#but these days she’s just like you have poor fine motor skills that’s all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hallowbees · 7 months ago

Text

good evening rottmnt community. so i haven't written fanfic in almost a decade, but whilst taking a break from working on a rottmnt fanfic, i have written... another rottmnt fanfic. i wanted to play around with different povs and tenses than i usually use, and decided to use casey jr and the future timeline to try it out - it was super fun to write, so i thought why not share it!!

you're a lifesaver, casey jones

fives times casey jones junior saves the resistance, and the one time it doesn’t feel like a victory

five months old

You’re only five months old when you save the resistance for the first time. You’re so young.

The shattered remains of a home cradle you, muscle memory from the years of keeping a family long gone safe and warm, and even if you can feel the wind as it whistles through the cracks in the bricks and the sky looms red, enemy drones and rubble floating above you like a cot mobile, you don’t cry. Your little life has already taught you the harshest lesson of the apocalypse, and it’s not that crying won’t get you anywhere; crying will get you somewhere alright, six feet deep in a grave if the wrong ones hear you. Of course you don’t actually know that, not in that way at least, but you do know crying only ever wears you out. Tough lesson to learn, ain't it kid, but you learnt it well. You might just make it yet.

There’s no telling how long you’ve been here- could have been five minutes, could have been forever, it's all the same to you. It’s unlikely that there are any coherent thoughts rattling around in that little brain of yours yet, but if so, they might sound something like this; I miss you, I miss you, where did you go? I’m hungry, it hurts, I miss you. Where did everyone go? I miss you. The same thoughts plague most brains these days, everyone’s got a ‘you’ to miss. We’ll all be ‘you’ someday, if we’re lucky. God, this is all quite morbid isn’t it, little one? It’s okay, though. Remember, this is a story about how you save them. It’s a happy story, you’ll get your happily ever after, even if they don’t all live.

She looks a lot like you, strangely. It’s something about the eyes, dark and strong, and the general aura of defiance. Maybe that’s why she finds you first, she feels a kinship in your ‘warrior spirit’, as she calls it, ‘a true fighter’, she calls you. ‘They are a baby, babies cannot fight. Primarily because they are still in the very early stages of fine motor skills development and cannot wield weapons yet, amongst other reasons.’ another voice says, but he doesn’t know just how hard you already have fought, will fight still. You’re there, and that is everything these days. She comes to your defence, proclaiming you ‘the strongest fighter of the resistance’, and ‘silence, purple one!’. You can’t tell that the second shout isn’t aimed at you, but what you can tell is that it's warm in her arms and now you only see her and not the broken sky above you. It’s not ‘you’, and you’re still not sure where everyone went, but this still feels comfortable. This feels like home, you think.

That’s the moment you break, and the tears start. You cry, and you cry, and you are surrounded by her. Her voice is low now, a tone rusty in use but so sure of itself as she tells you that you’re okay, you’re safe, she’s got you. ‘Poor thing, they must be so scared.’ comes a new voice, and there's a blur of orange (once you figure out what orange is, it’ll become your favourite colour, one of four favourites) over her shoulder. ‘Ain’t we all.’ comes a low rumble from behind. ‘They won’t be anymore. We’ve got them now.’ she says, and that’s how you meet your strange little family. Some of it, that is - there are more, an aunt and a grandfather or two, so many people ready to love you.

She doesn’t just give you a name, she gives you hers. You’re Casey Jones Junior, a reminder that something always comes after. You don’t know yet how badly Casey Jones Senior had needed that reminder - she’s spent her whole life in pursuit of what’s next, in hopes that its greater than what’s now (a promotion, a resurrection, a fabled leader) and despair that it never is (better luck next time recruit, they could do it all without her, she breaks the chains that spell his downfall herself). When she finds the apocalypse next, she starts to think that maybe nothing next would be quite alright, but then there’s you and for the first time she truly feels like she’s on the right track.

She carries you home, her family around her and in her arms, and Casey Jones Senior resolves to keep fighting another day.

four years old

In your defence, such a sharp weapon should have never been left in your curious reach. In his, there's so much to keep on top of when you’re spearheading a resistance that if a sai or two get misplaced in the process, can anyone really blame him? Your hand is being patched up as he is berated once again, because ‘you know that weapons stay on you at all times, Raph’, and ‘why are they even sharp? Aren’t sai meant to be blunt?’. He groans out something about being a stupid teenager once upon a time, wondering what would happen if he sharpened his weapon the same way his brother did his swords, much out of the same curiosity that got you into this very predicament. He sounds like he might cry, but you can’t work out why. It’s your palm that's bleeding, and you didn’t even make a peep. That might have been the problem, though - no one noticed until your blood was smeared across the floor and that’s a sight no one can stomach. You were scooped up quickly, and he looks haunted. ‘He’ could have been anyone in the room.

“Raph’s sorry, lil’ guy.”. He’s gentle, so gentle, as he kneels before you and takes your bandaged hand. “I promise I won’t leave ‘em out again like that.”. There’s no promise that you won’t get hurt again, because no one likes to break a promise, but the way he smiles at you, still so gentle, makes all the pain go away.

“Can I hold ‘em again when I’m bigger please?” you ask, and of course you can’t see it but there’s a little sparkle in your eyes as you look up at him, glimmering like the stars that are still above you even if you can’t see them anymore, in the sky that no longer belongs to Earth. Let's look on the bright side though; it could still be ours again someday.

“Um… if your Mom says you can, then sure thing, buddy. But only when you’re older.”. Your mom will say yes, she always says yes because there is nothing that a Jones cannot do, so you cheer and throw your tiny little arms around his far bigger neck. You can’t hold all of him, so you just squeeze extra tight so he still feels the love all over. A hand comes to pat you on the back, and you certainly feel loved in his hold.

“Why’d you want to hold ‘em so bad anyways, bud?” he asks, and you grin. It’s big and toothy, with a little gap right at the front where you lost your first tooth, and thank god that you lost it in the natural way, and not the way most people lose teeth these days.

“I wanna be just like Uncle Raphie!”. He melts, and the tears are back. Rather than wipe them away though, he just squeezes you closer.

It’s one of the last memories you’ll get of Raphael, so please hold onto it. Hold onto it just as tight as you held onto his neck that day, held him long enough for the blood to seep through your bandages and make its mark on his skin.

…

Well, anyways - there’s a conversation later that night that you’re not privy to. You’re probably fast asleep by your mother’s side when the clock strikes this antisocial hour.

“He’s so little. Too little. Casey shouldn’t be even thinking about holding weapons yet.”.

Yet, yet, yet, it’s always yet. Weaponry is waiting for you in the future, and no one can lie, there are keen eyes on you as you play around the resistance base, to spot any signs of affinity for particular weapon types and fighting styles (you’re fast, get up close and personal, and there will be a brute force behind your hits if you really want there to be - someone offhandedly mentions hockey and the blueprints are already being drawn up).

“Maybe it would be better to start him young. It is inevitable, after all.”. That’s probably the toughest pill for them to swallow, that when you grow up (if, if you grow up - that would be even harder to choke down if they would let themselves even consider it) you’ll be thrown to the front lines.

But hey - we’re looking on the bright side, remember?

“C’mon guys, enough with the doom and gloom! Think of it this way - at least there will be someone to keep on fighting after us. And he’s going to be far more prepared than we ever could have been. Seriously, he’s like, the apocalypse nepo baby.”. You’d be shocked by how funny the apocalypse could be sometimes. It has to be, because if you don’t laugh you’ll cry, and you already know where crying gets you. It’s not the best joke, but it gets a snort from someone. “He’s got no choice but to succeed. I’m calling it now, Casey’s gonna be the one to end this someday. ”

“S’not much of a bright side. He’ll still have to fight.”.

“Chin up, big guy. Look at what we’ve achieved already. The kind of things Casey’s going to do with all of us behind him? It’s looking pretty bright to me.”. It goes unsaid that most of them probably won’t be there to see it, but it’s enough for now. The thought of you seeing the other side of this war, even if you have to fight for it tooth and nail, it’s enough to let Raph truly think about what the end of the apocalypse could look like for the very first time since Hell arrived on earth. He thinks of the stars, how they’re still shining brightly and how we will see them again. He can even see a small smattering of them in the bleeding sky when he lays dying a few days later, and his final thought is that maybe we’re already starting to turn the tides.

seven years old

Most people will probably tell you that celebrating a birthday is a waste of time, resources, and energy. The most cynical of the bunch would probably tell you that we don’t actually know when your birthday is, so why are you so confident that it’s today? But, and please don’t repeat this language, fuck them - you’re seven years old, and isn’t that just incredible? You feel like the luckiest seven year old in the entire resistance (you’re only one of three in this branch, and Laura’s leg got broken yesterday, so your competition isn’t exactly tough) when your culinary wizard of an uncle manages to scrape together some sort of cake. The adults around you grimace a little when they bite into it (culinary wizard he may be, but there’s only so much magic can do), but you think it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It’s dry, and sticks to the roof of your mouth, and you’d hesitate to call it chocolate, but you go in for a second helping, and no one stops you because it’s your birthday! There’s more than enough to go around; your family has gotten a little bit smaller, after all. They’re never truly gone though, because you can always see his red bandana, and you’ll always share your name with her. You don’t really remember anything more than a grey blur, but your grandfather’s famous battle cry continues to echo across the frontlines. You make sure to enjoy your second helping even more than the first, just for them.

There is one slice of cake left, and it has no business sitting on the plate looking all lonely like that. You’re not sure exactly why he didn’t show up this time, but you’re not going to let your special day pass by without seeing him. It may be your day, but the things that make you happy are so much sweeter when you share them; you think it might be because you love your family’s smiles more than anything else in the whole entire world. Pushing yourself up from the comfortable pile of mostly everyone you love on the floor (if some missions had been shifted around to make sure everyone could be here for you today, then no one was going to complain), you pick up the plate and go to find the missing piece of your family’s jigsaw puzzle.

“Where are you taking that, Case? Trying to sneak a third helping?”. Voices are light, and maybe it’s the most at ease you’ve ever seen your family. Today really is special.

“Nope, it’s Uncle Donnie’s and he’s gotta eat it today because tomorrow it’s just cake and that's much less exciting than birthday cake.”. You’re on a mission, just like the ones your uncles and aunt go on, ones you can’t wait to join them on someday, because you don’t want to be anything other than just like them when you finally grow up. Your aunt has even begun teaching you how to fight, and she always tells you what a natural you are (she feels so guilty about it, because it would be so much easier if you weren’t going to be such a powerhouse on the battlefield; there would maybe be cause to clutch you close to her chest and never let you go otherwise).

You might hear what’s said as you leave. “Casey, buddy, maybe you shouldn’t…”. You don’t let it deter you, even if you do.

“Nah, I say let him try. Maybe he’ll finally get through to that brilliantly dumb brain of his.”.

You guard the cake with your life as you run to the lab, because you can’t possibly wait a second longer to see him. This is the one thing that could make your day go from amazing to perfect. Call it your birthday wish, even if you didn’t have a candle to blow out.

You’re not actually sure when you last saw your uncle beyond a fleeting flash of purple at breakfast time, and that one night last week you had a standoff in the corridor at 3am, because you had a nightmare and wanted your Uncle Mikey, and he needed more coffee (if it was just a bit lighter, you’d have seen his damp eyes, and maybe would have figured out that he needed to seek out his brothers just as much as you). You know when you’re going to see him next, though - in about 30 seconds, because you’re standing in front of his door.

Knock, knock, knock. There isn’t a pattern, you just bang on the door with one hand, careful to balance the plate on your other. Bang, bang, bang. You’re greeted with the rhythmic bang of a hammer in response - or at least you think at first, it doesn’t take much waiting to realise that he probably hasn’t heard you.

Knock, knock, knock. “Uncle Donnie! I have something for you!” you shout, right at the top of your lungs. Bang, bang - “Just leave it outside the door, I’ll get it later.” - bang.

Well, in that case - you sit down, cross legged and leaning against the door. Because sure, you’re bringing him the cake, but you’re really here because you miss him, and just want a little bit of his time. You think that sounds like a fair exchange; he gets a slice of your best birthday cake ever, and you get five minutes with your beloved uncle. Neither of those come around that often, so you should both make the most of it.

He must have underestimated your attention span, because he has the audacity to look shocked that you’re still there when he opens the door and you fall backwards into the lab with a shout of surprise. It’s only been 20 minutes; you’d wait so much longer than that for him. Miraculously, even in your speedy venture to the floor, the cake is still sitting neatly on its plate, and you hold it up with a wide grin. “I got you cake!”.

A million miles an hour is probably a gross underestimation of how fast your uncle’s brain goes at any given moment, for better or worse. The look on his face suggests that for a moment, his thoughts are speeding even by his standards, and then they promptly smash into a brick wall. You can tell by the way his eyes get a little bit too wide, and his mouth falls open a little - it’s an expression you only see in the rare moments he feels like he’s failed, although all you can see is a success - because there he is! You’re still grinning up at him from the floor, even if your arms are starting to shake from holding the plate up. He shakes away the expression, and quickly takes the plate from you. Only to swiftly discard it on a nearby workbench though, in favour of kneeling down and leaning over to look at your blinding grin.

“Casey… is it today?” he asks, still a little too wide eyed. You giggle a little, because what else would it be, tomorrow? He does genuinely look lost though, so you nod. It’s rare that you know something that he doesn’t, but even if it might feel cool to outsmart the smartest person you know, you fill him in. “Yeah, it’s today! And it’s also my birthday.”. He’s quiet for a moment, teeth worrying his lips as his eyes flick away from your face. “And I’m seven.”.

“Not until 6:47pm.” he says, almost automatically. Once he realises what he’s said, his panicked eyes flick to the screen on his wrist, and you think he’s checking the time.

“You haven’t missed it! I made sure to keep looking at the hands on the clock so I could come and see you before you miss it.”. It’s the time that the scouting-turned-rescue mission seven years ago got back to the base, and an official mission report was made. ‘Baby boy, approximately 5 months old, found in rubble. No others found in immediate vicinity.’, submitted at 6:47pm. It’s never bothered you that it’s not the exact day or moment you were born, it’s the exact day and time your family became just that, and that's what really matters to you. None of your uncles know the exact time and day they were born either (the debate of who’s older still rages on till this day, not even the end of the world can put that argument to rest), so it means you’re just like them. You still can’t imagine wanting to be anything else.

“Okay.”. He stands up, and offers you a hand. You take it, giggling as he pulls you up a little bit too far and your legs dangle. You kick them for a second, before he notices and puts you back firmly on solid ground. “I have two forks.”.

You sit in the bean bags he has stashed in the corner of the lab, and the two of you share the last slice of birthday cake. He struggles more than the others to hide his distaste for it, but you think it tastes the best it has yet. The lab door has been left open, and you know that it’s not by mistake, because it could have been shut with a quick tap of a screen, but it stays wide open as the rest of your family files in. You’re all slotted together perfectly when the clock strikes 6:47pm, and you hear your Uncle Donnie sing the loudest as your family wishes you a happy birthday. You think it’s because you’re sitting closest to him, but everyone else can see the way his chest expands as he takes deep breaths, putting his all into his well wishes.

It was easy for him to forget that life isn’t over yet, even if what he’s been burdened with is creating and creating until he has something that will prolong it just that little bit longer. Amidst the cheers of ‘hip hip hooray’, he remembers that moments like this are exactly what he’s toiling away in the lab for. They haven’t gone anywhere yet though, and he doesn’t want to let even a single second of it pass him by again. Donnie actually smiles for once, because you are seven years old now and that really is something incredible. You see him everyday at breakfast after that, with actual food rather than just a mug, and he always has a fork for you.

eleven years old

You’re just about in the double digits the first time you actually realise that you’ve saved the resistance. It happens so quickly - you’re still not old enough to be out on the field, but it’s all hands on deck when the krang brings the fight to your front door. Maybe don’t say this to anyone else, but you sort of think that it makes your age a moot point - if you can fight like hell when the hallways are caving in and there's pink, pink, pink everywhere, then surely you can join simple scouting missions? No one quite understands why you’re so eager to be out there on the field, and maybe you don’t fully understand either (you definitely don't understand just how dire it is out there, they’ve done a good job of keeping that from you so far), but you know that it’s what you want. It’s what all of your heroes do, after all. You know for a fact that your uncles wanted to be just like their own heroes when they grew up, and now that you’re finally getting taller and your arms are starting to gain a little muscle, why can’t you follow in their footsteps? The only difference is that their heroes were on the TV screen. You’re lucky enough to see yours in the flesh every single day. Two of them, at least. Purple now flutters alongside the fraying red.

At first, it’s no different from all of the other hounds. It’s gross and dripping, what you think must be teeth gnashing and shockingly red. You’re not stupid, you know that it can’t be krang blood, you don’t think they even have it, but nothing can deter you from swinging your hockey stick right into its side (and you know you could do so much more than just crack it’s bones into tiny little pieces if someone finally listened to you and removed the child lock that Donnie was forced to add), sending it flying sideways. A little blood never bothered you, and it’s a good job, because you’re covered in it. Some of it might be your own, but there’s so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that pain doesn’t even stand a chance at stopping you. You feel so alive as you wipe some of that blood from your face (definitely not your own, you’d know if you had a head wound), but your heart stops as you see what was laid beneath the hound.

It’s your aunt, or what might be left of her - you can’t tell if her chest is still rising and falling or not. She’s teetering on the edge of just being another body in the makeshift morgue, which you know is nearing full already. Your body wants to freeze, your tears want to fall, your voice wants to scream, but listen, here’s what you do instead: drop to your knees, bring your ear right up to her mouth to here those wheezing, determined breaths, then immediately pull the hoodie over your head to first clear enough blood to find the wound, and second put pressure on it as you scream out for help. You’ve got this. You’re doing so well, kid. Just remember to take a few breaths of your own in the middle of all of this chaos.

Help doesn’t come, but another hound does. You don’t let it get close, as you put those little muscles to use and scoop her up. This one won’t get to her. It snarls at you, and you snarl back, flashing your matching bloody teeth. You turn and run before it can even think about pouncing, and even though she’s heavy, you’re still fast as you jump over rubble and dodge bodies you don’t have time to think about trying to save.

The medbay is still standing, proving that the decision to make it the most out of the way and difficult to reach location in the base was at least somewhat strategic. The krang hasn’t reached it, and based on the mutters of ‘code green’ and ‘it’s over’, they won’t this time. It’s still yet, yet, yet, as you know, but it’s not now so you shove your aunt onto a bed and don’t even wait for an adult to start grabbing bandages and needles. They do still take over eventually, because it doesn’t matter that you just saved Commander O’Neil’s life - you are still just a child. Just barely in the double digits. Hopefully one day you’ll realise this was never an insult, instead it was maybe the greatest display of love they could give you. No one escapes the apocalypse, but they still tried to give you routes out of it. The corridors are all collapsed now though, and you grip your hockey stick tight in your blood-slicked grasp as you watch your aunt be pulled back together into one piece.

April’s probably the one person in the resistance whose resolve has never shaken, but that’s not to say it can’t still be strengthened. When she wakes to see your bloodstained hoodie discarded by the cot she’s found herself on, she’ll of course panic for a second. Thankfully, someone will quickly fill her in, tell her that the blood is her own, and the unbelievable story of the little child who dragged her from the jaws of the hounds. She’ll believe it though, because for starters, you're a Jones, and a Jones can do anything, of course. You’re also a Hamato, and if there’s one thing Hamato can’t do, it’s leave family behind. This spells the start of your official tenure as a resistance fighter, because your age is something you’ll outgrow, but your fighting spirit is something you will not.

It might also have something to do with the fact that much of the resistance lay dead all around you, their blood still clinging to your skin, but what do we always say? Look on the bright side. Stars are still shining, buddy. Time to join your heroes in taking them back.

fourteen years old

You don’t even have to do anything this time. You’re off somewhere with your aunt, maybe training, maybe laughing, ideally both.

The way you save the resistance this time looks something like this: sparks of molten magic, and a pull he’s never felt before. He can’t deny it, it does feel like hope, but hurts like hell as it starts to crackle up his arms. He’s swiftly stopped, not by his own will, but he’s grateful when the fire splitting him apart fizzles out. It’s very quiet in the aftermath, because they know what this means. It means it’s possible. It means it's going to cost everything.

They decide that it would be worth it though, if it gave you a chance. There’s no one else they believe in more than you. It’s been said for years, as far back as the days where the only time you shed blood was when you mishandled sai that now just sit and collect dust; you’re gonna be the one to end this someday.

That day should be far off in the future though, when they’ve had time to give you the mission brief, hand over the supplies, and give you a tight hug, not goodbye but good luck. There isn’t really a point dwelling on it now. Mikey just smiles as he tugs the bandages tighter around his arms, and relishes in the fact that they finally have a plan B that might just work out this time. It helps to reignite the optimistic fire he was reluctant to tell anyone was starting to burn out.

+1. sixteen years old

You’re only sixteen years old when you save the resistance for the last time. You’re so young. I think it might really be the end this time, kiddo.

You don’t even flinch when I bleed on you, you just tell me that you’ve got me, just as I had you all those time you scraped your knee or bruised your elbow. Not to be arrogant, but you said it yourself - you learned from the best. Sorry. I know it’s not about me, but there’s very little left these days to focus on. Let’s keep the attention on you though, because you’re about to finally save the resistance once and for all.

All that needs to be said is ‘hope’, and Mikey knows it’s time for plan B. There’s no time for anything we’d planned, no explanation, no hugs goodbye or good luck, but the belief in you never wavers. Not for a second. You’re Casey Jones-Hamato Junior, remember? There’s nothing you can’t do, except leave your family behind. I won’t say that out loud, because you’ll argue that you are in fact leaving me and Mikey behind. Technically, I’d argue you’re leaving us ahead, because soon we’ll be the future. Again, I won’t say that, because if my last words are going to be a joke, I at least want it to be a good one. What you’re doing, in actual fact, is giving us a second chance. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll find us back there. Our sky may now be lost, but they’ll take you to the highest rooftop and show you every single shimmering constellation and you’ll finally know an Earth that firmly belongs to us. Oh buddy, you’re going to love it.

The last I see of you, you’re crying. It’s one of the first things I saw you do, and now it’s the last. That first time all those sixteen years ago, I think you only started crying because you knew it was finally safe to call attention to yourself as Casey held you in surprisingly gentle but strong arms. Now, I can’t kid myself, I know it’s because you’re scared, and I’m sorry. But hey, you know how I like to look on the bright side - at least the last you see of me, I’m smiling.

I hope that’s the last you see, at least, I know it won’t be long as a hound throws itself at me. There’s only one thing on my mind now, and it’s that you really are gonna do it. You’re gonna be the one to end this today.

I’m real proud of-

#oh man its kinda terrifying sharing this but also i miss creating things for the things i love and its so exciting that i'm feeling so #inspired rn!!!!#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #casey jones jr #rise leo #rottmnt fanfiction #ellie makes post #i've posted on ao3 too which again terrifying but i'm determined to share this big one i'm working on too #this is me working up to sharing that one ig

18 notes · View notes

td-brick · 2 months ago

Note

genuinely have not watched td in so long but who r some of the characters u think are autistic? just out of curiosity

AHH thank you for the ask I LOVE THIS QUESTION!!!! All under the cut cuz i have a lot. There are definitely more (aka nearly every td character lol) but these are the ones I have a good amount to say ab

Courtney: The one i've talked about the most probably. My reasoning for this has already been said but in case it needs repeating i think some signs of autism in her are: routine planning and getting upset when it's interrupted/disturbed, (arguably) meltdowns, social unawareness/missing social cues, set in her ways/"strong sense of justice", bluntness, etc. Her making lists was also an indicator for me even though thats not a symptom its just something a lot of autistic people do. Idk I feel like a lot of her reactions and stuff on the show indicated autism too.. and i feel like its a popular headcanon but people don't really think of WHY but I do every day. God I love you autistic courtney. Anyways I'm gonna stop there bc. I've talked about this many many times

Harold: This one's obvious and widely accepted but it makes me really happy personally.. at least in how I interpret her i saw her as low masking, like me, and in a similar way to me too. If that makes sense. Like the amount she talks about her interests not realizing people don't care/don't want to hear about it, people ostracizing her for that and her acting "weird" (exhibiting autistic traits) and not being able to hide it/mask in general... idk I feel like those can be applied to a lot of autistic people but I just resonated with that a lot. Also her hygiene stuff is obviously played as a joke, but I saw that as an autistic trait too (struggling with badls). And just a kinda silly observation but she seems to be interested in geography and world history and whatnot which a LOT of my autistic friends are (including me to an extent) LOL.

Millie: I feel like i dont even need to explain this one LOL. Imo part of why she keeps that notebook in s1 is bc of an interest in sociology, maybe a special interest, since if you look at her passion about it from an autistic lens, it makes sense that it would be. I also feel like she's low empathy and struggles a lot w social cues. sorry this one isn't as detailed I've only rewatched the reboot like once vs the other seasons i've watched like 5 times each but yeah. Millie is autistic 100%. Also similarly to harold (although this isn't really canon) she seems like she'd be into geopolitics.not related to autism at all this is just a hc of mine

Bridgette: I don't have much genuine reasoning behind this besides "he's clumsy so he has poor fine motor skills which can be due to autism" <- mostly projecting here. But also I think animals could be her special interest! He clearly cares a lot ab them, which I assume is why he's vegan. Also her being vegan (and her sticking to that) could be interpreted as her being set in her ways/a routine for her idk. This is more of a just for fun one vs one that has canon evidence backing it up but I Like Him :-)

Sierra: Definitely audhd. I mean again I don't think I have to explain this td is obviously a special interest of hers and she has trouble w social cues and acts socially inappropriate. She's low masking too again i'm projecting but it makes sense so who cares... in my mind she also has HSD too because it makes sense with how athletic/agile she is and if i remember correctly hypermobility and autism are often comorbid.

#courtney #harold #millie #bridgette #sierra #asks #rj originals

8 notes · View notes

galaxyedging · 2 years ago

Text

Part of the Exposed Masterlist

Claude the Cat x OFCC (the extra C is for cat because apparently I've lost my mind. I may as well go all in at this point.)

WC:3.2k

Summary: Claude meets a cat that he is desperate to paint and do other things with.

Warnings: A horny cat. Angst. Talk of death.

Alley Cats

The sun warming his tail told Claude it was time to make a move before the room was rented out. If he made his way to the kitchen door, he could probably charm some thinly sliced salmon from the overbearing sous chef. She always finds a little something for him. She even digs out a little extra if he lets her hold him. He feels like a common whore when her boney fingers dig into him and her strong citrus perfume brings a sting to his sensitive eyes. Still, the food was good and it wouldn't be the first time he was called a whore. They didn't understand that he was on borrowed time.

The new guy he lived with had taken him for that goddamn operation. Claude was lucky to come out with everything intact. The vet had the gleam of a butcher in his eyes. His fingers looked cumbersome and not capable of the fine motor skills that needed to attend to Claude's most delicate parts. He had put up a fight. He dodged and weaved like a prize fighter. He'd done his best to keep them at bay. His new roommate, and several of the employees, bore the scratch marks to prove it. Ultimately, he had been bested by a rather rotund man with a syringe. He spent the next few days ruing the day he graced the fire escape outside that insipid artist's apartment. Even if he had fed him tuna and scratched that spot on his head that he likes. And he let him sleep on his bed when the storm outside got too loud. Still, he took him for that operation, he risked his virility, it was still at risk. Claude was afraid if he didn't use it he would lose it.

It may have caused a couple of problems for him. A couple of fights between his partners, who thought that just because they barbed, once, they were a thing. That he owed them something. If anything, they owned him. Even if he could only find a flea bitten tabby to keep him company, he always made them feel good. If he was going to do something he was going to do it right. They should be thankful.

To be fair, they usually were. They fell at his feet. He didn't blame them, given the competition. All mangy alley cats and overfed, lazy family pets. His winning personality aside Claude was obviously the far superior choice.

As he sat on the sun warmed concrete, finishing off some salmon meant for today's main, (He earned it by doing his best 'poor little kitty' routine. Big, brown eyes. A little mournful whine. His small, soft paws laid gently on her outstretched hand. It was degrading, but a man's got to eat and occasionally he has to eat finer fish than his roommate offers him), Claude thought that this new life wasn't so bad. Throwing himself into all these indulgences helped him to forget what he had lost, his home, his….well, he wasn't going to be in that position again. He'd barb, he'd take what he could from the humans and that was it. No bonding. No feelings. It wasn't a bad way to live. He could quite happily spend the rest of his days like this, then she sauntered into his life.

Claude watched her lithe form drop down into the alley. Gracefully landing on all fours before heading to the open kitchen door. A pitiful meow got the sous chef's attention.

"Oh, Sweetie, you're back. Are you hungry?" She rubbed her head against the chef's calves as they spoke. "Stay there. I'll get you something special."

The woman returned with even more food than she had given Claude, chicken as well as the salmon. He watched as the woman fed it to the newcomer, who purred happily in her boney hands. He didn't know this cat but she was good.

"That was a pretty convincing little act." Claude called over as the cat made her way back down the alley.

Her head snapped towards him, she raised an eyebrow in question. "Act?"

"The nuzzling, the purring. Acting like you can stand that woman." Claude gobbled up the last of his breakfast before waiting for her reply. Making a good show of licking his paws while he did so. He might have found her display a bit over the top but there was no denying how attractive she was.

"She's kind. She feeds me when my owner can't. Why wouldn't I like her?" Claude was taken aback by her answer.

"Don't you find her a little overbearing? Needy?"

"How long have you been coming here?"

"About a month. Why?"

"Did you notice the tan line on her ring finger? Or remember the ring that used to be there?"

Claude hadn't given any notice to either.

"She's clearly going through something. She needs a hug."

"How noble of you." Claude scoffed.

"Wow. Are you always this big of an asshole?"

"I don't know. Why do you spend some more time with me and find out?" Claude's tone was laced with suggestion.

"Hitting on me before you even find out my name. Classy."

"I would have learnt it eventually. I'd need to know what to call out in the throws of passion."

"Good luck with that." She leaped up onto a crate next to the wall preparing to leave.

Claude called after her. "So you're not going to tell me your name?"

"No." She stated firmly.

"No matter. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. Mine is Claude by the way.

The female smiled to herself as she strolled along the top of the wall. Against her better judgement, she decided to visit this place more often.

A couple of days later, Claude smiled triumphantly as the object of his desire dropped down into the alley again.

"Good morning, Molly." He called out casually. He saw her bristle at his words."I asked around. I couldn't go another day without putting a name to my latest piece."

"Piece?!" Molly spun to face him, claws out.

"My art piece." Claude smiled wryly as her reaction as he walked over to get his pizza box canvas. "What do you think?"

Molly had to admit it was good, he was obviously talented. "I think it's creepy that we met once and you painted me."

Claude was enjoying this. It had been a long time since he'd had to work this hard for a woman. Usually after he unveils his art work it isn't long until he gets his cock wet. Molly was going to be a challenge. One he would gladly rise to.

"How can you blame me? Look at the inspiration I had. Any artist worth his salt would have to immortalise a woman as beautiful as you."

"Immortalise? Whatever you painted with smells like it's about to turn. I give that two days, tops."

"But the mental image will stay with me forever. Unless you have a better one to replace it with?"

Molly found herself being rather flattered by Claude's tenacity. He was good looking, and that voice! Maybe she would concede to his attention eventually but she was going to make him work for it. She wasn't some easy street cat.

"Is that all you are interested in? My beauty?"

"It's not all I am interested in." Claude made a point of raking his eyes over her body.

Molly cursed the way her body betrayed her morals at his molten gaze. Ignoring him, she made her way to the door to be fed. Once she was done she made her way back the way she came. Shooting a quick "Bye, Claude." his way.

"Bye, My Darling. I'll see you again soon. I hope." His tone was almost sweet.

The next time they met it was raining, the overhang by the kitchen door afforded little shelter. Claude was already there licking the remnants of his meal from his paws. He locked his eyes on Molly's as she came into view. Purposely slowing the progression of his cleaning. Making a bigger show than necessary with his tongue. "There you are. The weather is miserable but there is enough shelter here, if you want to squeeze in with me?"

He wasn't wrong, there was just enough room in the dry patch of floor for the two of them, if they huddled together. Molly rethought how hungry she was.

"Come. I don't bite. Unless I'm asked." Claude shuffled back a little to give her space to land. She did so gracefully as always. "There. Isn't that better?"

Molly had to admit that the shelter and the warmth of Claude pressed next to her was a lot better.

The sous chef appeared with her supper a few minutes later. Molly ate happily as Claude sat pressed into her in silence. She was grateful that he didn't keep hitting on her while she ate. Until he hit her with "So when are we going to fuck?".

The last of her chicken almost caught in her throat.

"Sorry to be so blunt but you are attractive, I'm attractive. You clearly have strong feelings towards me. Even if they are just of annoyance. Hate sex is fantastic. So it seems a shame not to fuck."

Heaven help her, Molly found his boldness attractive. "I do find you attractive but I'm not interested in being another notch on your scratching post. I'm not a young cat, my priorities are different. If you want to fuck me, you'll have to get to know me." With that hanging in the air she left a stunned Claude to shelter from the rain as she bounced home.

Claude told himself he wasn't going back to the alley. So Molly was attractive. So she was self assured. So she wasn't going to be an easy lay. It didn't mean he had to have her. Except it totally did mean he had to have her. He was obsessed. He painted her every day. She consumed his thoughts. He liked that she was keen to put him in his place. Claude was a big, bold personality. He usually got what he wanted, when he wanted. Being denied something was driving him crazy.

As soon as Molly dropped down into the alley, Claude was on his feet. Despite telling himself he wasn't coming back here, he'd been there every day. When he finally laid eyes on her he was practically giddy. Taking a breath, he forced himself to regain his composure."There you are! How do you expect me to get to know you if you're not here?"

"I didn't expect you to get to know me. I figured when it became clear I wasn't an easy lay, you'd move on."

"I'm wounded that you think so little of me!"

"I know your type. Thinking women should be honoured to carry your progeny."

"That's where you are wrong. I just know what a good time I can provide a woman. It would be wrong of me not to provide that service to as many women as possible."

"So your interest in me is purely philanthropic? How noble! If pleasing me is all you care about then you can get to know me."

After a quick bite to eat, Molly gave Claude her best come hither look over her shoulder and hither Claude came. He followed her out of the alley like so many foolish humans he'd seen being led out of clubs in the dead of night. Destined for heartbreak and regret. Not that that would happen to Claude. No one can break your heart if you don't give it to them. Claude followed her as her backside swung temptingly to and fro. He was so entranced by her curves, he didn't realise she had led him to a park until he heard an overexcited voice. "Look at the kitties!"

The owner was a little chubby faced thing, all freckles and sticky hands. Molly didn't seem to mind when it petted her. It giggled in delight as she purred before skipping off to play in the sand.

"So I know you like salmon and don't mind the gross mini humans petting you. Is that enough?" Claude sighed.

"Yes. Please take me in a manly fashion." Claude couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm dripping from her tone.

A matching smile spread over Molly's face. "Come on."

She continued through the park, stopping to let various people pet her, while Claude hung back out of the way. His lack of hair generally made him a less attractive petting prospect. The scowl on his face helped to ensure that no sticky hands touched him.

"Here we are." Molly smiled as they cut through some brushes. Claude was so caught up in how pretty she looked smiling in the sunshine that he didn't even notice his surroundings until a large drop of water landed square on his lower back. The freezing liquid shot a shiver up his spine. Instinctively he jumped and whirled on the source of his discomfort. Claws and fangs bared.

Molly's laughter was light and airy as she skipped towards the fountain. Jets of water rhythmically shot from the floor arching into the air, projecting rainbows in their spray. Molly moved from jet to jet pouncing on the spray, causing it to rain down on her. The droplets ran down her spotted fur causing it to shimmer even more so than usual.

Now that he was over the initial shock, Claude couldn't help but see the beauty in the scene before him. The sun dipping low behind the trees caused an orange dappling across the ground. The gorgeous woman frolicking in the dewy rainbow cascade. It was all so rich and vibrant. He knew had found his next work of art. As he pondered what medium he would use he was hit by an errant jet of water. An indignant yowl erupted from him. He hissed until he saw Molly suppressing her laughter. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to full on hit you with it. Are you okay?"

"I've been better." He shook the drops from his whiskers. "So this is something you enjoy?"

"I'm a Bengal. Water is kind of our thing. You?"

"I'd be happier if it was warmer."

"That's the second best part. Come on." Molly darted out of the water to race ahead.

Thankfully, all those tins of tuna hadn't slowed Claude down. He caught up to her at the bottom of an art installation. It was a conceptual art piece. Large uncut stones were used to recreate the shape of Atlas. This idea was that the responsibility of taking care of the earth was on all of our shoulders. Claude could do better. He also knew that Atlas carried the sky not the earth.

"Do you like this piece?" Claude tried to keep his distaste out of his tone.

"It has its perks." Molly jumped from stone to stone before disappearing at the top.

Claude quickly followed to find her stretched out of the 'earth' stone. The stone still clung to the heat of the day under his paws. It felt good. As if she could read his mind Molly commented "Wait until you stretch out on it."

Claude didn't wait any longer to stretch out. He sprawled himself next to her, so close that their side touched. He was sure she would push him away until she didn't. Until she snuggled closer. Emboldened by it, he rested his head on top of hers. In turn she rubbed her head against his until their positions were reversed and her head was on top.

"So are we going to…?" Claude began.

"Not tonight." Her voice was firm but gentle. It gave Claude some hope.

Then Molly began to groom him. Around his neck as first then she ran her tongue over that spot behind his ear. The one that usually got his leg twitching and his motor running. This time it had a different effect on him. Warm tears gather in his eyes. It had been so long since anyone had treated him with this kind of care. It had been so long since he let anyone treat him with this kind of care. He tried to muffle the sobbed that welled up in him but she caught it.

"Shh. You're okay, Claude. Just let it out." she continued to soothe him with her tongue as he finally let out everything he had been holding in.

His owner had died. He had watched as she faded away. It hadn't taken long. In less than a week, she started with a cough then she was gone. He could still hear it every night. She told her family she was fine. Claude knew she wasn't but he was helpless to do anything. On the third day, he stayed out all day and night. That worried his owner enough to call her nephew. When her nephew came, he suggested a doctor. She'd shook her head, told him she didn't want to trouble anyone, it was just a bad cold. Two days later Claude woke up on her bed but she never woke up again.

"Damn, Lucien. I haven't teared up this much since episode three of The Last of Us." Jerry looked up from his script.

"Is it too much? Our viewers usually like the honesty in the show. The writing team liked it." Lucien bent the end of his own script in his hand nervously.

Jerry stood to clap a reassuring hand on Lucien's shoulder. "It's great, man. Really. I usually worry about last minute changes to scripts but this is so good. It's bold. It's real. Let's get Bravo back in for the last scene.

"I'm sorry." Claude sobbed into his paws as he covered his face.

"Don't be." Molly held him closer. "I'm flattered that you feel safe enough to let your guard down. I knew there was some reason you acted like an uptight asshole."

Claude laughed at that "No, that's pretty much my default personality."

"Maybe." Molly chuckled. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now. Thank you." Claude lay his paw over hers at his side.

"You're welcome. Let's get some rest. If you change your mind, I'll be here when you wake up."

"She'll be there when he wakes up. Like his owner wasn't. Fuck, that hurt." Dieter grabbed a soda from the mini fridge, nodding to offer Lucien one as he did, who declined with a shake of his head. "Oh, man. Where did you come up with the idea for this one?"

"It just came to me." The way Dieter's eyes narrowed on him Lucien got the distinct impression it wasn't the best idea to lie to a double Oscar winner that studies the human condition for a living.

"Right. I gotta head out. Call me soon, we'll hang out. I want to hear more about this new art project." Dieter was out the door before Lucien could think too much about that invitation.

Getting in his car Lucien pulled out his cell phone. Three messages from you sat there unanswered.

@kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @shadowtrick @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #claude the cat #lucien flores #dieter bravo

40 notes · View notes

cata-strophes · 1 year ago

Note

I just found you and im like in love with all your art!!!! Do you think you could like catch me up on your ocs? Like a little introduction to them? Cause I am invested! I hope that's not too much to ask!

(Funny story, i was writing this and wrote a lot and then my power went off and i lost what i had written L)

Thank you!! :D And of course!! Im sorry this took so long, when i saw your message i realised i dont have a lot of actually-colored drawings of my ocs (that arent dante), so i ran to do some quick sketches (and got busy in the middle of it)

In the world of my OCs, some people are born with powers, but they have consequences and drawbacks if they're overused.

There is an Evil Bad Guy(tm), who, of course, wants power, and so when a kid is born with a strong enough power, it's more than likely they will be taken to join the ever-growing brainwashed army of Evil Dude(tm). Evil Villain Guy(tm) also carries forward... tests and experiments, to see if it's possible to evolve these powers and overcome their drawbacks.

This guy is my poor special little guy, Dante, and by that, I mean he's the one that I make suffer for my own amusement, i'm sorry, Dante.

He doesn't know his age, but he guesses he's in his mid-20s.

He was one of the child soldiers the Evil Villain Man(tm), and has been with him since he has memory. Now all he wants is revenge against him, and doesn't care about much else.

He was a favourite, because he was the first one to survive the tests and evolve the powers he has. (drawbacks are still a work in progress)

His power allows him to create limbs made from shadows, he specialized in wings. Altho he started only creating two wings, with the tests, he started calling more and more wings to his control, and they eventually stopped looking soft and feathery, and started looking more and more leathery, and he stopped using them to fly, more like spider legs to help support him and that he can turn into extremely dangerous and sharp weapons.

This guy over here is Nicholas. He is *drum roll* Evil Villain Guy(tm)'s older son!

Nicholas is in his mid-20s. He also has a younger brother, Theo, who is in his early 20s.

He was raised in blissful ignorance until he was a teenager, where he started figuring out his family's dark history. He started questioning his father's authority more and more, until, when he was around 16 years old, his own father commanded his assassins to get rid of him.

He was left for dead, but little did they know he had been hiding self-healing powers, and managed to survive and ended up joining a rebellion against his father, meeting Dante again ten years later, when he escaped. His brother is still with his father.

I'm very bad with names and can't choose, I have at least twenty options for each, but these are also some very important guys for them. All of their designs might change!! I'm still playing around.

The woman to the left is the leader of the rebellion, she took Nicholas in and knocked some sense into his head when he was pushing his body and powers farther than he should. She has electricity on contact powers, she uses it for the most shocking punches, or for charging whatever metalllic weapon shes holding to make it Hurt. Her drawback tho, is a loss of fine motor skills, her hands shake a lot because of this.

The guy in the right is Dante's uncle. Dante's uncle was a renowned knight, when he learnt that his brother, sister-in-law and nephew, his only family, were all wiped out in an attack, he lost his control and threw himself to battle with no second thoughts. His power is something of future visio; it doesn't go too far, just a few seconds or minutes (although he might get a few days or weeks worth of it in dreams), which made him unstouchable in battle. The drawback is the lost of his own eyesight. He is blind because of the overuse of his powers, and can really only notice light and very blurry shapes if he focuses (he usually doesn't). When he got tired of fighting he up and left, trying to forget and be forgotten, finding a village in the middle of nowhere and staying there to pass his days.

UNTIL his war-buddy, mister-in-the-center-drawing, came looking for him. They used to be the closest friends and he spent years looking for him after he vanished from the face of the Earth. He doesn't have any powers, but he is very much to Dante's uncle's levels of swordmanship and whatever-knights-do-ship (with the exception of. you know. literal future vision powers). They are boyfriends now.

Also Dante and his uncle meet later on, and this meeting is the reason Dante doesn't go off the deep end as it was very much looking like before. Dante's uncle knows Dante's real age and birthday, he never forgot.

#ask #original characters #original character #doodle #theoverlordofall #even though ive had their stories in my head for years #im only now working out details and figuring out how they actually look #like i literally chose nicholas name today #might give dante's uncle longer hair

16 notes · View notes

pink-of-hair · 11 months ago

Note

Temperature play or waxplay? Does burning people with Ashley's wings also lead to an interest in burning (or getting burned)?

🌂 You cannot even begin to understand how badly I want to burn people.

🌂 Have you seen blisters?

🌂 vibraaaaaaaaaating

🌂 Okay, while I'd love to sink into an abyss of indulgence it doesn't make for especially compelling reading.

🌂 So, up front: I have zero experience with third degree burns, so I can't talk much on that front. But like. I'm pretty sure third degree burns are the "stop debating, get this bitch to a hospital" tier, so I can't imagine that's too relevant to our discussion.

♠️ Says the "murder lesbian".

🌂 Quiet you!!!

🌂 I have quite a lot of experience with small second degree burns all throughout my life though. Because I am incompetent, have poor fine motor skills and while I wouldn't say I cook I still eat at least one rung up the ladder from microwave ready meals. This has lead to a fascination with them, I think. It sucks to have them in a spot that's gonna move around a lot but like...

🌂 It's interesting! A cool change!

🌂 We (especially Prime, but emotional bleed is funny) like the whole "putting pressure on a wound" thing, and blisters are soooo good for that. Well. If the other person is enjoying themselves at least. They're so sensitive!

🌂 Fire is also a very pure form of destruction. It's almost like... destruction itself? It has lots of very appreciated aesthetic relations thanks to that.

🌂 Wax sounds appealing, but I Have Not Tried. Seems like a safe (ish) way to avoid going waaaaay too far but still get to put burns, or at least reddened skin on people. I like it! Sounds safer than me holding up my zippo to you. But I also wanna use that zippo... hehehehehehehehe...

🌂 If someone were to burn me... it'd 100% have to be on the top side of my right wrist. Our old biting place back when our mental health was bad enough that we bit. It has aesthetic significance. That has practical concerns obviously, few sleeves are that long, but I can just wrap a piece of cloth around it if the mark is too obvious and I need to go out the next day. I'm a girl who ties her hair back with panties sometimes. That wouldn't even ping as out the ordinary. What was I saying? Oh right, burn me, burn me, burn me!

🌂 Temperature play in the tamer sense is funny. My body is... somewhat bad at regulating its temperature? It's one of my Weaknesses. One of many. Especially if part of my body is at a different temperature than another part.

🌂 I like people using things I'm bad at handling to reduce me to a lesser state. It's one of my big things. So it sounds appealing! You have the green light to do it to me anon! As long as you successfully seduced me before that, of course.

🌂 I am... not too interested in varying someone else's temperature to sexual ends if it isn't gonna leave a mark. That's a big part of it to me I think. I'm fine with doing things other people are into, I'm very service a lot of the time. But I'm not personally interested in it?

🌂 Aithne (🔥) would be very interested in it if it was something the subject was absolutely bananas about. She likes pulling on people's greatest derangements. So she'd probably be a best bet.

#ask-hornting

2 notes · View notes

theladyofbloodshed · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! saw you are a teacher, may i ask how you choose to be one (if you don't mind 👉👈)? I am considering pedagogy but my experience with teachers when I was a kid weren't very good, as i was the "shy quiet lonely exclueded" kid in a class of louder kids, and the few times i got accepted by my classmates the teachers would scold me for talking too much but tell nothing to the other kids, i even remember one saying she didn't expected that kind of behavious coming from me as i was so behaved, and i was always the buffer for the most misbehaving kids, which i always hated

I’m so sorry that happened to you. That’s so sad :(

I will write a very long biography

Uh I kind of got here by accident! I never wanted to be a teacher lmao. Basically, I studied psychology for my bachelors then switched to the sport science department for my masters and studied applied sport and exercise psychology. My dream was to work in sports. I was running a blog all about sport psychology and relating it to ice hockey and football based on current issues and applying like mad to jobs relating to sport and exercise but could find nothing. You need a lot of experience for these jobs but I grew up poor and couldn’t drive so I was working 40 hours a week, walking an hour to work and an hour back so didn’t have the time to walk elsewhere and volunteer. I’m not from a big place so there weren’t any sports team other than little local ones so I’d have had to take a train in the evening etc and I gave up.

Ended up getting so frustrated I just became an au pair. Moved to Denmark. Did try applying to volunteer with sports clubs but nobody ever got back when I tried to contact.

Came home and was working at greggs. Best job ever. I then started working at my local sports centre where I had to increase attendance amongst hard to reach groups, primarily elderly and disabled people. I really enjoyed that. I helped grow our local disability sport group, introduced trampolining to it, set up archery sessions etc. I also had a drop in club for over 60s where we played sport and had a chat over a cup of tea. Brought along dementia groups and prostate cancer groups to talk to them. (I still have a picture of us all up on my fridge when we went to London).

We had redundancies and I also ended up running the children’s club that ran in the school holidays. I had to do all the planning and did extra hours helping to run it (some weeks I was doing like 80 hours lmao).

I’ve always loved kids and I really enjoyed that part but I wanted more than just playing dodgeball with them. My boss was also a bit of a nightmare so I found a job as a TA in a school. I did that for 4 years and felt bad that I had a masters degree and was “just” a TA. At the same time, I wasn’t “just” a TA. Maybe in the past they washed up paint pots and listened to children read. Yeah, I made sure everything was photocopied and trimmed and supported lower ability kids in lessons but also I ran interventions that I planned for memory, phonics, fine motor skills, speech and language, emotional regulation. I was the first person they’d come to when they’d been in trouble or something awful had happened at home. I dealt with major safeguarding incidents, had to speak to aggressive parents, deal with things that massively shocked me about their home life whilst remaining professional. I’ve had diabetic children I’ve had to inject with insulin even on residential trips where I was their “parent” for 5 days straight, epileptic children who I’ve had to give medicine to daily, children who use wheelchairs that I’ve had to take to the toilet and change their nappies.

Then I got a promotion to cover classes as I’d done it a lot during covid when people were off. It was a massive learning curve but thankfully I already knew every child in the school and I was loved so they’d cheer when I walked through the door. I’ve worked with lots of teachers and seen great ones and good ones and different tactics and techniques. My mantra to them is “we have to do the boring bit before we do the fun bit”. We get the work done to a good standard and we can play a game, go outside etc. They know my rules!

I switched schools and now I am still covering but I get to plan the lessons I cover so it’s another step up. I teach every class but different subjects eg geography in one year group, religion in another. It’s more fun as I can decide how to deliver the lesson and can make it more engaging. I know the children a bit better now I’ve been there for a few weeks so I know what they’ll enjoy.

For me, I need to know the classes well. I get the energetic kids who can’t sit still to hand out books or sheets. I get the lowest ability children who can’t access the lesson to help me click things on the board so they’re still part of it. I get the shy children to whisper me the answer and I will tell the rest of the class. I’m very much adaptive to the class I have so they can all access it.

I love it although I do feel like I’m wasting my masters still. The money isn’t great. When I grew up, school was my safe place. I had a lot going on at home and school was stable and safe. It was really hard to leave my old school because I had children in difficult situations who also saw school as safe. They saw me as their safe adult who they could hug and cry on and ask to go for a private chat when things became too much. I think for me that was the most important part of my job and the thing that mattered most.

So that is how I ended up teaching! I think teaching depends a lot about the children and staff you work with. Some classes I’m like yay! I have them today! Other times I’m like “this afternoon is about me surviving them”. It’s fun and varied but also hard work. I don’t have a TA with me ever which is hard!

#anon asks

3 notes · View notes

multiverse-of-mischief · 2 years ago

Text

missed a day so catching up!

24 April:

How did your fine motor skills develop? Were you one of the first kids who could tie their shoe laces or do you think you'll probably never learn it? This is an "open question", if you want to ramble, start rambling.

i couldn't tie my laces for quite a long time, though i eventually learned when i was about 9 i think, im still not great at it though and it takes me longer than other people haha! honestly i don't remember much to do with buttons or anything else, but i do know about handwriting.

i have always struggled with handwriting, it used to be really big (and i also wrote in all capitals) for longer than it should have been lol, i eventually got "alright" handwriting when i was like 12 maybe? i could never do cursive as a kid, ever, although now it can be a stim for me and distract me from things because of the concentration and effort it takes. my writing is now legible (most of the time) and if i try really hard, it can be neat for like a couple lines lol. when i need to be faster or don't care as much, my writing is all over the place but still legible and it takes me a bit longer than the average slow writing person, i almost got exam accommodations for this, but it was just too fast which was very frustrating because i then had to push myself writing in exams 🙄

i can actually write super small if i want to, im usually the only one that can properly read it because of how small it is lol, i often did that on worksheets in class

writing really hurts my hand and ive never had good pen posture, i end up with callouses on my ring finger knuckle because of how hard i push haha, my ex used to try and hold a pen like i do and she couldn't do it at all, no one really knows how i ended up doing it (i swear it's not even that weird) but i can't hold it any other way. i also struggle with the pressure of my pen and i push too hard, which ends up making my lettering harder to read because of the thick lines (i tend to write pretty small now actually unless im really rushing). overall, writing hurts and i don't like it, i also need to bend over so im like 5cm away from the paper or i can't write properly, no idea what that's about but i used to lay on my desk while writing a lot in school lmao. it's strange because i really love drawing! i do struggle with the same things though (pushing too hard, muscle pain after a short amount of time, etc)

25 April:

How did your gross motor skills develop? Did you walk early or did you struggle to walk (if you can walk)? Do you have a bad posture? This is another "open question".

i learned to walk really early! i skipped over the crawling stage too, just went straight from tummy shuffling to walking lol

while i can walk well (in terms of motor abilities, im leaving pain and fatigue out of this), i struggle to walk slowly; i see myself as kinda like a bicycle haha, i need to walk at a certain minimum pace or i start to topple. i don't know how to describe why other than just my feet don't move automatically when i walk slow and i have to think about each step, i trip over my own feet and lose my balance a bit. i also tend to bump into people a lot and can't walk in a straight line very well (yay poor proprioception lol); my ex used to say that id never convinced people i wasn't drunk lmao and i have to agree, i wouldn't believe myself either honestly [lighthearted, self teasing]

my posture has always been awful i think, although ive gone through phases of having amazing posture from constant conscious effort (i think i was trying to copy my favourite character lol) but that ended up really hurting my back and taking too much mental energy so i stopped.

similarly with walking slowly, i struggle to stay standing still and often need to lean on something like a wall or i'll start to stumble and topple over. as i said in a previous post, i do actually have good balance, i guess i just have to focus on it more or something, strange bodies.

oh, throwing too! i can catch well (and really enjoy it, i loved practicing catching a ball in class) but when it comes to throwing the ball back...yeah. i don't know what it is about it, my arm just doesn't listen to me properly lol, my teachers got very frustrated with me for that and honestly i got frustrated with myself! i really wanted to play cricket and dodgeball so it sucks that i lack a crucial skill for them :(

this could just be down to my amnesia but ive also struggled with swimming, i find it difficult but manage to learn after a while, and then when i try again, im back to square one! my family is baffled and often don't actually believe me that ive forgotten. again, it's one that im pretty upset about because i enjoy swimming despite the sensory difficulties of after getting out

#thinking about that i actually have no idea how i wasnt told off for laying and writinflg #*writing #sorry this one seems a little more negative #my motor skills mean i cant do a lot of the things i want to and have been something ive been teased and ridiculed for #i tried to make it more lighthearted but that was hard for some aspects #equinox rambles #drunk mention #cw drunk #30daysofautismacceptance #2023 #im not sure if it needs a warning but better safe than sorry!#i know how triggering alcohol and drunkenness can be so just in case :)

0 notes

jenniferstolzer · 7 months ago

Text

Good point, @studiomkm I've thought a great deal about how Luisa's power works. Mostly to figure how she's built up that gunshow. Read a very long essay below

Gravity manipulation would be a very effective explanation for it, but one thing that's pretty clear is whether it's her having super strength, or objects she lifts losing the weight they do have, she has to have the ability to turn it on and off at will, otherwise jogging with weights in the morning would be pointless.

Assuming she's just "super strong" all the time, the only way to build any muscle would be if she had a limit of what she could do. Maybe lifting boulders is too much? No, she's done that. Maybe houses? She's done that too. Maybe a mountain? Perhaps if she could get under one she could try but we do know that she's rerouted a river... by digging I'd guess? So asking her to literally reshape the landscape isn't outside her field of influence. At the same time, she can pick up an espresso cup with two fingers so gingerly and lift and move her family members without crushing them, so she has incredible control over the spectrum. This gives me four theories.

1, Luisa is constantly resistance training.

On the list of many, many fanfics, I will never write, I had an idea about her the day/week/whatever after her gift ceremony in which she now has to re-learn fine motor skills. She'll pick up a plate or a cup with what she previously intuited as an appropriate amount of strength and accidentally sent it sailing into the sky. She'd break things, crush things, hurt herself, probably hurt other people. If the strength is ALWAYS in her, then it's not just always in her arms, its in her legs as well. She would put herself into walls, bounce herself off the ceiling. There would be SO MUCH adjustment and relearning required for this poor little five year-old. So what's the solution to that? She's constantly working NOT to over-strength her surroundings. The muscle is built up through constantly tensing and controlling her own movements.

Unfortunately this theory returns to the weights while she works out question... because she wouldn't need to hold them while she ran... the act of running and moving her arms alone would be enough of a workout just b/c every movement she makes is a workout. Those are some big weights in her hands, but not like Kitchen Table big. Or six donkeys big. If the danger was not putting those dumbbells through the wall while she ran the workout is probably more in grip strength than arm strength.

2, Second theory... Luisa, like Isabela and her cousins, can turn her powers on and off at will.

Its not the amount of muscle movement she uses to lift a church or a bridge, its the amount of magic she uses to give her physical human muscles the power to go beyond human limit. I like this theory b/c it gives her a reason to bulk up. The stronger her muscles are, the more her magic can use them like a strength multiplier. "I'll double my strength to lift this" moves a lot more weight when using no magic means you are a 19 yr old who can lift 400lbs vs a five year old that can lift 30lbs. Being able to turn it off and on with an internal dimmer switch also means that she doesn't have to relearn how not to snap her own bones as she moves, because she isn't applying magic when she walks up the stairs or jumps. She CAN if she wants to. She could rocket propel herself to Mars if she wanted to, but she has to do it on purpose not on accident. This also builds in a physical limit for her too, b/c she is using her own muscles to lift and move things she's just multiplying their capability. If the palette of bricks she wants to lift weighs 500lbs, and she has the ability to double her strength with magic, then her physical body has to lift 250lbs. I think she's capable of a lot more (a greater multiplier, more physical base score) but this example shows you what I'm getting at. Being able to apply magic in variable amounts for variable tasks also means that those 100lb hand weights can weigh all 100 of those lbs if she wants them to.

Counterpoint to this one... being able to turn it on and off is not a universal experience for all the Madrigals. It seems like Dolores is stuck with her super hearing all the time, and Pepa fights constantly against the influence her gift has on the world. It doesn't mean she's not working with a dimmer switch, just that it's not a given. The Madrigals have varying "omnipresence" of powers. Dolores is always listening, but Julieta's only kicks in when she cooks. (Although I'd argue that Dolores DOES have control over her hearing otherwise "hearing this chorus a mile away" would imply sensitivity that speaking to her directly would rupture her eardrums. My theory is that she's always putting some super hearing on b/c she's nosy, but this isn't an essay about Dolores's powers.)

3, Third theory. Gravity touch manipulation.

If Luisa's body is unremarkable other than what she's built it into, then the magic is being cast on the objects she's interacting with and affecting THEM not her. This would answer the question about putting Luisa-shaped-holes in big heavy things because by touching the bridge or the kitchen table, she's essentially removing the pressure she's putting on them. It would also explain why every donkey in the encanto doesn't have organ damage at this point. I have a couple counterpoints about this.

Firstly, the stuff she picks up and moves behave half the time like they're weightless (Bridge) and half the time like they're not (living things covered in hair or fabric.) When Luisa hugs Mirabel, Mirabel's skirt and hair aren't suddenly caught in a wind-tunnel b/c they've lost their previous grip on gravity. Conversely the kitchen table didn't snap in half under its own weight so take that, me.

Secondly, if its touch-based, does that mean that just the item that she's touching loses gravity? The palette under the bricks is weightless but the bricks still have all their weight and she has built her muscles to pick up that extra bit. So lifting Mirabel is essentially just lifting Mirabel because only her clothes have lost their gravity. The church has lost its gravity but she's currently lifting all the pews. This hits a pretty obvious wall very quickly. What happens when she throws something? Does gravity reassert itself the minute things leave her fingers? Is momentum carried over through the transition? I didn't take physics but I did play Portal so I'm aware how that would work.

Thirdly, the hand-weights again. If they are one piece, then touching them removes their gravity and using them to bulk up with is performative at best. If she's just anti-gravitied the handles and the weights clipped to the ends are still the weight they are, but it puts some really narrow boundaries on what she can actually do. She picks up that piano by the sides, removes the gravity of the wooden box and the mechanical parts inside fall out the bottom.

4, And Theory Four... the bullshit theory.

The hand-weights are "visual shorthand kids movie" rules. It's the one we can default to nearly every time a question like this comes up. Luisa's strong, she is introduced with big weights in her hands so we get a quick visual reference before we find out how strong she REALLY is. What more reason do we need? Then how does she get the bulk then you ask? Bullshit Theory again. She's strong so she has muscles, that's what strong people look like, it's what she looks like. My exception to this was just how hard the crew fought to let her be muscular while the oversight committee was arguing the very logical counterpoint that if she was super strong, she would never actually strain her own muscles, so she'd be a thin waif whose probably even SPINDLIER than her sisters because she's not faced a physical challenge in fourteen years.

So what is my actual theory about Luisa's powers? In universe? A combination of all of these. She's stronger than a normal person through magic, but can use more magic to make herself MORE stronger. She has a certain influence over the objects she lifts out of the sheer action of her lifting them, but it's will based and intentional and she'd have broken that bridge if she was careless. Maybe when she was little she accidentally shattered a drinking glass or two against the ceiling, but that was because she was five and didn't realize she's used too much magic instead of just a little magic. The hand-weights are very large, she is using a little magic on them b/c she's always a little magic, but she's not asserting extra magic on them so she can still bulk up. Magic requires willpower and precise physical control, so she can get exhausted both mentally and physically when she overworks herself. Also it's a lot of visual shorthand for storytelling reasons. Bullshit Theory at its finest.

My only problem with how they portray Luisa's powers in Encanto is that they forget that the objects she lifts have their own weight independent of her lifting them.

That pot should have snapped that tabletop clean off.

#jen writes #luisa madrigal #encanto #meta #lore #essay

120 notes · View notes

starsbythepocketful12 · 5 years ago

Text

the way selfie nights have been happening for over a year and it wasn’t until recently that it occurred to me to include my learning disability when i post for disabled selfie night

#go off adrian #the dumbassery #when i was like 10 or 11 my mom thought i had a physical disability #dyspraxia #like ryan from doctor who #but these days she’s just like you have poor fine motor skills that’s all #and it causes inconveniences but its stuff i’m used to you know #i couldn’t tie my shoes until i was 11 because of that #my hands are weak #my pediatrician has reccommended i learn piano cause it could improve my hand muscles #and i’d love to learn how to play piano anyway cause it’s a beautiful instrument

9 notes · View notes

rubyinasnuggie · 3 years ago

Text

Random Headcanons No One Asked For:

-Both Ruby and Weiss are left handed

--Yang was 100% prepared to tease them about it when Blake very pointedly uses her left hand to write something

--Blake is ambidextrous

--which makes Yang the only right-handed one on the team

--until the fall of beacon oops

-Ren is fully color blind

--once baby Nora figured that out, she made it her mission to explain to him what colors are based on other sensations (sue me I love this trope)

--she describes pink as the quiet comfort they share in each other's presence

--Ren finally sees color for the first time when his semblance upgrades, and he can finally see the pink petals with Nora

-Blake likes to climb on things and find random nooks and crannies to read

--it turns into a game of reverse hide-and-seek when someone needs her: depending on how urgent it is the entire squad will drop everything and look for her

-team STRQ won the Vytal tournament their first year, specifically Summer was the champion

--Yang was more upset about the disqualification than she'd ever admit, because she secretly imagined Summer was out there somewhere watching the tournament, proud of her babies

-Tai pulled himself out of his depression by gardening: having a routine helped him, so he encouraged baby Ruby and Yang to get similar gentle hobbies

-Ruby raises chickens at home

--she very lovingly feeds them corn and calls them her ladies

--Yang affectionately calls them creatures and cluckers and other such rude things to get a rise out of Ruby

-Ruby deeply wants a cow

--this is her one and only retirement dream

--although honestly she can never imagine herself living past her 20s

-Yang struggled with picking a hobby, she gets bored easily and hates the expected

--its only post-Beacon that she understands the benefits of a routine

--thats why she ends up with a ton of chores, just some structure to help her through the day

-Ruby will drink any type of milk, but Strawberry milk is her favorite

-Sun is allergic to bananas but he doesn't know

--he thinks bananas are supposed to be spicy

-Weiss loves sour apple

-Pyrrha loves chocolate almonds

-Yang thinks fish are creepy, she just generally doesn't love the ocean

--she thinks Neptune is a little clown though

-Oscar gets dressed by putting on his left sock, left boot, then his right sock and right boot

--RNJR made it their mission to interrupt him during this just to see him walk around with one boot on

-Ruby likes to bake, it's one of the few solid memories she has of her mom

--one night Weiss was feeling homesick and Ruby taught her how to make mug cakes

--"its probably not that good compared to your cake butler, but it's pretty simple, and I like them!"

--Weiss secretly makes them at least once a week, even back home in Atlas

-Weiss has taken flight lessons, at one point Ironwood really pushed for her to become a pilot in the military

-Blake has a field journal of the different types of Grimm she's encountered

--team RWBY & JNPR have spent several nights sitting in a circle talking and adding to the journal

--while traveling across Anima, Ruby sketched and took notes on all the Grimm she saw, just in case she ever found Blake again

-Weiss collects rocks

--no, not crystals. actual rocks

--shes rarely spent time in the real outside, but whenever she has, she picks up little rocks and puts them in her pocket before anyone can see

-Jaune never actually stopped writing left and right on the bottom of his shoes actually

-Weiss had never been allowed to paint her nails as a kid, she'd always get weekly French manicures instead

--by the second semester at Beacon, Ruby, Weiss, Nora, and Ren would have weekly manicure nights where they'd paint each other's nails

--there were several times they'd rope the rest of the teams into it, especially during the Vytal tournament where they'd write team names on their nails

--during the singles round they'd write Yang on one hand and Pyrha on the other

--"we couldn't make it fit without cutting one of the R's!"

-Pyrrha and Weiss became each other's default plus one's for fancy events, to the point people began to speculate that the two were dating

--Jaune was somehow jealous of them both and it was very confusing to him since he had poor self awareness

-Yang cuts Ruby's hair, but after she lost her arm she lost the fine motor skills to do a good job, so Blake started to do it

-Blake is always there to help Yang with her phantom pains and residual limb pain

--she helps massage Yang's arm while leaning close and purring

--Yang cried the first time Blake did this because she's not used to being taken care of

-Nora never gets sick and is the designated nurse when a bug goes around the teams

--the electricity incident was the first time Nora has ever been bed-ridden

-Weiss took ballet as a child

-Jaune is actually pretty good at the guitar

-Pyrrha is not musically inclined at all its a miracle she managed to do the iconic JNPR shine dance

--jk but actually she's a decent dancer when she has the steps choreographed for her but she has no natural rhythm

-in the last few months before Pyrrha's death, she and Jaune would waltz on top of the roof together

--there were several almost kisses

--maybe a few successful kisses who knows

-there are occasions (obv extremely rare) when Ren actually takes the bulk of the energy from Nora

--this leads to thrilling game nights where Ren makes multiple 40pt remnant-equiv-of-scrabble plays while Nora naps

-Oscar is the only person who can beat Ren in scrabble, although it's very closely matched

-Oscar is amazing at chess and will play it against himself like a little square

-Yang and Ruby are experts at the tabletop war game they play in the library

--9 times out of 10, the winner is one of them

-Oscar is the only one who also knew about Compost King, which was very exciting for Jaune

--Compost King is a common game night activity while they were in Haven because its so hard to say no to Oscar

-Yang is a straight-A student and has always been

-Blake never had any formal education and she finds a lot of the classes incredibly dull or ineffective at teaching the material

--she's always the one convincing Yang to skip a class and lie in the sun-warmed grass with her

--she still gets Bs easily

-Oscar is a very fast reader and will devour any book he's given

--his aunt would frequently bring home books from town just to keep him entertained

-Ruby has suffered from migraines and nightmares her entire life, post-Beacon they only got worse

-Weiss shops at local dust stores whenever she can, even though she could get shipments for free

--however she does have Ron Swanson's "I know more than you" energy when she's shopping

-Blake and Ren will sometimes take naps together

--not cuddling, just occupying the same general space

--wake them up at your own risk

-if Ruby isn't engaged with something, she can start to scatter and dissolve into rose petals

--its a very slow process and someone has always snapped her out of it before she's fully vanished, but Yang is worried about what would happen if no one caught her in time

-Ren is afraid of horses

-Blake hates being cold

-Yang naturally radiates heat cause semblance duh

-Weiss glued the tiniest gravity crystals to the underside of Ruby's bed to ensure it never falls

-JNPR likes to push their beds all together so they can sleep in one big pile

-Nora can only sleep if she's holding someone's hand

Hope u guys enjoyed! These are in no particular order, sorry that I kinda jumped around a lot 😅

Feel free to reblog and add your own ideas and headcanons! ❤

#rwby #jnpr #oscar pine #ruby rose #jaune arc #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #yang xiao long #lie ren #rwby headcanons #rwby headcanon #rwby thoughts #bumbleby #renora #rwby redesign #long post #im sorry

789 notes · View notes

xaharadesert · 3 years ago

Text

MC with Shaking Hands - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 6) x MC

A/N: this is for @blue-mist-writer, who Tumblr won’t let me tag for whatever reason. Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) requests are open!

❤️Julian❤️

You’re in luck, because Julian’s got the steadiest hands of anyone you’ll ever meet

If he ever notices you struggling, he’s quick to take over, giving you a quick wink and assuring you that it’s no big deal

Please never feel bad about dropping or breaking anything— this man is clumsier than a politician faking an alibi

No matter how many items you break, he’ll double it easily

He likes to give you little smooches on your hands when you feel insecure

🧡Portia🧡

Poor dear initially assumes that you’re just a really anxious person, and that your shaking hands a side effect

She’ll spend a long time trying to help you calm down until you explain that it’s just something that happens normally

You never need to worry about breaking things— Portia sees broken items as opportunities for creativity, and she’ll turn whatever’s broken into sometime new and beautiful

She’ll help you out whenever you’re struggling with detail work, no questions asked

If you feel self conscious about your hands shaking in public, guess what? Now she’s holding them! No need to feel insecure when Portia is dragging you around by both hands, laughing and telling jokes :)

💛Lucio💛

He doesn’t exactly have control over some of his own finer motor skills either, so there’s no chance that you’ll feel ostracized

If someone is mean about it, he’ll punch them with his metal arm, because if he can’t use it for writing or sewing, he can certainly use it to beat up ableist jerks

He’ll have some people follow you around to help out with detail work since he can’t do it himself (don’t worry, he has some people doing the same for him as well, and it creates new jobs for the people, so yay!)

Dropping items, or spilling something when you’re trying to take a drink is absolutely no problem; there are always people there to help you clean up, and, again, Lucio has literally made it illegal to be mean to you in many way

He’s very aggressive about his support, but he faces similar problems due to his prosthetic, so he wants you to know that it’s completely normal to have some troubles

💚Muriel💚

He has surprisingly steady hands, for someone so big, refined through years of carving

He’s usually won’t help you before you ask, out of respect for your autonomy, but if you ask he’ll drop whatever he’s doing and let you know that you aren’t being a burden in any way

If your hands are ever shaking especially bad, he’ll take them in his own, and seeing as they’re so large, yours are completely enveloped

You don’t really have to worry about breaking anything of his— it’s pretty much all made of sturdy wood, so when you drop something, it’s a simple matter of saying “oops” and picking it back up

💙Asra💙

10/10 will help make the shop more accessible in any way he can

Magic usually requires a lot of finer details, which can be difficult with shaky hands, so he helps you learn ways around that

Honestly, your magic is unusually strong because of this

He helps you learn how to use magic for a lot of simple tasks that require fine motor skills, and your work almost always comes out perfect because of it

He’s super proud of you, and gives you lots of little smooches whenever you pull off a new spell!

And whenever you’re having a bad day, he likes to sit down with you and hold your hands in his, palms up, and tell you what each little line means

💜Nadia💜

Seeing as she helped Lucio for so many years, it’s no trouble for her to adjust to helping you however you may need

When your hands are shaking particularly badly, she’ll hold them in her own and gently rub your palms, helping you to calm down from any frustration or insecurities you may have been feeling

She’ll have other people take care of detail work before you even consider doing it yourself, so it won’t even be as noticeable to you when you would usually have to struggle through tasks on your own

It’s fine if you break things; she’s rich, it’s not the end of the world

Nadia’s mostly worried about how it affects your self-perception, and helps you find activities that don’t involve delicate hand movements

She’s incredibly supportive of everything you do, though, and if you have a hobby that is made difficult by your shaking hands, she’s even more enthusiastic

234 notes · View notes

red-might-be-dead · 2 years ago

Text

four WHOLE people said they wanted them :)))

so i'll give you four WHOLE headcanons that i am totally normal about

- tilin does juanaflippa's hair (i genuinely love this one with all of my heart)

her braids are tied at the top and the with red bows that match the ones that tilin puts in their own hair, since flippa's hair is so long it's almost always up, she keeps her braids in for two or three days until they start to properly fall out and then tilin re-does them. -

mariana and slime have never had long hair so they have no clue how to deal with it, they are absolutely terrible at hair care, they both own three in one shampoo, bodywash and conditioner (although juana has much more reasonable wash products). -

they had to braid her hair once as her and tilin had fallen out, they decided to do one each and it ended in the most disgustingly knotted mess known to man kind and it took two hours to brush out with the help of lots of water and conditioner.

- juanaflippa hates coats

even though flippa gets ill very easily, she refuses to wear coats as she thinks they are either: too hot, not warm enough to be worth it, uncomfortable or just downright ugly (in her opinion). -

the closest thing she has to a coat is her papa's (mariana's) cape, she barely ever takes it of, she feels special when wearing, like a superhero :)

- juanaflippa's favourite food is slimes avocado toast (this is technacally canon but i have extra to add on hehe)

technically she thinks that mariana's avocado toast is better (it is) she preffers slime's. -

it reminds her of the time her and slime where working on the farm and it took him just under and hour to figure out how to toast it the right amount and how to get the avocado to stay on the toast and not go all over the place (my poor boy has bad hand to eye coordination and fine motor skills). her and dapper found it hilarious and spent the whole time laughing at their dads, one being overly confused and the other being overly frustrated. -

although for about fifteen minutes of that time slime was just deliberately trying to annoy bad and also make the kids laugh :)

- mariana is so much better at cooking than slime

slime knows this but he is a stubborn fuck and wont ever admit he's the worst person at cooking on the whole of quesadilla island. -

he often starts petty 'arguments' over his cooking skills and how they are better than mariana's. they always drag juana into it and slime will bribe her with toys and art supplies and he eventually wins her over (only with the promise of extra hangout time with tilin). -

as soon as the argument ends (often with slime saying something along the lines of 'well flippa agrees with me so i must be the better cook') and slimes back is turned flippa will sign 'papa your cooking is actually much better, i lied to get more playtime with tilin don't tell daddy' as fast as she can with the most earnest sweet baby angle face you have ever seen in the entire world, then mariana will smile and start to tear up.

ok :D there is more but rn my fingers hurt and i cant be fucking bothered tbh, i might add some shorter ones but we'll see :]

anyone wanna hear my qslime family headcanons pretty please :3

#here is some of the silly little things i've made up that make me happy :D #JFHSKJHFSKJHFKSJH #THAT TOOK TOO FUCKING LONG HOLY SHIT #qsmp #slimecicle #el mariana #juanaflippa #slimeriana #fliporiana #badboyhalo #dapper #tilin #i hope you enjoyed :D #bro i'm so deep in denial about dead kids leave me alone #red rambles relentlessly

64 notes · View notes

witchynyx · 4 years ago

Text

Disabled Witchery

So for reference: I'm autistic, have ADHD/depression/anxiety/insomnia, and have mobility issues, chronic pain, chronic fatigue, and fibromyalgia.

My witchcraft is more recent than all of these (about 3yrs now), so I've not really adapted a practice to my limitations, but I've created my own practice which thus works around them. It's hard to know what qualifies as a 'hack' when you've never really known anything different, but I'm going to see what I come up with.

Timing is Flexible

I guess one of the things that makes the biggest difference for me is being flexible about time. Wanna do a full moon ritual but you just don't have the capacity to do so in the hour closest to its peak illumination? Anywhere within a few days is cool - I know considering 3 days as full (ie the night closest to 100% and the night either side, but some also consider 5 days (at which it's still 98%+ illumination), or even 7 (still over 95%)!

Likewise with your seasonal celebrations, it doesn't have to be on *the* date! Nature doesn't flick sudden switches between seasons, so the energy of a certain celebration or event doesn't suddenly appear and then disappear after 24 hours. There's often up to a week between the traditional and astronomical dates of the sabbats, and honestly, I'll do whatever I'm planning within up to a week either side of that. If there's a few things I want to do, they they don't all need to be done on the same day, either. You don't need to do everything at once, and you don't need to do them at the exact time/day.

You don't have to do All The Things!

I especially see the stress of this from younger and newer witches, but you really don't have to do everything. Sure, it might be nice to do an elaborate ritual every new moon, full moon, and sabbat, but that's a LOT! And that's even a lot for someone young, in good health, with lots of energy and minimal external commitments! Maybe you still want to observe all these, but all you can manage is 5min meditating near your window or lighting a candle to acknowledge these - that's rad, and totally counts!

Magic + Self Care = Win

Honestly there are so many books on how to inject magic into your self-care routine*, but witchcraft has literally been the best thing for my self-care game. Learning to connect with myself and the natural world around me has been the best thing I've ever done for my mental health. Plus it's an easy way to implement the things you're learning! I incorporate colour magic into my clothes/makeup selection, medical and magical herbalism both inform my tea selections, perfume and bath salt blends, and charm my food/drinks.

* My fave book on the topic so far is Light Magic for Dark Times by Lisa Marie Basile (she's also chronically ill).

Nature is Everywhere

I literally live in the very centre of my city - I can't drive, how much I can walk is pretty limited, and even spending much time on public transport wipes me out - but nature is still EVERYWHERE! Even excluding the herbs growing in pots on my balcony and and the pothos in my bookshelves, an urban space still has nature. Without leaving my apartment I can still see a few pigeons/crows/etc flying past occasionally, and a few paperbark trees, plus the roses and crepe myrtle in the garden of the old building across the road.

If you don't have 4 different species of street trees growing on your block or any parks/gardens nearby, what plants grow in abandoned spaces, or force their way through cracks in the concrete? What birds are around? Is anyone nearby growing plants in window boxes or balconies? Even on a terrible day, walking past the paperbark tree across the road when it's covered in flowers brings me a moment of joy.

Meditation Isn't That Hard...

... But it still kinda is. Literally the main purpose most folks are using meditation for is to train their focus. All that needs to be is picking a focal point (the breath is a common one, because it's always available) and focusing on it - your brain will absolutely wander from that, that's just when you gently nudge it back to your focal point. That's literally it! Over time, your brain will wander less often, and return back where you want it more easily. It's not supposed to be easy straight-up, otherwise there wouldn't be any benefit to it - it's a skill you practice to get better at, like any skill.

You don't need to sit any particular way - if you have pain/fatigue, you can lie down (just ideally somewhere you're not at risk of falling asleep), if you have ADHD or are otherwise hyperactive/easily bored, you can combine it with movement (stretching, walking, running, you can honestly meditate while smashing out your cardio at the gym). There's lots of ways you can adapt the basic premise, and it's totally fine to use guided meditations if you get caught up in your own mind and need external reminders to prompt you back to your focus.

ADHD Note: Meditation is literally THE most effective non-medication way to improve our focus! The down-side is that our brains are dopamine-deprived/seeking and meditation doesn't tend to give us that dopamine hit it wants, which can make the executive dysfunction a massive block to actually doing the thing. I'm pretty stuck here myself, particularly with my physical health stuff ruling out anything particularly physical/active.. I might need to see if I can find something high-dopamine to do afterwards as a bribe?

It's Okay to do Your Own Thing

Throw out any idea of what your practice "should" look like or include and just roll with what works. If you're physically disabled and struggle to leave the house, feeling like you need to do you rituals in a remote forest is probably going to mean you don't get to do many and then feel crap about yourself - craft a ritual you can do sitting in bed! If you're asthmatic, perhaps using candles, sprays, or bells would work better to cleanse your space than burning incense or herbs. If you have poor fine motor control or impaired vision, maybe you find it easier to record your journey digitally! Doing something "differently" and being able to do it is far better than doing something "properly" and just.. literally never being able to do it.

You're Not Alone

There are honestly SO many disabled, chronically ill, neurodivergent, and mentally ill witches out there. We're really often drawn to witchcraft, and there are some folks putting out some great resources on how they adapt their practice - like @heatherwitch's "Bedridden Witchcraft" series. Quite a few popular witchy authors are chronically ill as well, like Lisa Marie Basile, Juliet Diaz, and Arin Murphy-Hiscock. Don't let anyone tell you that your can't practice witchcraft unless you're physically and mentally well, it's bullshit, and we're all living proof.

#witchcraft #original content #witchynyx #disabled witch #chronically ill witch #neurodivergent witch #spoonie witch

982 notes · View notes

incorrectsnkships · 3 years ago

Note

Armin and Eren’s daughter got the winning combination of Armin’s curiosity and Eren’s stubbornness. Like they can’t take their eyes off her for one second or she’s gonna go climb those big can displays at the grocery store or bring snakes into the house or lick peanut butter off the sidewalk. Just a complete gremlin. Carla says it’s karma for Eren being a little shit growing up.

oh my absolutely. i can picture this so vividly, poor eremin

you've heard of terrible twos? well, other kids experience terrible twos. eremin's kid experiences atrocious, appalling, dreadful, absolutely fucking fearful, terrible twos. seriously, this kid screams bloody murder at anything and everything.

bath time? nah, kid's gonna cling to armin's leg and cry. oh, eren has to leave for work? nope, kid decides that she doesn't want dad to leave, so she screams to try and get him to stay. getting dropped off at nursery? armin has to stay and try and stop her from sounding like she's getting murdered.

a: come on, sweetheart, dad's gotta go-

k: no i want you to stay with me at school

a: i can't-

k: STAY WITH ME-

don't get me wrong, armin is an absolutely amazing dad, he knows his kid and how to handle her. so is eren, he knows how to keep her occupied, how to stimulate her brain and most of her motor skills have come from playing and building things with him.

armin is more of a paternal dad - he's more intimate, takes care of her basic needs, hygiene, is in charge of buying her clothes because god knows eren can't do it himself. he makes her lunch, because if it were down to eren, they'd be having mcdonalds every day.

eren on the other hand, acts like a parent, but also like a friend too - takes her out for ice cream, picks her up from school, puts her in the bath and makes it fun when armin's too tired to. eren likes to build the furniture for their house by himself, likes to do diy, and more often than not, his daughter is always helping him.

but armin is scared. not scared of her growing up, but scared of her getting hurt. eren is constantly reassuring him.

e: hey me and kid are gonna go build that cabinet you bought the other day, it shouldn't take too long

a: w- wait! be careful!

e: hey, it's fine. she's probably only gonna sit and watch and pass me the drill or a screwdriver whenever i need it

a: exactly :( what if something falls on her? y'know - i'll just come with you

but once the tantrum phase is over, a new phase is introduced - hyperactivity.

god help them those poor, poor men.

LET ME TELL YOU SHE IS ALL OVER THE PLACE ITS RIDICULOUS.

she wants to do this, wants to do that, wants to know how this works, how that works. she’s just so hyper that she doesn’t know what to do with herself. they always have to tire her out before bed, which is usually eren chasing her around the house while armin does the dishes.

when she finally, finally crashes, it leaves eremin with the rare occasion of having alone time, but they’re just too tired to do anything.

e: ‘so tired

a: yeah

e: yeah. wanna have sex?

a: sure let me just- hang on… okay i’m- eren?

e: *is snoring and asleep*

she’d be in kindergarten or whatever and the teacher would call armin in when he picks her up from school because she started swearing in class. armin was mortified. eren and kid laughed.

and carla- oh, carla is the only one she behaves for. probably because carla has experience from eren.

e: wtf how is it that she only behaves for you

c: eh, i’m used to it from you

also carla would be an amazing grandparent, she’d spoil kid so much and give her whatever she wanted.

kid can’t get enough of the world. lucky she has armin to boost her interests and show her the ways, and eren, who helps her discover easier ways of doing difficult tasks, who teaches her that she can be so many things.

#also armin and eren would be girl dads #incorrectsnkships #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #eremin #gay #eren x armin #eren yeager x armin arlert #armin arlert #eren yeager #aot parent headcanons

50 notes · View notes

governmentintelligence · 3 years ago

Text

Hypothermia (happy birthday winter!!!!)

A/N: happy birthday @winterpower98!!!!! i made you angst :)

i saw all your notes from white tang au and honestly??? fucking love the vibes. i didn't do much with the Plot but i hope you still enjoy it :>

WARNINGS: hypothermia, it is cold, derealization/dissociation, choking, threatened murder/suicide, implied murder, implied blood, no happy ending

Words: 4041

enjoy!! <3

There were a lot of downsides to possession, but the one that Tang had expected the least was the cold.

That might also not be a fair description of the problem. He hadn’t expected to be possessed. No one ever expects to get possessed. Given the concept, though, he had some preconceived ideas of what possession would entail. A lot of them were more hands-on, like the visceral dissonance from physical form that came with watching his body move of its own accord. That was something he imagined when he thought of being possessed.

It was still striking, but it was something he’d expected, at least.

He hadn’t expected how numb he’d feel. How little and how insignificant it would feel to be sequestered away into his own head.

He hadn’t thought that she would invade his mind in the same way, echoing his own voice back at him. She perfectly mimicked his voice, his tones, his speaking cadence, such that even he couldn’t tell her apart on most days.

They would drudge up to the mirror in the morning, and Tang would stare into his ice blue eyes and have to convince himself that they weren’t always that color. Most days, he imagined himself staring at a stranger. Some days, he wouldn’t even be able to focus on his reflection. Those were the days he felt the most cold.

Mild Hypothermia Symptoms include shivering, increased heart rate, and mental confusion. Patient may seem dazed and unsure of themselves.

The Lady Bone Demon had been masquerading as a young girl, trying to find books at the library. In retrospect, it may have been on the nose for her to have been looking for a book on Dyatlov Pass. It was almost like a double emphasis on the ice theming, to be looking for another incident of people succumbing to the cold. Maybe even foreshadowing. Tang’s always been fond of stories.

The library was sprawling large. Tang had offered to help her find it. The library is quiet most days, so it wasn’t like he was busy.

He stopped by the shelves and, when he turned to direct her to the proper book, was struck by a gust of wind. It burned his throat like smoke, yet settled in his chest cold as ice, freezing from the inside out. The girl had just stood there, smiling coyly, knowingly.

Tang wasn’t sure what happened specifically after that, even if it had happened at all, because his memory picked back up with him walking to the help desk.

From there, it was a little spotty. He’d gone to sit at the help desk and found himself sitting down at his usual counter spotat Pigsy’s Noodles. Pigsy was sharp, much sharper than people give him credit for. Nothing could ever sneak past his snout, not MK’s poor sleep schedule and not Tang’s distant stare.

He could remember Pigsy asking if he was okay. Tang wasn’t very sure what he replied with, but he did remember that Pigsy’s banter was much softer afterward. He likely just thought Tang was tired. It was rare that he’d be this tired after work, maybe it was worrying. He didn’t know.

He couldn’t think, his head was so, so cold.

He’d wanted to bring it up, after the first day or two or three. He couldn’t keep track. Tang had definitely tried to tell Pigsy, though, at some point. Only to hear a voice in his head, and be unable to open his lips. His throat had tightened, too, like something was choking him. The ice burned.

Don’t speak, it told him. She, she told him.

That’s absurd, he’d thought back. He speaks a lot, thank you very much, and no two-bit voice in his head was going to tell him otherwise.

And yet, it did. He could just barely open his mouth, but no sound, no air, escaped.

Slowly, he’d just slurped more noodles, watching Pigsy’s back as he cooked. After a moment, once the thought to tell Pigsy had passed, so did his throat’s constriction. Tang was too dazed to try it again.

In hindsight, he should have. If only he’d kept pushing more, fought more, then maybe he would have gotten Pigsy’s attention before it was too late.

He’d been sleeping on the couch for the past few days, another idea that had settled in his head and he was too tired to fight against. His brain felt sluggish, as if trying to move through a storm, trudging ever forward against a wind that threatened to topple him. There was something warm wrapped around his back, glowing gold just out of the corner of his eye when he wasn’t paying attention, though Tang wasn’t sure what that was. He didn’t know enough about this soul magic to be able to identify it. Where would he have learned?

MK would probably know what was going on. He tried to tell MK, too, tried to signal that something was happening. He couldn’t remember if this was before or after he’d tried to tell Pigsy, but the same thing had happened. Tang’s throat had closed up and he’d been directed to eat once again. He had no choice other than to oblige.

His body wasn’t connected to him. It belonged to that voice he’d heard whisper to him. It was the young girl’s voice, at the library, but come now. Tang knew she wasn’t a random person. Perhaps she’d looked for him.

Perhaps she knew MK and was using Tang. It was morbid, but he would make a pretty good meat shield.

The first time that thought crossed his mind, he’d heard her laugh, a soft chuckle that was all too foreboding, and he’d known exactly what her plan was. It was before the cold set in fully, before his hands numbed beyond his recognition. He still had some control. But it was all too weak. His hands shook, so he hid them in his own sleeves, holding each other for warmth and because doing anything else would get her to hold him down.

Over time, it did feel more physical. He couldn’t move his body, not when he wanted to move it, but he could feel things being done to him. Felt Pigsy pat his back sympathetically when he’d explained that he was coming down with a cold, didn’t want to get him sick, too, so he’d sleep on the sofa.

She never introduced herself, not truly, but after long enough, Tang recognized her from legend. If it fed her ego, she didn’t acknowledge. But it was good to know who he was imprisoned by.

He felt phantom feelings, if that was even a possible thing. In his mind’s eye, when he wasn’t focused, he could see white shackles on his wrists. A glowing blue crack over his chest. But as soon as Tang tried to focus on what he was seeing, it would disappear.

Moderate Hypothermia Shivering will cease, though it will be replaced with increased mental confusion, slurred speech, and loss of fine motor skills. Confusion will include amnesia and slowed thought process.

“Hey,” Pigsy’s voice rattles him, gruff and angrier than he’d ever heard.

Tang feels his head lift. Now that he wasn’t actively fighting back at all times, he’d been allowed to feel his body’s movements. It was like the cold had solidified. Attempting to move his limps was impossible, but he could see his own body move, see his hand reach up to hold the underside of his own chin in a casual manner.

It was tiring. He wanted to doze off, but everyone knows sleeping in a snow storm spells death.

“Hey yourself,” he can hear himself speak, too, which was something he’d found he couldn’t do anymore.

“Who are you.”

The sentence hits Tang rough, the venom in Pigsy’s voice dripping, covered in anger, maybe even hurt. It was enough of a rattle to catch his attention, give him something to focus on.

Fiery anger. He cups the warmth and tries to focus.

His face shifts, eyebrow quirking up in an unimpressed, surprised look that he wasn’t making himself. He knew he couldn’t, this wasn’t his body anymore. Tang was just trapped, watching someone else, this demon, Lady Bone Demon, lift his limbs and walk him around.

It made him feel hopeful, almost grateful, that Pigsy had recognized the difference. A twinge of cold struck him over the reminder that he was a week late, maybe even longer, but, still, he was so thankful that someone noticed. And it warmed his heart ever so slightly to think that it was Pigsy who did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tang’s voice says.

“You know damn well,” Pigsy growls back, and it was foolish of him to doubt Pigsy, to worry that he wouldn’t be able to help, to worry that it would be too late. “What’d you do to Tang and who the fuck are you.”

His head tilts again. “Well, aren’t you sharper than you used to be.”

Used to be? Tang doesn’t understand what the Lady Bone Demon is saying, but he knows it rattles Pigsy, because his eyes widen. His arms, which had been crossed at the confrontation, slowly lower. He’s scared.

Why would Pigsy be scared? Does he know this demon? How would he? Tang is confused by this reaction, watching with mounting anxiety. If his heart could race, he knew it would be racing right now.

Pigsy could get help from MK, and if he couldn’t help, then MK could get the Monkey King. There were multiple avenues to get help here.

“What’s wrong, Bajie. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” are the words that Tang hears himself say, and they surprise him most of all.

Tang recognized Lady Bone Demon, after some time. He’d known what she was, where her origins lay in the stories he’d been told, thrived in, repeated himself. He wasn’t ignorant of her. So he knew this was quite the situation. He didn’t know exactly what she was doing with him but, given her antagonistic relationship to the Monkey King, Tang could make some assumptions. Probably some way to watch MK. Maybe watch the Monkey King himself.

Never in his fucking life did he expect Pigsy to get called Bajie.

As in, Zhu Bajie? Pigsy was that Bajie? There was surely no way.

Until Pigsy flinched, answered to a name that Tang only knew from legends. Snapped back at her in acknowledgement of the name.

What the fuck do you mean he was in a complicated relationship with Zhu Bajie.

She laughs, with his mouth, his voice, and Tang doesn’t know if she’s laughing at him or at the panic in Pigsy’s (Bajie? That’s fucking Bajie?) face. How convoluted.

Tang is kept warm with the tangled threads of confusion over these new revelations, which is probably to her benefit. She continues to use his mouth to talk to Pigsy, Bajie, apparently, and he turns inward. A slight cloak of warmth keeps his consciousness guarded, and at least his troubled confusion was something he could think about, rather than the gnawing cold.

How had he never noticed? It made more sense that Pigsy wouldn’t tell, he probably had things to preserve and to hide, if it were true. But how had something that large just….slipped past him? He should have noticed. He’d studied the journey’s legends front and back, hell, he’d recited so many of the stories to MK from pure memory. And yet he’d spent the past few years sharing a bed with one of the heroes from his stories.

That was something that Tang could focus on, at least. He wasn’t very interesting to the demon wearing his body, and thus she didn’t humor him with her attention. It turned out to be something almost in his favor, given how his mind had been completely detached from his body, watching and listening and feeling things but never being able to act upon them. Better than to have her focus, lest she turn his anger onto him.

It was nice to have something to think about that wasn’t the revulsion of watching himself as if in a dream, unable to do anything himself. In his mind’s eye, he had no limbs, nothing to move, nothing to do. He did his best to be unassuming to her.

At least thinking back on every interaction he’d ever had with Pigsy was giving his brain something to focus on. Maybe too much.

Remembering and living in memory gave him a good distraction from seeing how she was using his body to treat Pigsy, too. Whenever he was cognizant of it, Tang would notice what he was saying, the sharpness of her words. She’d purred, once, that the human body could only go so long without eating, and in that moment he’d felt the visceral hunger of his body.

He’d forgotten how long he’d been kept out, and he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d eaten. Had water. Even slept. He, in his mind, was sleeping. All the time, actually. But when he became cognizant of it, focusing on how his body felt, he realized exactly how exhausted he was. She was wearing him into the ground.

It was also probably beneficial for her, to have him distance himself from the pain of existing in his body. He could do nothing other than feel how it felt to be in his body, and Tang didn’t want to exist just for him to feel how painful it was to be starved, cold, dehydrated, and exhausted.

In a small act of rebellion, though, he paid attention to when Pigsy would care for him. Pigsy sets out a bowl of noodles, glare stifled by MK and Mei’s presence, posture stiff with unforgiving, unrelenting anger. And Tang’s body leans over the noodles in a quick, lurching motion. Because he is hungry. And the food is familiar. Is warm. There’s nothing like his favorite noodles when he hasn’t eaten. She’s silent for once as she picks up the chopsticks with his fingers.

Tang doesn’t know if he made the motion or if she did, to be honest. He is hungry and he craves the food set before him, but he isn’t a fool to think that he would be allowed to move.

While Tang eats, or, rather, she eats with his body, Tang is acutely aware of how Pigsy watches. There’s something in his gaze, as if he’s unsure of something, trying to correlate the action to the person he knows is there. Tang knows he’s smart. He trusts Pigsy with his entire life. If anyone can tell who makes the motion, it must be Pigsy, even if Tang himself doesn’t know.

Maybe that’s her plan. Maybe it’s beneficial, for her, to have Pigsy on the edge of his seat, recognizing Tang as trapped in his own body. It’s the hope of him still existing.

Maybe it’s cruel, to want to signal to Pigsy that he is, indeed, doing his best to exist. But he wants to. He needs Pigsy to know he’s trying to stay conscious. He hasn’t given up. He won’t. He’s fighting a losing battle, but he won’t.

He wonders if his body could live if not maintained, inhabited by a demon. He would very much like to not know if that was possible.

Tang doesn’t know if he makes sense, even to himself. His brain feels so fast and so slow. His thoughts race into each other and create nothing. At the very least, it keeps him awake and alert, but it does nothing to help his circumstances. He doesn’t know if it’s possible for him to do anything.

It’s impossible for him to do anything, she warns him. Her voice is cold, frost growing at the tips of his ears. His body feels like a snowglobe. Trapped and on display and invisible, all at the same time.

You’re never getting out, she whispers to him. He tries not to believe her.

Severe Hypothermia Respiratory and heart rates will continue to decrease. Patient’s skin will be cold and inflamed, and mental confusion delves into hallucinations and increased combative state. The body tricks itself into thinking the cold has given way to warmth.

Days. Weeks. Maybe a month, even. Multiple months. A year?

Tang doesn’t have a method to keep track of time.

He sees his body age in the mirror every morning, but he doesn’t know if it’s the passage of time or exhaustion. She plucks a hair from his head, turning it over on close inspection, and he sees that it’s white. A white hair.

Is he just growing old, or is he cold?

The Lady scoffs, tossing it into the bin, and he watches her turn around from the mirror. Then, he reminds himself that he cannot allow himself to leave his perspective. He has to keep track of what she does with his body through his own eyes. It’s a little difficult. She must have gotten rid of his glasses because everything is just slightly out of focus, too far away.

Pigsy keeps him alive. Tang doesn’t know if he should be calling him Bajie or Pigsy and it’s not like he’s going to ever get the chance to ask, so in his mind, he calls him Pigsy. That’s the name that slot comfortably into his mind, which conjures a figure of the familiar, like a hearth. He holds the thoughts and tries so hard not to let go.

It’s still hard to follow what happens. His consciousness does waver, blinking in and out like a dying light. He rallies against the cold, tries to tug at whatever it is in the corners of his eyes that glow with warmth, keep him the barest alive.

He knows she’s cruel to Pigsy, in his body. She sleeps in the same bed as him, holds him at night, gives him a kiss on the forehead in the morning. Tang wishes he could be as mad about this as he should be, but he can’t bring himself to feel moth other than tired. He wishes he could feel what it would be like to hold Pigsy like that. She’d long stopped letting him experience the outside world at all, even the edges of his vision blurred with the loss of his glasses and the cold burning his senses.

She tells Pigsy, one day, that Tang loved him. That it was a shame he never worked up the courage to tell him. Won’t get the chance, anymore.

Tang doesn’t catch his reaction, but he hopes Pigsy knows that he still does love him. There’s little left of him but he does.

The demon attacks keep happening, he keeps following MK with Pigsy. Sometimes Tang is cognizant of the damage and the barrage of violence. Other times, he keeps drifting, trying to stay alert while everything grows numb. His motivation and energy pulsates, though he can feel it growing weaker.

Something keeps him from fading completely, a warm buzz of strength at his more dire times that reminds him he has so many reasons to keep focused, keep alert.

He catches MK’s expression once. He doesn’t remember the context, or why, but his eyes were glowing. The Monkey King had taught him that, once. It allowed MK to see through the surrounding world, could see the souls of the people around them.

He sees me, she confessed to Tang. Much less a confession, actually, and much more a statement of truth. Maybe even haughty. Proud.

The jig was up, then. It had to be. Another pang of hope through his chest, just like when Pigsy had noticed.

Hope is warm enough to coat himself in, but it doesn’t stop the temporal dissonance, and Tang tries to focus once more. He’s seated at the bar of Pigsy’s Noodles, as he always is. MK is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps MK noticing was only a dream. He’s been doing that, thinking up scenarios that had never happened. There was little else to do to keep his focus, because if he saw too much through his own eyes, he would grow sick of himself.

She liked to see his disgust at what she’d made his hands do, covered in blood every so often. He could have killed. She could have killed, with his body. He couldn’t remember if that was true, too, or just another hallucination. Another thing his brain thought up to try and keep him alert, as fake as it was.

Tang assumed this was another day. Just another day, easy enough to drift off once more. Conserve his energy. Keep trying to stay present. Or conserve his energy. A difficult decision, really, but the only one he’s had to make over and over.

Until a hand, a clawed paw, grabs his shoulder and whips him around. Tang’s body is yanked up and forced back. He hears a snarl of anger from his assailant, sharper than most sounds he’s heard lately, and in a visceral moment Tang realizes that he’s been pushed into the forefront once more.

For the first time in a long, long while, Tang feels the sharp slam too forcefully against the countertop. His mind screams out in shock, surprise as the tremor and pain at the motion. She hadn’t let him feel in so long that it might have been a mercy, to feel something so human as pain.

Outwardly, he can only feel his face fall into a smirk as she stares down at the Monkey King.

“Get out. Now,” the Monkey King’s voice is dark, threatening, teeth bared.

“Or? You’ll kill me?” Tang hates how confident the Lady sounds in his voice, like she were meant to wear it. “You’re welcome to try.”

It sounds distant from his own. Is that always how his voice has sounded?

“But you’ll have to get through my host first.” She keeps talking with his voice and the more Tang hears, the more he doesn’t recognize it. “And I don’t think your brother and his kid will be happy with that.”

She lifted his arms behind his head, casually leaning against the wall besides the counter. He wonders if it’s a natural pose with his body. It doesn’t feel natural to him, now that he’s feeling it. His shoulders feel stiff. Everything feels stiff, actually.

Everything feels cold, too. Why is he so cold?

The Monkey King glares, but the expression dulls, fades over the span of a few seconds. He looks shaken, even.

He knows what you are, now, she tells Tang.

Tang doesn’t even know what he is. She laughs at that. In his mind, of course. Right? Tang doesn’t know if he hears the laughter aloud.

Golden warmth wraps his shoulders again, careful and gentle, and he drifts away once again. He wonders if this is the first time his disciple has failed him. Curious, too, is the thought. Since when was the Monkey King his disciple?

Death to Hypothermia Bodily functions continue to slow until patient loses consciousness and, eventually, life.

The knife pressed against his neck was almost warm. It was warmer than anything else Tang had felt in a while.

He couldn’t remember what it was like to breathe. To be awake, himself. All of the days blurred together, distant from his own person as he watched the world move around him, body being puppeteered by his lady.

She liked that. It was deferring in leadership, the acknowledgement that Tang wasn’t in control. Was it giving up?

“Let’s not do anything hasty,” she says to the crowd.

Tang slips back, the frosty snow storm covering his view.

The knife against his neck is so warm, almost warmer than the wings draped around his back, golden glow the only color against the frozen backdrop of his mind. He hadn’t seen them up close, still just out of the corner of his own vision, but she had proudly chided him enough times that Tang knew what they were. What he was.

The Monkey King is scared, her voice purrs to him. I have you.

I have you now.

#fic #my shitty fic #my shitty writing #i forgot which one is the tag lmaooooooo #bad ending #i dont wanna put it in the tags lmaooooo #i hope u enjoy it #i didn't wanna overwrite ur plot #so i didn't do plot stuff #i just explored what it might be like to #you know #be frozen in your own head #love uuuuuu happy birth ur old now

128 notes · View notes