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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years

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Hello this is just to say that I am very interested in that post you mentioned maybe making about indirect communication!

So to define Direct and Indirect communication with a pair of examples real fast:

Direct communication: "Hey, can you do the dishes?" Indirect communication: "There's dishes in the sink." (Please wash them.)

Indirect communication tends to trip a lot of ND, but especially Autistic people up because the implied request in the parentheses... doesn't always come through. So you don't do the dishes, and the Indirect communicator gets frustrated because they thought they had made that request perfectly clearly.

Which, in their defense, they did! ...in their micro-cultural language.

See, the actual purpose of Indirect Communication is to provide some extra verbal personal space and non-aggression measures in micro-cultures where people's personal autonomy has been compromised but there is also a high degree of understood social context.

Hm. That's a weird sentence. Let's try some more examples.

Indirect communication is most common in places or situations where people's ability to stay in their own lane is compromised, but everyone also shares the same base knowledge of what's going on. One example is in large cities, where people are PHYSICALLY up in each other's personal space because they're physically crowded. So cities have etiquette like "Don't make eye contact on public transit unless you actually need to address someone", so that, if people can't stop violating your personal space, they can at least signal non-aggression and give you some privacy. People raised in large cities, or who have lived there for a while all learn these unspoken rules by trial and error, some of us with more errors and trials than others.

Thus, in physically compact situations, "There's dishes in the sink" means "There's dishes in the sink." (I trust that you are already familiar with the social rules that dictate that dishes need to be done, and assume the reason you haven't done them is because you haven't seen the sink yet. I won't insult your intelligence by elaborating on the Do The Dishes Rule, because I know you are smart <3)

Speaking of Privacy, the other place indirect communication is common is in situations where people have Limited Privacy and thus everyone knows what's going on with them, and they know what's going on with everyone else, whether they want to or not. Close-knit families and religious communities often have this shared no-privacy pool, but it can also happen with you and two roommates in a 100sq ft apartment, or on a research vessel in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Since y'all are up in each other's business, indirect communication is there to prevent hostility in close quarters.

This, in a low-privacy situation, "There's dishes in the sink." means "There's dishes in the sink." (I know you are a good and responsible roommate who is maybe a little forgetful, and I trust you to have enough context from living in the live feed of everyone's life to know that I need them done. I won't insult you by suggesting your motivation was malicious in any way, and i trust you to do them <3)

So, to an indirect communicator, that was a perfectly clear request to do the dishes because OF COURSE you'd know what they meant- literally everyone else they deal with is in on this shared knowledge of social rules and daily updates. And not elaborating on that request is an affectionate sign of trust in your competence.

Except, you know. You're not.

So, you try to explain to your indie friend that "There's dishes in the sink." only sounds like an observation, and your brain will not auto-fill in the request like theirs does, so if you want me to do the dishes, just ask with words, okay?

And your indie friend understands this! but then instead of going "Hey, can you do the dishes?" they instead don't say ANYTHING until they're really frustrated with the state of the kitchen, and communicate VERY directly at you, and with great anger.

What happened?

So remember how indirect communication exists to prevent hostility and violence? That's because the threat of hostility and violence is VERY, VERY REAL.

Like you, your indirect communication friend made some mistakes while learning The Unsaid Rules and How To Use The Shared Information Pool, and the social hammer came down on them HARD. Ostracization, ridicule, maybe even actual, psychical harm. So they grew very, very afraid of violating those secret rules, and doubly so with people they like, so your indirect communication friend is facing this HUGE EMOTIONAL BLOCK when it comes to directly communicating with you, because to someone who grew up with their boundaries compromised and the threat of hostility if they violate the communication rules, communicating directly with someone they love feels really, really, really mean and they don't want to hurt or lose you.

For real, "Hey, please do the dishes" sounds like "Hey, please do the dishes." (You fucking moron who doesn't give a shit about our home and probably hates me) to them, and they don't want to talk like that to you. It's like how we never like picking the mean dialogue option in video games.

So instead they... just don't say anything at all, rather than risk a potential confrontation, and then the dishes don't get done and it turns into a REAL confrontation.

What a headache.

So what are we gonna do?

Well, you can't control your friend's actions, emotional reactions or interpersonal skills, but you can manage yours, and you're gonna have to meet them halfway, and it's gonna feel like training a skittish cat that coming out from under the couch is safe. Several-pronged approach:

DO NOT PUNISH BEHAVIOR YOU WANT TO SEE. When your friend does manage to say "Hey, please do the dishes?" don't go "UUUUGH IN A MINUTE." even if you are in the middle of something else and their timing sucks, which is probably does. Stick to either neutral responses ("Cool, let me finish this paragraph and I'll get on that") to positive responses ("Oh, sure! Thanks for letting me know!")

REWARD THE BEHAVIOR YOU WANT TO SEE. -and then actually go do the dishes to demonstrate that this approach not only is safe, it's effective. Also, praise your friend when they do a good job communicating with you. "Hey, thanks for actually asking me to do the dishes, that was really helpful." or "You're doing a great job navigating and giving me directions, this is much less stressful than the GPS" or "Thanks for being honest about how I was annoying you and bringing it up before it became a huge issue." This will kind of feel like you're an actor on sesame street teaching big bird how to say please and thank you, but honestly? that was the age most of us learned our communication skills, and we return to that teaching method because BY GOD IT WORKS.

MODEL THE BEHAVIORS YOU WANT TO SEE. Humans learn by copying, so lead by example with the kind of communication that helps you, and explain why it helps. "Hey friend, a question so I can schedule some stuff- Do you have any plans this weekend I should know about, or am I clear to paint the bathroom?"

This is the one that sucks but YOU GOTTA MEET THEM HALFWAY AND LEARN ABOUT THE CONTEXT POOL. Can't make everyone learn, and Indirect communication has it's uses (especially in modern jobs and social media), so you gotta learn their style too. I literally have a discord server that's just me where I keep notes on the life events and conditions of my friends, coworkers, neighbors and loved ones because I know I won't remember that shit, but they will kind of expect me to, and it's been a lifesaver in both not blundering into social faux pas, and actually getting around my crap memory to know them better. You can also model hybrid communication and practice your indirect skills by using an indirect request opener, but then saying the rest of the implied context aloud: "Hey, there's dishes in the sink. I know you'll do that ASAP because you're cool, I just wanted to make sure you knew they were there and needed to be washed, thanks <3"

Accept that some people aren't gonna change for reasons that are beyond their control and probably have nothing to do with you, and decide what you're willing to invest in learning to deal with them. I still have to play 5D words chess with my mother-in-law, who was raised in a close-physical-space-AND-no-privacy culture and is an excruciatingly anxious indirect communicator as a result. I can't make her go to therapy for the anxiety, and until she does, her ability to communicate effectively probably won't improve. It's got nothing to do with me, even if I'm the person she's most frequently at odds with. As a result, I have extremely limited contact with her. I don't see her for more than a few hours at a time, when we have an activity to do together, and only a handful of times a year. More than that, and I get brainworms by proxy, so for my sanity, I've limited what I am willing to do with her. Maybe your indirect communicator is someone worth effectively learning a second language for, like a lover. Maybe they're someone you can cut out of your life entirely without issue, like a manger at a retail job you can quit. You'll have to decide.

Anyway, that's my raised-bilingual ADHD/Autism Direct/indirect communicator ramble, hope it helps.

#Long post #communication skills #Note: I'm not a therapist #I just live this experience #so take this with a handful of salt #but this has worked for me

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greenglowinspooks · 11 months

Text

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #Jon’s PTSD is triggered by the smell of ectoplasm because his life is a nightmare #HDJFNDNDNFKDJF #I am the master of emotional whiplash #rip Jon just trying to have some peace in this fucking house #never gonna happen king 🫡#oh also Eddie is not lying that bat can manwhore #and like half the rogues in Gotham know this from experience #and also most of the JL #and some of JL dark #btw Eddie and Jon are besties #they’re both awful but they make it work #when Jon full-names Eddie that just means that if he doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing he’s gonna get a dose of fear toxin #Eddie isn’t intimidating enough to full-name anyone so if he gets mad he just bashes whoever in the head with his cane #Jon is the living embodiment of ‘me and my girl don’t argue she bash me in the head with a rock and I walk it off like a man’#also side note I’m not doing any ships in this #because I don’t want to #they are just Like That #if you wanna read it that way though it’s completely fine #also shoutout 2 that one scriddler fic on ao3 that helped inspire that riddle LMAO

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