery.

“Aw, yeah!” Mikey enthused directly into Raph’s face, “Gotta be quick if you wanna be hanging with the ninjas, dog!”

She noticed that Donnie and Case were still going at it, with little finesse at this point, though that was to be expected with Casey Jones in the mix.

“Okay, you two. Enough!,” she chided. “You guys are acting like a bunch of caged animals.”

“We're just blowing off a little steam, Red,” Casey replied.

“Yeah, things are just kind of tense lately. Right, old friend?” Donnie added and she wondered if he weren’t enjoying their rivalry just as much as Casey did at this point based on his snide tone at the end, not to mention the amount of time they’d been spending together of late. They’d become the very embodiment of frenemies.

“You got that right, old pal,” Casey agreed, matching his inflection. “We're all just a little frustrated.”

Raph didn’t try to hide his irritation as he left the group and she imagined he was as frustrated with Don and Casey’s show-boating as she was. That in combination with the looming fallout he faced with his brother solidified that she should have thought better of inviting the others.

April watched Raph stalk back into the farmhouse and knew he’d be going up to sulk next to Leo. She decided to give him some time to decompress before checking in on him. It’s not like telling him what he already knew he had to do was going to help, but that was the frustrating part: She was used to having answers, but with this…she wasn’t sure how to help him.

____________________________________________________________

After about an hour, she grabbed the board game Sorry and went to see if she could at least be good company for him, providing some kind of distraction.

“How you holding up?” she asked, joining him in the bathroom and clicking the old door shut behind her.

“You want to know what I’ve realized?” he began what was clearly a speech prepared for her whenever she showed up. “Hanging out with Don or Case is fine. They’re even somewhat tolerable together…until you’re in the mix.” He looked at her pointedly and then back to Leo. “Then they’re just so fucking annoying!”

“Welcome to my world,” she agreed, putting aside the board game and sitting next to him on the adjacent bean bag.

“Did you see them out there?” he exclaimed. Before they'd become a couple, she would have thought he was trying to get a rise out of her. In truth, before he might have been doing just that. But now, she took it for the venting it clearly was.

“Raph, it wasn’t even all that bad today,” she rebutted. “It’s just getting under your skin more than usual because of…this whole situation. But you know you really aren’t allowed to complain about it anymore. This can all stop as soon as you want it to.”

“You make it sound so fucking easy!” he shouted in a way that told her this was going to go beyond simple venting very soon.

“I didn’t suggest it was easy,” she returned coolly. “I’m simply saying you have control now. I’m letting you take the driver’s seat on this. And you don’t need to raise your voice at me. I’m on your side.”

As she watched him try to recompose himself, she couldn’t help but note that as much as he fought for leadership roles in the past, he never seemed to enjoy it as much as thought he would when given the chance. She wondered why he hadn’t yet realized that not enjoying being told what to do did not necessarily equate to wanting the responsibility yourself. Almost as soon as the thought left her head, he suggested putting all this back on her to some degree.

“Why don’t…why not just tell him you’re not interested in him first. Then it might make things easier?”

“I can do that,” she conceded. “I’ve even already considered it. But…have you thought the idea all the way through?”

He sat quietly, clearly indicating that he had not and it was just a random thought, an ideation built from desperation.

“It would mean hurting him twice instead of getting it all out there at once. Do you really think putting Donnie through this twice is the right thing to do?”

“No,” he admittedly somberly.

They sat in silence once more. She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard this was on him and desperately wanted to find a way to make it easier. She understood why it was important for him to be the one to approach Donnie, but she couldn’t help wishing he’d just let her do it.

“I know you don’t want me to do it-“ she tried saying, experimentally.

“Absolutely not!” he declared before she could finish her thought.

“But what do you think about us doing it together?”

He quietly contemplated her suggestion and she could tell that a part of him wanted to agree to it, but ultimately he shook his head. “…No, I think…If I were him I wouldn’t want you there…It would make me feel…”

“Vulnerable,” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he concluded, sadly.

“Listen, Raph-,” she tried to console him, taking his hand in hers.

“April I…I just need to be alone right now.” She felt him squeeze her hand in a reassuring way. “I just need to think.”

“I understand.” She gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. “But you let me know if you need me.”

He nodded as she headed back into the hallway and returned to the mundanity of keeping house. She didn’t take it personally. Honestly, she had no idea what she could say to make the situation any easier anyway, and she sensed he knew that.

_____________________________________________________________

Raphael had opted to isolate himself most of the day and she thought it best to respect his wishes, even after dinner had been prepared. Instead of bothering him, she made him a plate and stashed it in the fridge for him.

The rest of the family had gathered for dinner though and afterwards were being held hostage by Mikey’s current obsession: Crognard.

“We literally have endless channels to choose from,” Donnie complained. “How is this your favorite show?”

“Because it’s awesome,” he retorted, as though that would be obvious to anyone.

“Well, with that bit of witty repartee, I’m thoroughly convinced,” Don returned sardonically.

April was too distracted to take much note in their back and forth. Glancing upstairs, she wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something suddenly felt off.

“GUYS! GUYS! GET UP HERE!” Raph’s voice thundered down to them, drowning out the television.

She now had no doubt what was happening. None of them did by how quickly everyone scrambled to their feet and raced up the stairs.

#tmnt 2012 #raphril #northampton echoes #my fanfic

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meezer · 2 years

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transphobia under the cut, it's debunked and made fun of but it's still there, please take care of your mental health first and foremost

so this kind of sentence is exactly what I studied in logic class in high school. not anything to do with gender or anything but arguments like "if all X are Y, then all Y are X" etcetera. this is fundamental logic and despite the fact that I always found it fascinating I thought "this will never be used in any real life argument, because there's too much nuance in real-life discussions to approach them like this." well, turns out I was wrong. I apologize if this post comes off as a 2012 tumblr SIT DOWN AND LET ME TEACH YOU A THING post, that's not my intention. I just want to I guess prove how from a basic logical level the OP is wrong (obviously they're wrong, we know that, but it's good to have the logical vocabulary to prove it beyond reasonable doubt). another addendum before we begin, I studied this in romanian in school, so for a lot of things, I don't know the english words, so I'll have to translate them myself the best I can. I will do my best to make this accesible.

in order to begin, I will have to define a "term". a term is the most basic unit in logic. it's anything that describes A Thing that you can think of, even if fictional or imaginary: house, dragon, the river Nile, washing machine, Australia, the tallest building in the world, Frankenstein. prepositions and the like ("so," "if," "and," "but," "in," "then," "where" etc) are not terms (in class we called them "expressions" instead) because they don't conjure up any specific image in our minds of an object, person, phenomenon, action.

logic also has certain rules for determining whether certain lines of reasoning are correct. for this post, the one that interests us most is what I'll call the law of distribution. in an argument (meaning, at least one premise results in one conclusion), the term that is distributed in the conclusion must be distributed in the premise, or else the argument is invalid, regardless of its contents.

for a term to be distributed, it means that its full extension is present. that means, the ENTIRETY of the group that the term describes is talked about in the sentence. there are 4 types of sentences: A, E, I and O. I'll attach a diagram to illustrate what they are, as well as the relationships between them.

the way that the terms are distributed in a given sentence depends on its type. for ease of use, + will mean a term IS distributed, - will mean it is NOT.

now, we can get to the original tweet. let's phrase OP's words as if they were a logical (not as in correct, but as in pertaining to the field of logic) argument:

all trans women are women, therefore all women are trans women.

the subject in our first sentence is trans women, while the predicate (or object, if it's easier thinking of it that way) is women. S = trans women, P = women. they are then reversed for the conclusion.

we have, then, the following reasoning: SaP -> PaS. this is actually a logical operation called a conversion, where you change the order of the subject and predicate. this works for every other type of sentence (except SoP), BUT A is an exception. a correct conversion of an A type sentence leads to an I type sentence, like so: SaP -> PiS. so, there's one reason why OP is logically wrong.

let's move on to another (they're technically related, but that's beside the point). remember the law of distribution? let's go back to that. the wisest readers will have already figured out what it is I'm about to say. let's write out the argument and see which terms are distributed, and which are not. both of our sentences are A, so it should look something like this:

we have a +, meaning a distributed term, in the conclusion. noticing this, we are now supposed to look at the same term in the premise. except, uh oh, it's not distributed.

which makes the argument logically invalid. here, I'll correct OP's shitty statement and make it logically, as well as socio-politically, correct:

all trans women are women, therefore some women are trans women.

SaP -> PiS

none of the terms are distributed in the conclusion, so no need to check the premise. the argument is logically valid.

so why did I do this? well, despite the fact that I have the sneaking suspicion that OP might be a troll account, when I saw this on my explore page, I felt like this was right up my alley in terms of stuff I actually know and understand. I looked in the notes for a bit and saw that nobody was giving this detailed an analysis, which is fair, I don't think anyone should waste their time with this kind of debunking if they don't want to, but I felt like doing it. bottom line is, don't argue with terfs, don't argue with transphobes, you will not win, even if you bring up how LOGICALLY their argument makes no sense. despite claiming to be all about facts and logic and science, they will move the goal-posts, they will not back down, because their arguments are actually based on visceral emotions of fear and disgust and they rely on people not examining those emotions any further or looking at the facts. I just feel like, even if we don't argue with them, it might be nice to, I don't know, have the tools at our disposal to just figure out and explain that they're WRONG and not just because we feel like it or because we just know that the things they're saying are wrong without being able to put a finger on it.

not every transphobic argument will be this easy to debunk, not all transphobic arguments will break the laws of logical reasoning this brazenly. but this one did, and I'm glad I have the knowledge and platform to explain why.

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