#I know it’s my problem but also it shouldn’t be normal that I am forced to eat LUNCH at 5 pm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietblueriver · 8 months

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More Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU. My take on Helpless from slayer!Bea's perspective. Part 1/2.

Find the rest of the BTVS AU pieces here.

There are runes and symbols painted onto the ceiling of the training room at Cat’s Cradle. Beatrice tracks the deep red lines as her chest heaves, a ward of protection woven artfully around one of the recessed lights. Shannon’s work.

“Beatrice?”

She lifts her head to find Superion in the doorway, arms crossed and tone working itself toward what Beatrice might call concern, if she didn’t know that Superion’s threshold for worry begins somewhere around serious bodily harm and only really hits its stride when, as Ava puts it, death has entered the chat.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re on the floor.”

Whatever shadow of care might have been present before is gone now, replaced by a raised eyebrow and the dry, mocking inflection that Beatrice has come to understand, generally, as begrudgingly fond rather than intentionally cutting.

“Yes. I am.”

The second eyebrow joins the first, and Beatrice pushes herself from where she had been resting on her forearms into a sitting position, bringing her feet together in front of herself and wrapping her hands around them as she leans forward. She relishes in the pull and stretch even as she worries at the twinge of pain in her lower back.

She had fallen. It’s not unheard of. She’s a slayer, but she is not perfect or invincible. Still, this had been rather embarrassing–her enemy a pommel horse and the weapon her own body, a failure of balance leading to the swift shock of breath being forced from her lungs. She raises her eyes to Superion, who is still waiting expectantly.

“I made a mistake in my routine and paid the price. I am…” She hesitates, embarrassed at her own shortcomings, but there’s nothing for it, so she forges ahead. “I am more exhausted than I should be, patrolling without Ava and the others. I’m not certain if I’ve just become too used to…to working with a partner or if I’ve let myself fall behind in my training, but it has become obvious to me over the last few days that I’ve been failing, somehow.”

Superion’s lips pull down, and Beatrice readies herself for a lecture, understands that it’s what she deserves, is grateful, even, that Superion might develop some kind of new training plan to help her to get back to where she should be.

Instead, she says, “I’ve readied today’s meditation,” and turns back through the door.

There’s an unpleasant turn in Beatrice’s stomach. The total disregard is worse than a lecture. Superion cannot be bothered to address Beatrice’s mistakes, and of course she shouldn’t. She’s here to be a watcher, to provide assistance and guidance to the slayer. She’s not here to provide remedial lessons or hold Beatrice’s hand as she figures out how to balance the demands of her life.

She shakes her head and pulls herself to stand, ignoring the stab of pain in her muscles as she follows Superion.

“That doesn’t sound normal, Bea. Are you sure you don’t want to rest a bit? Talk to Superion about it? Maybe there’s, like, a slayer flu or something.”

She’s wrapping her arm, a nasty gash left by a vampire’s switchblade, as Ava’s voice sounds, tinny, on speakerphone. She and Lilith are in Memphis, assisting a coven with an unusual surge in demonic activity.

She feels a twinge of annoyance–unfair and unkind–because Ava is right, but she’s also part of the problem. It’s not normal for Beatrice to be injured this way, to lose her advantage in a one-on-one with a vampire, especially one as mediocre as the one Beatrice had faced tonight, all clumsy swings and brute force. It’s not normal, but it’s certainly not the result of a slayer flu. No, it’s because Beatrice has allowed herself to become distracted–by Ava, by her friends, by life outside of her responsibilities.

“I’ve let myself fall behind in training. I’ve been too focused on…other things.”

“On having a life, you mean.”

She says it the way she always says things like this, assertive and unyielding, as if she’s unquestionably correct in her belief that Beatrice can and should have a life that extends beyond her role as slayer. As though Beatrice is normal. As though she’s ever been normal.

“Not especially useful to have a life if I'm not alive to live it, Ava.”

It’s sharp, a match to the pain in her arm as she tightens the wrap, and she feels guilt for a moment before hardening herself again.

“I’m just saying that…”

“I know what you’re saying. You’ve said it before. But not all of us feel comfortable treating our responsibilities to others as afterthoughts. I have a job to do, Ava, and I owe it to the world, to myself, and to the slayers who came before me to do it well.”

Silence on the other end of the line, and Beatrice winces as she lifts her arms to slip her sleep shirt on, gathering the medical supplies together into piles to be thrown away or returned to her kit. She’s begrudgingly debating an apology when she hears the sigh, a throat clearing.

“Right. Yeah. Okay. I’m going to let you go, Bea. I’ll talk to you later.”

There’s no fight in it, only resignation and, Beatrice is fairly certain, more than a little hurt. The annoyance that had been driving her morphs to guilt, a familiar shift of emotion that leaves her feeling embarrassed and exhausted.

Ava is distracting, but it’s not her fault that Beatrice can’t keep herself together. Ava wouldn’t even be a slayer if Beatrice hadn’t been so careless, hadn’t failed to follow direction and ended up dead. That had been no one’s fault but her own. She has no right, now, to use Ava as a scapegoat when things get difficult.

“Ava, wait…”

But the line has already cut.

She finishes tidying, stares at her phone for 10 minutes before turning the screen face down on her nightstand and falling into sleep.

When she wakes the next morning, there are bruises forming, mottled purple on the skin over her ribs, her thighs, her bicep. The gash from the vampire’s knife has changed, but not for the better, red and swollen in a way that indicates it might be heading toward infection.

Something is wrong.

She doesn’t want to raise the issue with Superion until she has done some research. It’s always best to approach with as much information as she can, and maybe she’ll be able to put together a list of possible issues and solutions to ease her own mind.

She is alone as she enters the library, the campus quiet and bright in the springtime sun. Camila and Mary are out of town for the break, Beatrice having convinced them through a series of forceful conversations and stern looks that she would actually stop speaking to them if Mary gave up her senior spring break plans to help her patrol. She hasn’t told them about her problem, and she won’t, if she can help it, at least not until they get back. Their compromise in leaving, delivered with steely gazes of their own, had been that Beatrice had to inform them of any abnormally life-threatening issue or injury. As of now, she does not believe that this qualifies.

She pushes to the side the small part of her that says otherwise.

Unsurprisingly, she’s unable to find anything in the books or in the digital database Camila is working to compile on slayer flu. Slayers have fallen ill before, but it’s all easily traceable to demonic or other supernatural intervention. When she leaves the library, she has no new information as to what might be happening with her but several new worries; the number of demons that have the potential to produce fluids capable of causing necrosis is certainly going to make her more cautious when evaluating unknown substances in the field.

After a few hours with the books at Cat’s Cradle, she admits defeat and calls Superion, arriving at her house in the early afternoon. The door opens immediately, Superion stepping to the side to wave her in and pointing Beatrice to the kitchen table, her medical kit and new favorite set of crystals already set out next to Beatrice’s chair.

She examines Beatrice’s bruises and her arm with a careful eye and a gentle touch, humming under her breath as she applies antiseptic to the angry wound and wraps it neatly in new gauze before turning her attention to the medical supplies and beginning to tidy.

“I don’t think it’s anything to concern yourself with. Your body is enhanced, but if you fail to sleep or consume enough food to help it heal, then it will begin to struggle like any other.”

She won’t meet Beatrice’s eyes as she says this, and Beatrice’s face flushes with heat as she realizes that Superion’s diagnosis is simply that she cannot take care of herself appropriately.

It has been more than a year since Beatrice was chosen, and the two of them understand each other better now. Beatrice believes, genuinely, that Superion cares for her even beyond her role as slayer, and it makes sense that she’s sparing Beatrice the embarrassment of eye contact as she informs her that she has failed in this most basic set of duties to her body and mind.

“Right. Of course. I…I apologize. I’ll reevaluate my schedule.”

Superion hesitates at the waste bin, closes it before turning back to Beatrice with something softer in her gaze. Pity, she realizes, and she turns her own eyes down to the table in shame.

The legs of the chair scrape lightly as Superion settles again and says, “Meditation will help.”

She looks to the crystals as Superion begins her guidance, grateful for the distraction, and finds her focus.

The windows are boarded, and she knows that she’s not strong enough to break through them. Her arms feel weak already from bruises and wounds old and new, and she’s still slightly dizzy from the blow to the head she suffered in the cemetery, her legs unsteady as she leans against the side of the armoire and evaluates her options.

She has no idea where she is. Whatever he had used to knock her unconscious had kept her that way until she awoke, tied to a rickety wooden chair in a decrepit house, a note pinned to her shirt that read, simply:

11:45. Ready or not, here I come.

The hands of the grandfather clock to her right indicated 11:25, and it took her ten minutes of rocking to get herself free from the chair, bruising herself badly but thankfully leaving her without any bleeding wounds. She had taken five minutes to evaluate as much of the first floor as she could, eyeing the stairs and determining that she didn’t have time to investigate and couldn’t risk a second story fall if she could help it.

The slam of the front door had alerted her to the start of his game. He yelled, delighted, “Ready or not, slayer! We’re going to have fun!” And Beatrice had been doing her best to hide ever since. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but at this point, she has been through every room on the first floor that she can see. Every window is boarded.

She has a broken chair leg in her hand, a last resort, but she knows her odds are vanishingly small if they reach hand-to-hand. Her best chance at this point, even taking into consideration the injuries she’ll incur, is on the second story, with the possibility of an unboarded window, or even one loose enough that she can attempt to pry it open.

The voice that sounds from the hallway is deep and rough as it sings, “Oh, slaaaayer. Come out and play, won’t you? Rude to leave me all by my lonesome.”

Her heart is pounding and she tries to take deep, slow breaths, doesn’t want him to be able to hear or smell her panic. The floorboard outside of the room where she’s hiding creaks and she resists the urge to press her nails into her palms or bite her lip. No blood, Beatrice. No blood.

The sound passes, and she waits thirty seconds, until she hears the sound of a door opening down the hallway. It’s accompanied by a raspy, “Come now, little one. I’m getting bored of this.”

Carefully, she steps from behind the armoire and toward the door. She can still hear his footsteps, though her slayer senses are gone at this point, the creak of the ancient floorboards providing her with some assistance even as they force her to play a game of memory and hopscotch with each new location. She does this now, following the pattern she had found as she entered this room.

She reaches the doorway and waits, hears echoes of movement faint enough that she thinks he must be searching another room. This is the dance they’ve been doing, Beatrice switching locations as often as she can, doubling back and moving forward randomly.

Her captor is a vampire, clad in an eerie Victorian suit and styled almost to look like a puppet or a porcelain doll, hair coiffed perfectly and makeup applied carefully to give him unnaturally red cheeks and smooth, pale white skin. He laughs and yells in equal measure, seemingly both delighted and infuriated by her ability to evade him. She hears another yell, distraught, from the end of the hall, “Have you picked the bathroom then, pet? So very boring of you!”

And she runs.

She tries her best to be quiet, had taken the risk of removing her shoes earlier in the night, her boots clunky, and now she reaches back to her ballet and martial arts training to remember how to step with light feet. It seems to have worked; he’s still singing somewhere down the hall when she reaches the stairs.

She’s breathing hard, her legs shaking. She’s so weak. It’s unfamiliar and terrifying. Even before she had her powers, Beatrice was exceptionally athletic. Years of martial arts, archery, and the conditioning that allowed her to excel at each left fit and capable. Now, after the briefest period of exertion, she feels as though might lose consciousness.

She takes a moment to evaluate the stairs, looking for rot or obviously uneven spots, but she hears movement in the hallway closer to her and makes the decision to climb before she can take full stock.

It’s this that dooms her in the end. The fifth stair gives way, her leg and ankle falling through rotted wood as a nail shears through the fabric of her sock and into the soft skin of her foot. She does not cry out, even as tears stream from her eyes, but the noise is more than enough to alert him to her location, and she barely has time to pull her ankle free before she feels arms around her, lifting her back toward the first floor. She tries to move her hand but he breaks it, as easily as if it were a twig, the stake falling to the floor. She doesn’t bother trying to hold back her cry this time.

She’s back in the living room, secured to a dusty chair upholstered in worn, red velvet as he moves around, almost dancing, to collect things that he wants. He drapes a dress—similarly Victorian in style, black with a high collar and lace, the fabric nearly worn through—over the back of the twin to the chair to which Beatrice has been tied. A dark, wooden music box, freshly polished, comes to rest on the small wooden side table near her. A patch of embroidery spans the center, cream cloth depicting in neat stitches a rabbit hanging from a wolf’s mouth, red thread dripping blood from its maw. He opens it with a flourish to reveal jewels–a ruby necklace and earrings—and then produces another, larger box, a garish pink plastic thing full of makeup.

He finishes by bringing another table to rest directly in front of her, a kind of vanity, the mirror built into it surrounded by ornate carpentry, now chipped in places. Adjusting the angle slightly, he comes to stand behind her and rests long, spindly fingers on her shoulders as he meets her eyes in the glass. She refuses to look away.

“Now, my doll. Let’s play.”

#warrior nun #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun fic #btvs au

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rileyslibrary · 8 months

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I got you, don’t worry. I cropped everything out and covered the character’s name and other details in case anyone pins it back to you. I wanted to reply publicly since this might help someone in the same position as you. Also, please know that I deleted the ask so there’s no trace of you in my ask box, in case you feel uncomfortable. I hope you see this.

FYI, I’m returning after I wrote this just to let you know that this is probably one of the longest replies I’ve given. I think refraining from writing is making me compose chapter-length responses. Also, I had a beer while writing this, so please accept my sincere apologies if it’s too “chattery.”

You’re not asking for my assistance, although your message feels like a desperate plea for help. I think I can do that for you. You don’t want to? Too bad.

So, let's start with the writing part and then move on to the hate (eek!)

If you read/watched/studied the material and generally did your homework, as you say, then maybe you can go back to studying and see if you missed something. I, personally, won’t critique your work since I’m nothing but an apprentice myself. I won’t act as a know-it-all.

Something I personally like to do as I write, though, is to keep the campaign or cutscenes from Ghost playing in the background. Or, I try to be conscious, and ask myself questions like “Why am I making him do that thing? Is it something he would naturally do, based on what I studied? Or is it something I would do, and I’m projecting it on him instead? Am I making him do/say that just to progress the story, and I’m not thinking clearly?”

Also, don’t study only what the characters say. Observe their facial expressions. Their posture. Even if they are somewhere in the background, just standing. And, he doesn’t have to be perfect, mind you. I mean, what are you gonna do? Plagiarise the freaking canon?! No; Close enough is good enough.

I already replied to a request regarding writing, by the way. You can find it under the writing tag in this blog.

Now, if we’re talking about anons/readers who act as self-proclaimed undisputed authorities with biases and strong opinions, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do here. I mean it’s not the game developers who creep into your inbox/comments. Or the character himself.

It’s just… a hater. *dun, dun, duuuuun*

Like, it’s one thing not to like a person’s writing/story/content and another to criticise and spew hate while forcing your own personal opinions as if they are the bible.

The first one is normal, reasonable and reversible, believe it or not since you can move on and forget that that fic ever existed.

The second is *shivers* tacky.

Listen, though: if you have already made up your mind (stopping writing altogether), I 100% support you. You shouldn’t feel pressured to do so just because there’s a new game coming up. (I think that’s what you meant?)

But if you want to start writing again and decide to revisit the source material and apply the things suggested above, it’d be better to reform your relationship with this kind of feedback because me telling you that these people don’t matter won’t do you any good. It’s not a reasonable explanation. Sometimes, we want other people’s feedback; that’s why we share what we do.

The reality is that there are people out there who are deeply troubled. They have issues with their families, their jobs, themselves, and god knows what else. They are in pain, and they don’t know how (or don’t have the means) to help themselves. Sometimes, this pain is beyond them, so instead of doing something to solve their problems actively, they displace it onto others.

Seriously, babe, it’s a thing. Here, look:

Displacement is a defence mechanism that involves an individual transferring negative feelings from one person or thing to another.

Example: “My father screams at me, but i can’t scream back at him because he is an ‘authority’. I’m in pain, so, as a result, I choose to scream at this less-threatening person who happens to be a stranger online.”

Mind you, this is beyond their comprehension, NOT because they are stupid, but because they never learned that this is an unhealthy way to cope.

So next time this happens, don’t get angry or upset. Empathise with them.

Hurt people, hurt people.

And if all else fails, just do what I do and block them; that’s what I do 🤷🏻‍♀️. Just don’t attack back and don’t reply; let it end there.

#writing #the librarian answers

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clarepreed · 1 year

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Corporate Abduction, Pt. 1

Story Content and Summary - 6,245 words. Larissa and Mitchell are abducted. Vomit aspiration, suffocation, refractory ventricular fibrillation, on-site resuscitation.

Three months after the events of Not for the Faint of Heart.

Mitchell

“Where are we going for dinner?” Larissa asked as they stepped into the elevator. Mitchell rested his hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside. Even though it was late in the day, he could still smell the herbal scent of her shampoo.

He pressed the button for the underground garage and leaned in, kissing her temple. “We’re going to a pho place in Creston. I know it’s a bit of a drive, but—”

“You know I want to eat at every pho place that’s in existence, right?” She grinned at him, her beauty mark riding her full upper lip.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. We might get home late, do you have your medication with you?” The elevator slowed, dinging as they arrived at their floor.

Larissa patted her purse. “I have my backup doses with me. Of course, a couple of hours wouldn’t make a difference.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t test that theory.” Mitchell glanced around them as they exited the elevator. He felt Larissa reach out and rub his arm as they walked.

She’d had one seizure in the months since the incident at the falls, about three weeks after. The seizure had been short, she’d recovered quickly, and she hadn’t had another since. Still, tonight was the first time he’d felt comfortable taking her more than a few minutes away from downtown, where there was quick transport to a state-of-the-art hospital.

They walked to his SUV and he helped her out of her coat and into the vehicle before leaning in for a quick kiss.

Larissa reached up and smoothed his collar. “I shouldn’t have been flippant. I’m sorry.”

He stood by the SUV with her for a moment, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to have to walk on eggshells. And I’m glad if you can feel relaxed about it at all, I honestly am. Low stress is better for you, right?”

“We just need some time,” she said, smiling at him. “We’re expecting ourselves to be back to normal already and that’s just unreasonable.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and then closed her door.

The drive was expected to take just over an hour. They settled in, Larissa driving the Spotify playlist. Traffic was heavy as they crossed the city limits; Mitchell assumed they were mostly commuters.

Eventually, as they got closer to Creston, traffic thinned out. Another SUV took the exit behind them, onto a straight road that ran alongside a field.

“How did Creston end up with a pho place?” Larissa asked. “Do a lot of Vietnamese people live here?”

“They do, actually. Nhung has family here; she’s the one who told me about the restaurant.” Mitchell glanced up into the rearview mirror; the SUV had pulled up close to tailgate him. He looked down at his speedometer and saw he was actually driving a little fast. They were also in a passing zone. “I don’t know what this guy’s problem is, he needs to go around.”

As if on cue, the SUV swerved around Mitchell’s back bumper and accelerated.

“That tint hardly looks street legal,” Larissa murmured.

Mitchell opened his mouth to respond when the other SUV swerved away from them, driving into the emergency strip on the other side. “Woah!” he exclaimed, his foot lifting off the gas.

“What the hell is he doing?!”

“I don’t—” The other SUV over-corrected, and before Mitchell had time to hit the brakes, it smashed into them. He tried to control the vehicle, but the steering wheel jerked in his hands, and it seemed like the other driver was determined to force them into the field.

“Trees!” Larissa blurted out, her body going tense as she braced herself. She was right, they were approaching a short line of trees down the edge of the road, and he couldn’t—

“FUCK!” The tires squalled as the swerved toward the field, the wheel shaking in his hands. The driver’s side of the car smashed into the first tree, glass filling the cab. There was a hard impact against the side of his head and he lost consciousness.

Larissa

Larissa didn’t remember the last several seconds of the accident. One moment, they were swerving, and the next she was lying in a pool of pebbled glass, staring down at the dirt underneath the passenger side of the overturned SUV.

She laid there for a full minute, stunned, until something warm and wet dripped on the side of her face. She jerked, looking toward the driver’s seat, which was now above her.

Mitchell was limp, hanging sideways, his right hand dangling close to her. The blood was coming from him, though she couldn’t immediately see his injury.

“Mitchell!” Her voice came out hoarse and quiet, and she coughed, waving through the cloud of airbag powder. She reached up and squeezed his hand, her heart pounding and a finger of ice trailing down her spine. “Mitchell!”

He didn’t respond. Larissa fumbled with her seatbelt, hands clumsy, her own blood welling from a series of cuts down the side of her arm. She wasn’t sure where her phone had ended up, but she knew she needed to find it so she could call for help. “Mitchell! Mitchell, wake up!”

She heard voices outside the vehicle as she was reaching for his hand again and shouted: “HELP! HEY! HELP!”

The vehicle shook, but no one responded to her directly.

Larissa pressed her fingers to the inside of Mitchell’s wrist. His heartbeat was strong and regular, and she let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Mitchell! Mitchell, honey, wake up!” She got her feet underneath her so she was crouched in the glass and able to see his face. His eyes were closed, features serene. There was a bloody wound to his left temple; she pressed her palm to it, trying to stop the bleeding. “HEY! OUT THERE! Can you hear me?!”

A man appeared, looking down into the car through Mitchell’s broken window. Larissa blinked up at him and exclaimed: “Oh, thank God! Help us! He’s not conscious!”

The man responded by pointing a gun at her.

Larissa froze, her hand still pressed to Mitchell’s temple, her heart taking off in her chest.

“This is what’s going to happen,” the man said. “We’re gonna work together to haul him out. If you try anything, I’m going to shoot you in the face and bring your corpse with us for him to look at when he wakes up. Do you understand?”

Larissa took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Y-yes. I won’t try anything. We don’t have any weapons in the car.”

The man wore a surgical mask and a hat. She could see that he had light skin and eyebrows, but his most identifiable feature was his piercing blue eyes. “For our purposes, my name is Jim, and my associate is Joe.” The vehicle shook again, and she saw much smaller man wearing the same kind of surgical mask lean into view.

“What do I need to do to get him out of here?” She worked hard to keep her voice even.

“We’re gonna try to get the door open. If we can’t, we’ll haul him out the window. Your job is to unbuckle the seatbelt when we tell you. Not before, unless you want him to flatten you when he falls, you got it?”

“Yes, I understand.”

They could not, it turned out, get the door open. Jim tugged; Joe tugged. It unlatched and opened a few inches, but no further.

“Piece of SHIT!” Jim growled, glaring at Joe. “You hit them too fucking hard. You’re lucky we can get out of here at all, dumbass.”

Larissa’s legs were starting to cramp. She tried to ease the pain, shifting slowly so the men wouldn’t notice. Keeping her hand pressed to Mitchell’s temple, she leaned closer and kissed his forehead. “Wake up, honey,” she murmured.

She had to pull back when Joe and Jim crammed their arms through the window, reluctantly removing her hand from his wound.

Jim growled: “Undo his seatbelt!”

She found it with her bloodied hands, pressing the button and then helping to feed it around his limp body. The two strangers dragged him through the opening, both grunting as they hauled his limp weight. They caught his shoulder hard on the frame and she was shocked and relieved to hear Mitchell grunt.

“Mitchell?” she called out, but by then the men had dragged him out of sight. She stood and stretched up her hands, just tall enough for her fingertips to graze the doorframe. She heard the heavy sound of a body falling from the car and landing on the ground and gasped. “What the hell?! Are you trying to break his neck?!”

“I will still shoot you in the face,” Jim said, his voice mild. His face reappeared in the window, and then suddenly he and Joe grasped hold of her wrists, hauling her up. She could feel Jim’s hand slipping on the blood on her cut arm, and he reached down and grabbed her elbow.

They were not any gentler with her; as soon as they got her out of the car they dumped her over the side, narrowly avoiding dropping her on top of Mitchell. She landed hard on her feet and crumpled to the cold ground, pain shooting up her left leg from her ankle to her knee.

Despite the pain, Larissa rolled over and dragged herself over to Mitchell. He was still, sprawled on his back, eyes closed. “Mitchell!” She was relieved to see his breath fogging the air above his face.

The men jumped down beside her.

“We need to hurry this the fuck up. Take off your watch.” Jim had his gun pointed at her again. She scrambled to remove her smartwatch, watching as Joe took off Mitchell’s. “Where’s your phone?”

“Somewhere in the car, I don’t—”

Jim snatched her watch out of her hands and threw it to the side. “His phone?”

“Probably his pocket. Uh… right back.”

“Stand up.”

“But—”

“Stand the fuck up!” Jim shouted, pointing the gun at her face. He watched as Larissa dragged herself to her feet, unable to put weight on her left leg. “Hold your wrists together out front. Joe?”

“I got it,” Joe said, sounding exasperated. “I need to get the SIM card out of his phone before we start moving, though…”

Larissa held her wrists out reluctantly, unable to take her eyes off Mitchell. “You need to bandage his head. He’s bleeding!”

“You need to shut the fuck up,” Jim said, as Joe began to wrap her wrists with duct tape.

“But—”

“Stop, Joe. Tape both their wrists behind their backs. And tape her mouth when you’re done with her hands.”

“Mitchell!” she shouted. “Mitchell wake up! Mitchell—”

Joe grabbed her face, closing her mouth before he slapped a length of duct tape across it. He added a second piece to it for good measure, his hand rubbing across her face to make sure the tape stuck.

Larissa drew a shaky breath through her nose, her heart sinking as Joe roughly rolled Mitchell into his stomach to secure his wrists.

Mitchell

The first sensation he had was rocking, followed by a sharp pain in his temple.

He moved before he opened his eyes, felt his leg brush up against the warmth of another person. This prompted him to open his eyes. Or try to. The left felt glued shut, and when he tried to reach up to his face to clear it, he found he couldn’t move his arms.

His vision slowly cleared, and the first thing he truly saw was Larissa.

She was sitting across from him, her wide eyes staring as his eyes focused on her. Her hair was mussed, her clothing smudged with blood. There was duct tape over her mouth, and he saw that her wrists were bound behind her. She looked sweaty, even though the air in the back of the SUV was cool. He scanned down her body, spotted the holes torn in the left leg of her woolen tights. She looked frightened but relieved, her shoulders sagging when they made eye contact.

He whispered: “Are you okay?”

She nodded, and raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered back, though his head ached. He looked around him. They appeared to be in the back cargo area of a large vehicle. The sky outside was dark, though the windows were all heavily tinted. He had vague, broken memories of a car accident. “This vehicle… hit us?”

Larissa nodded. He watched her take a series of slow, deep breaths through her nose, her nostrils flaring wide.

He sat up straighter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She looked at him, her brow furrowed, seemingly frustrated that she couldn’t respond. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

Mitchell drew his left knee up and tried to bend over and wipe some of the congealing blood from his face onto his pants.

So. This is an abduction. I would say that so far, it’s not going well. I’m sure almost killing your target before you make your demands isn’t in the playbook.

The SUV slowed, came to a stop, then turned right. They continued straight for a while, and then the road began to curve into tight switchbacks. Mitchell pressed his left foot against the back hatch, trying to brace himself.

“Mmph…” Larissa breathed hard through her nose, her head tipped back. He could see her neck muscles retracting and the pulse in her neck jumping.

“Are you going to have a seizure?” he whispered, leaning forward.

Her brow furrowed and she slowly shook her head. The SUV went around another curve and he watched her swallow hard.

“You’re car sick.” Worry flooded him, and he scooted closer to her, his shoes scuffing the hatch.

“What the hell are you doing back there?!” a man shouted from the front of the SUV.

“She’s going to throw up, you need to take the tape off!” Mitchell barked. He had a brief thought toward whether he recognized the voice; decided he didn’t.

“Sleeping Beauty finally graces us with his presence,” the man said. “We’re almost there, keep your pants on!”

Larissa’s skin looked increasingly pale. Mitchell leaned close and whispered: “Slow breaths, baby.”

He was feeling a little green himself, he assumed from the blow to the head.

He looked her over again. She had blood in her hair, but he couldn’t tell what was his and what was hers. “Did you hit your head?”

She shrugged, and her eyes darted to his bloody temple.

“Don’t look,” he murmured. “I’m sure that doesn’t help.”

Perhaps if I keep talking to her…

“Any idea where we’re going?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard again.

“Was I out a long time?”

She nodded emphatically and blinked her eyes several times. He chastised himself for asking a question like that, watching as her eyes shone with tears.

“They took our phones?”

She blinked, tilted her head. After a moment, she clearly nodded, then shook her head.

“Hmm. What about your purse?”

She shook her head.

“So you don’t have your medication.”

Another head shake, though she followed with a shrug. He heard her cough, or try to, and a wave of clear mucus bubbled out of her nostrils. Her response was to turn her head away from him and exhale forcefully through her nose, followed by a series of snuffling inhalations.

“Larissa,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

She turned her head, and he could see panic had set in. Her nostrils were flared, eyes wide. She coughed again, retched, struggled to draw breath through her nose.

“You’re alright, Larissa—Hey!” he called out, his voice loud. “You have to pull over. She can’t breathe like this; she’s going to vomit!”

She squeezed her eyes shut in what looked like a last-ditch effort to calm herself, and then her body convulsed. She let out a gurgling noise, mucus and bile spraying from her nose.

“Should we stop?” he heard someone ask.

“Nah, that’s the drive, isn’t it? Jane’s meeting us at the house, she’ll take care of whatever the hell is going on back there.”

“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” Mitchell shouted. Larissa was making horrible choking noises and thrashing around wildly. Her arms strained against the tape on her wrists, the force telegraphing into her shoulders and neck. Mitchell pushed himself against her, unable to think of anything to do except to try to use his teeth to peel off the tape.

Her eyes were huge with panic as the contents of her stomach and her sinuses frothed out of her nose, blocking her airway. Mitchell pinned her against the back seat with his body, fighting her animal instincts until he was able to scrape his teeth down her cheek. He had better luck with the bottom section of tape that lapped over her jawbone, but it was taking a long time to lift the corner. The smell of vomit was a distant blow to his senses.

Get it off or she dies, get it off—get it off—GET IT OFF!

The vehicle stopped, but Mitchell kept scraping at the tape, finally peeling up enough of it that he was able to nip the corner with his teeth. He jerked his head to the side, lost his grip, and tried again. Larissa was growing visibly weaker, her head lolling, her thrashing movements slowing to a twitch. The second jerk of the tape peeled it halfway to her lip; two more jerks and he made it to the corner of her mouth.

Larissa went limp then, her eyes distant as she sagged against the back seat of the SUV. An involuntary noise choked out of Mitchell’s throat. He was having a hard time getting an angle on the tape now that her head had tipped down, so he drew a breath and screamed: “YOU’RE KILLING HER!”

He twisted around, his body crammed against hers. He wrapped his lips around her nose, his stomach rolling at the sour taste of vomit, and tried to force a breath past the fluids clogging her nostrils. It was of no use, but he tried again anyway. As he was pulling back, he saw her eyelids flutter. He tried a third time, and then she went absolutely still.

The back hatch and tailgates opened, and he heard a man say:

“Fuck, Jim, he wasn’t exaggerating—”

“What did you do to them?!” a woman said, her voice sharp.

Mitchell whipped his head around and glared at the assembled criminals. Even in his agitated state he noticed they all wore surgical masks and nitrile gloves, but they hadn’t bothered to mask their hair. The woman’s was an icy bleached blonde.

“Help her, NOW!” Mitchell commanded. “You get nothing from me if you kill her!”

One of the men reached around Mitchell and yanked the tape off Larissa’s face. She slumped forward, but didn’t take a breath.

“Do your thing, Jane,” the man said. “We’ll get him out of the way.”

“Larissa! LARISSA!” Hands grabbed Mitchell’s arms, hauling him backward into the light of a streetlamp. He struggled, but as soon as they had him fully upright, he felt his blood pressure plummet. The person holding him up cursed and lowered him to the ground, quickly losing control of his weight. Mitchell landed hard on his hip, and the hands on him kept him from tipping over onto the cold concrete.

He blinked, desperate as he looked up into the back of the SUV. He couldn’t hear what the abductors were saying over the roar in his ears, but he watched as the woman dragged Larissa onto the tailgate, snapping at one of the men to hold her upright. She dug through a black duffel sitting on the concrete driveway and pulled out a pair of shears, making short work of the tape on Larissa’s wrists.

“Get her down,” Jane commanded. Larissa was limp between Joe and the woman, long hair draping like a curtain as they laid her flat. The woman pulled a packaged ambu bag out of her duffel and tore off the plastic, connecting the bag to the mask.

She pressed the mask to Larissa’s face and tried twice to force air into her lungs, but Mitchell could see her chest remained still.

Setting the bag to the side, Jane pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck. “She still has a pulse, but that isn’t going to last long.”

She swung her leg around and straddled Larissa’s prone form, quickly shoving her clasped hands into her navel. The force made Larissa’s chest bulge and her head fall to the side. Larissa’s half-lidded eyes stared empty at Mitchell, and he felt his eyes burn with tears.

Jane shoved her hands into Larissa’s abdomen over and over again until she made a gagging sound, then leaned over her. The blonde swept her fingers between Larissa’s teeth, scooping out vomit. She repeated this process two more times before she pressed the mask to Larissa’s face and squeezed the bag. This time, he watched her chest rise and fall twice before the woman pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck again.

The female captor snapped her head up, pinning Joe with her fiery glare. “Get everything out of the trunk of my car. All of it. Now!” Then, still straddling Larissa, she clasped her hands together and started giving her forceful chest compressions.

“One, two, three…”

“I can help!” Mitchell pushed himself into his hands and knees. Jim moved closer to him and pressed what Mitchell assumed was the barrel of a gun into the back of his neck.

“Don’t—”

“Let me help!” Mitchell shouted, his heart in his throat as he watched Larissa’s body move with the force of the compressions. “The more hands Jane has to help her, the more likely it is that she can revive Larissa! Please!”

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! He’s right, Jim!” Jane squeezed the bag twice, Larissa’s chest rising and falling. Then she laid the mask down and started chest compressions again. “One, two, three…”

“I’m not cooperating if she dies,” Mitchell snarled. “I’ve done this before; I can provide actual assistance!”

“Fine!”

Mitchell crawled over and sat down next to Larissa’s head.

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

He tried to be gentle as he tipped her head back. He held her airway open, the column of her neck exposed and fragile-looking. As Jane neared thirty compressions, Mitchell picked up the mask and pressed it over Larissa’s mouth, his fingers lapping over her chin.

“Thirty!”

Mitchell squeezed the bag, Jane watching his technique and then nodding. Larissa’s chest rose as he squeezed the bag again. Her half-lidded gaze seemed to rest on him as he helped her breathe, his heart contracting painfully.

“One, two, three…”

Joe ran around the SUV as Jane started chest compressions again, a bag over his shoulder and an oxygen canister and a white plastic board Mitchell didn’t recognize under his arms.

Jane climbed off of Larissa, kneeling at her side. “Joe, put that board next to her, the top aligned with her shoulders. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… Okay, I’m gonna roll her onto her side and you slide it underneath her.”

Mitchell lifted the mask off Larissa’s face as Jane rolled her. He quickly grasped Larissa’s chin so her face didn’t strike the concrete, wincing as her limbs flopped tonelessly. When the white board was underneath her, Jane turned Larissa onto her back and quickly adjusted her positioning on the board.

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…” The board pushed Larissa’s chest into the air and tipped her head back, making the chest compressions look even more dramatic. “…twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Mitchell pressed the mask to her face again and squeezed it, Jane dug out a pair of shears and made quick work of Larissa’s blouse, camisole, and bra.

“Joe, you’re on compressions.”

“I’ve never—”

“Do what she says!” Jim growled. Other than barking orders, he seemed content to stay out of the resuscitation effort.

Mitchell was already on it, terrified that Larissa would just lay there while everyone was arguing. He dropped the bag and scuttled around to her side, his hands finding the reddened area between her breasts. Unrestrained, her large, freckled breasts wobbled as he shoved his hands down between them.

“One, two, three…” Larissa’s stomach bulged with each compression, the CPR board exaggerating the look of the thrusts. He felt like his hands dug into her deeper and more easily with her back bent over the board. “…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

Jane connected the mask to the oxygen tank and opened the valve, then made quick work of applying the defibrillator pads. When Mitchell finished the cycle, he heard a high-pitched whine filling the air. He’d been through this before, and knew this meant his fiancée’s heart was still in her chest. His own beat painfully.

“Joe, hold this mask to her face—like this. Yes, exactly. Now slowly squeeze and release the bag twice.” She watched the smaller male captor and then nodded. “Do that every time he hits thirty.”

“One, two, three…” Mitchell knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. Every time his head bobbed, it throbbed with pain. He felt dizzy and nauseated. But he also knew Larissa was effectively dead, and that she needed him right now if she had any chance of being revived.

Jane picked up the shears again and snipped through three right side of Larissa’s skirt and tights before pressing her fingers briefly to the pulse point she’d exposed. “Good perfusion.”

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

Jane was starting an IV. “I’m going to give her epinephrine and then I’ll take over compressions. After five cycles, I’ll analyze and see if she’s shockable. After that, I’ll intubate her.”

“Thirty!”

Joe gave Larissa two breaths from the bag as Jane finished up with the IV epinephrine. Then she called out: “Switch! One, two, three…”

The monitor bleeped with the rhythm of Jane’s compressions. Mitchell reached down and grasped Larissa’s limp hand. He felt her engagement ring dig into his palm. Her skin was cold; he hoped that was from the air temperature and not lack of circulation. Larissa’s lungs let out huffs of air with each of Jane’s compressions, and Mitchell heard her ribcage creaking.

“I thought you knew what you were doing!” Jim said suddenly.

“Thirty! I came prepared for seizures, you absolute dumbass, not vomit aspiration. I couldn’t steal the entire ambulance! One, two, three…”

Prepared for seizures, he thought. They were willing to risk her having seizures to get money from my company.

Mitchell squeezed Larissa’s hand and released it, then turned to the large duffel bag Jane had on the ground. Inside, he poked around until he found a smaller black kit. When he unzipped it, he saw an assortment of what he recognized as respiratory supplies. Leaning over, he deposited the case on Jane’s side of Larissa, near her head.

“…twenty-nine, thirty! Thank you!” She set herself to selecting a laryngoscope blade and opening the packaging for the endotracheal tube. The monitor squealed a flatline as Joe gave her breaths. “Grab the tape from the end pocket of the bag, please.”

Then she was compressing Larissa’s chest again. Mitchell found the tape and sat it next to the other supplies. He listened to the bleep of her artificial heartbeat, his eyes on her face. “Come on, baby. She gave you the medication, you have to give her something in return!”

He swept a strand of her long, honey-colored hair out of her face.

Before long, the cycle was complete, and Joe was giving her another breath.

Then Jane was back on Larissa’s chest, forcing her sternum toward her heart. Mitchell could see her ribcage flexing as the force rippled down into her abdomen, highlighted further by the opening in her skirt. When Jane next lifted her hands, he could see the bruising over Larissa’s sternum had darkened.

“One more cycle and then we switch,” she said, her eyes on the monitor.

The next cycle of thirty compressions felt brutal to Mitchell. Larissa lay limp and unresponsive, her bloody arms spread and her legs swaying with each thrust. He realized as he was looking at her legs that he could see dark bruising through the tears in the tights. The sight only added to the anger that was intertwined with the fear in the pit of his stomach.

“…twenty-nine, thirty! Keep squeezing the bag until I tell you to stop. Checking her pulse…” The monitor squealed the asystole alarm, and when she pressed her fingers to Larissa’s throat and wrist, she felt nothing. “Joe, scoot out of the way for a minute. Sir, Mitchell, continue compressions until I tell you to pause. I’m going to intubate her now.”

Mitchell started compressions again, though a small part of him wondered where this was going. He’d already had his miracles with Larissa. Seen her almost die three times and come back to him. She wasn’t unscathed, but she’d made it. How could she pull through another time?

Anguish rolled through him and he pushed the feeling through his chest compressions, careful not to pump her chest too fast.

Jane already had the laryngoscope down Larissa’s throat. “Pause compressions.”

Mitchell stopped pressing down on Larissa’s sternum, watching as Jane slid the endotracheal tube down the blade. Shortly after, she reached over and awkwardly grasped something to the side, muttering: “…inflate the cuff.”

Then she withdrew the scope, connected the bag to the tube. She used the stethoscope hanging from her neck to listen while she squeezed the bag.

“I’m in. Start compressions.”

“One, two, three…”

“Joe, squeeze this bag every three seconds. Steadily, don’t squeeze too hard. I’m going to give her more epinephrine. Mitchell, you’re going to perform compressions continuously until I tell you to stop.”

Come on, baby, he thought. Give us something. Please, don’t be dead. Please, God, please… not like this…

He was beginning to breathe hard, felt himself sweating despite the chilly air. Then, a bright red drop splattered onto the pale skin of Larissa’s chest, followed quickly by another.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jane said, glancing up as his head.

“I’ll grab a bandage next time we stop or switch,” Mitchell ground out.

The alarm on the monitor changed to a rapid beeping.

“Pause compressions for analysis… She’s in ventricular fibrillation… Continue compressions and breaths until I tell you to stop.” Jane was briefly silent and then she said. “Both of you stop and get clear of her. No one touching? Clear!”

Mitchell watched, his breath held, as Larissa gave a slight jerk and the monitor was silent. Then the high-pitched whine returned.

“Asystole! Dammit… I’m going to take over compressions, Mitchell. Joe, continue breaths. One, two, three…”

Blood was running down his face, so Mitchell leaned back and grabbed the duffel, dragging it into his lap and quickly going thought the contents. He found what looked like a packaged surgical dressing and tore it open before pressing it to his temple.

“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…”

“We need to get inside,” Jim said.

“I’m no paramedic,” Joe muttered as he squeezed the bag, “But if we aren’t taking her to the hospital then I think staying right here is more likely to result in a positive outcome.”

Positive outcome. He drew a deep, shaky breath. Please. I’ll get you out of here somehow, and you’ll be okay, and in a few months we’ll get married…

“…sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…”

Mitchell sat next to Larissa’s twitching body, hand pressed to the bandage, his eyes unable to keep still. Her head rocked side to side, unseeing eyes staring up at Joe. Her skin was noticeably gray even in the white light of the lamp, and what part of her full lips was visible around the tape had gone blue. The tube protruded between her teeth, keeping her mouth open.

With each compression, Larissa’s shoulders jerked and her full breasts wobbled. The skin of her areolas looked dusky. Her nipples pebbled. The bottom of her ribcage bobbed up and down, and her soft stomach bulged.

“We’ve got v-fib… both of you clear!” Joe let go of the bag and Jane pushed the orange button on the monitor. Larissa’s body jerked. Her head fell to the side, pulled down by the weight of the bag, and Mitchell noticed her eyes had fallen closed.

“Still in v-fib. Joe you’re going to have to do compressions, I need Mitchell on the bag while I push another epi.”

Mitchell scooted around, taking Joe’s place. He quickly righted Larissa’s head and then started squeezing the bag, keeping pressure on his temple with the other hand. His eyes were on Joe; both he and Jane were watching him to see if he would perform effective compressions.

“One, two, three…”

“Good,” Jane said, watching as Joe’s hands plunged rhythmically between Larissa’s exposed breasts. “Don’t stop.”

“Come on, Larissa…” the words came out of him before he even realized he was about to speak. “Please, please, baby, please…”

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Jane,” Jim said.

“What?”

“How long you gonna do this?” His voice was almost nonchalant, but Mitchell detected an edge to his words.

“What did I tell you about my cooperation?!” Mitchell growled, glaring at Jim. He was careful not to let his emotions affect his hand on the bag.

“I’m not ready to terminate care,” Jane said. “I have a few other things to try if she doesn’t convert to… if her heart doesn’t start beating normally after the next shock.”

“…fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three…”

Jim sat down on the tailgate of the SUV, gun in hand but no longer pointed at anyone in particular.

Time crawled. To Mitchell, it felt like he was squeezing the bag infinitely. Joe’s hands crushed Larissa’s chest over and over again.

Eternity was apparently only two minutes, however, and Jane asked Joe to briefly pause compressions while she looked at the monitor. It was still beeping rapidly, and she asked Joe to give compressions for another twenty seconds or so before she told them both to back away.

“Clear!” Jane pressed the button, and Larissa jerked a third time. A few seconds later, as the monitor chirped, she said: “Joe, resume compressions. I’m going to administer amiodarone and change pad placement, then I will analyze again.”

“One, two, three…”

Are you gone? Mitchell looked down at her face. The delicate skin of her eyelids had gone lavender, and her eyes appeared sunken in.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Jane made a noise, and when he looked up at her, she was staring hard down at Larissa’s IV port. Her eyes were watery.

“Why are you doing this to us?” he asked her, his voice quiet.

Jane flinched, but Jim stood, scowling. He pointed the gun down at Larissa’s lifeless body. “I don’t need her and I don’t need you to cooperate. I can make this situation permanent unless you’d like to shut the fuck up.”

Before Mitchell could respond, Jane said: “Let me do what you have me here to do, Jim.”

To Mitchell’s surprise, the man backed off, lowering the gun and backing away.

“Pause compressions!” Joe lifted his hands and Jane pressed a new defibrillator pad directly over the bruise between her breasts. Then, she rolled Larissa onto her side. Mitchell dropped his hand from his temple, the bandage adhered in place by his blood. He steadied Larissa’s head, rhythmically squeezing the bag and watching as Jane pressed a pad to Larissa’s back.

Jane laid Larissa back onto the CPR board and unplugged the leads of the first set of pads before replacing them with the new set. The rapid beeping picked up where it had left off.

“I’m going to perform chest compressions for one minute and then analyze again,” she said. She resumed compressions, seeming more forceful than before. “…three, four, five…”

Larissa’s stomach bulged and relaxed, bulged and relaxed, breasts quaking. Mitchell adjusted the position of Larissa’s head and kept squeezing the bag.

Different medication, she changed the pads… Please, Larissa, if you’re still in there…

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Joe,” Jim said. “Until Jane needs you again, get started with his phone. The faster we get our payout, the faster these folks get to the hospital.”

Joe drew Mitchell’s phone out of his pocket and started picking at a piece of duct tape on the back.

“… fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight…”

“Larissa,” Mitchell said, trying to tune out everything but the bag and her face. “If you can hear me… please, don’t go. I know it’s going to be hard if you come back, and I know I’m being selfish, but… Please, baby. Don’t go. Don’t go…”

“… seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty…”

Another twenty compressions, and then Jane paused compressions long enough to analyze.

“V-fib. Charging.” She forced her hands into Larissa’s sternum for ten to twenty more seconds and then called out: “Everyone clear! Don’t touch her! Come on, Larissa! Clear!”

She pressed the button, discharging the shock.

Larissa spasmed.

Mitchell grabbed the bag and squeezed it. Jane pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck and the inside of her wrist.

The monitor registered a beat. Then another.

“Sinus!”

Part Two

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus #medical drama

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house-of-slayterr · 1 year

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Being autistic is weird as fuck, because you’ve never experienced NOT being autistic. Like autism is unfortunately measured by how not allistic we are. Like it’s directly proportional. It’s not autistic people decided that were different and that difference is wrong. But HOW THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW WERE DIFFERENT?

I’ve never been anyone but myself. How am I supposed to know that I don’t feel things the same way as everyone else? How am I supposed to know that I talk weird? Like how should I know that I can’t read social cues, if I’m unable to read social cues? Hello? My inability to understand the task, makes me unable to understand that I’m unable to understand the task!

Like to get an official diagnosis you have to rely on the fact that other people looked at you as a kid and went “that’s weird, it’s not supposed to do that!” And then their “cure” is to just tell you “well stop doing that.” Like gee thanks bud, never thought of that. If I could just turn off my autism you think I wouldn’t have tried by now? You’re the reason my autism is even stigmatised in the first place!

My autism specifically comes with the complete inability to introspect. Like so much of my problems as a kid would have been solved if I just realised “oh, this is an autism thing” instead of being like “oh, well I just must suck at everything, and this is how everyone feels, so why am I the only one having a mental breakdown?”

But also phrases like “everyone’s on the spectrum” are so harmful, cause they just aren’t true!!!! When I was having anxiety attacks as a kid, my mom would always say “well everyone has anxiety.” Which made me think I was just weak, when in reality I have a mental illness that had treatment options and I could have gotten help the whole time, if people stoped minimising disorders.

“We’ll everyone’s a little depressed.” No- no they are not. There are people out there that have never experienced having a brain with mental illness. But my brains always been sick, and when you can only view the world from a sick brain, how would you ever know there were healthy brains out there?

Especially since things like mental illness and learning disabilities or physical disabilities are all hush hush. We aren’t supped to talk about them because it’s “inappropriate” somehow. And then they make you feel crazy when you do talk about it. Like parents who beg their kids to “just be normal” THIS IS MY NORMAL!!! I can’t be like you because I’m not you, and I don’t know how to pretend to be. And I shouldn’t have to!

You don’t suddenly become autistic when someone slaps the label on you. Which is why I always respect self diagnosis, because you know you better than anyone else ever could.

Another story to prove my point. Let’s talk about being LGBT on top of that. My entire life I always thought everyone was Bi. Like I assumed everyone just happened to end up in straight relationships, because how could people not think boys and girls are both pretty? I had no reference to know otherwise.

And after that, I assumed everyone was asexual. I didn’t have a term for it at the time, but I genuinely though everyone was joking about enjoying sex or being horny. Because I’d never experienced those things before, I couldn’t fathom what they were meant to feel like. And if I didn’t feel it as a “normal” human, everyone must just be playing an inside joke I don’t understand right?

But if I just had labels when I was young, I would have understood these things. People who ask “why would you want to diagnose your kid, they’re so young?” Or parents who withhold a diagnosis cause you think if you ignore it, your kid will be “normal” somehow. That’s not how it works. A diagnosis or label can make the world less scary, and often times it can bring you to people who can help you navigate the world. Instead of trying to force you to see it through their eyes.

Autism isn’t dirty. Mental illness isn’t dirty. Disabilities aren’t dirty. And being LGBTQ isn’t dirty!

Children of all ages should have access to knowledge of these things. Because to the people who are part of these groups, labels and information are vital. They’re a huge part of who we are and they aren’t going to go away just because you don’t want to say the words.

Children should have access to knowledge about how their bodies and brains function. This would help kids feel less ostracised and alone, and prevent a lot of pain and trauma in the world.

#self diagnosed autism #autism #autism diagnosis #autism rant #fang rambles #neurodivergent #autistic #autistic women #queer #gay #gay rant #lgbt

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sl-newsie · 6 months

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Distant: Mouthpiece x OC *Halloween Special* 🎃

Summary: The Jets and Sharks throw a Halloween dance, which attracts the attention of a girl who’s had her eye on Mouthpiece for some time. (Also I did look it up, the fanbase officially named Mouthpiece as Harvey Gonzales! I had no idea!)

“Uh, Grazi? A little help- ah!” The ladder swerves again and I can feel myself falling-!

“Gotcha!”

Strong arms reach out and catch me just before my head hits the ground, and I already know it’s Mouthpiece from how hard he’s laughing.

“Wow, Diana! That’s quite a fall! What’d ya do to make the ladder so mad?” His warm touch makes me shiver and before I can get too flushed he stands me up. “There! Right as rain, yeah?”

I swallow my feelings and smile. “Yup, alright here! Say you wouldn’t by chance be going to the dance-?”

“Hey, Mouthpiece!” Action scoots over and drags him away to the group-a Jets for some stupid prank, leaving me high and dry with no date.

Every. Single. Time. Every time I try to ask him out, Mouthpiece is always preoccupied! You’d think that by all the hints I’ve given that he’d wise up, but sadly that’s not been the case.

Just then Grazi and Velma walk up. “Took a nasty fall, huh Diana?”

I scowl. “Sure, you turn up just as the Jets show up. Where were you when I was about to get a concussion?”

She shrugs and sucks on a lollipop. “It’s not my problem you’re a klutz. Now go finish hanging the pumpkins.”

Normally I’d refuse and fight back, but I don’t mind pitching in for the Halloween event. It’s one of my favorite holidays, and it’ll be so rewarding when I show up tonight in my costume. It’s a vampiress dress that I sewed it myself, and found the poifect wig last week.

After retreating to the back-a the gym, I find the last of the plastic pumpkins and start placing them next to the concessions table. Seeing everyone chat and get excited for the dance makes me feel bittersweet. When it comes to friends I don’t involve myself with the drama of the West Side goils, and instead find friends in odda places. Mouthpiece, Baby John, Kid Blink and Skittery from ‘Hattan, and a few from Brooklyn. Call me a tomboy, but I just can never understand why goils is so interested in gossip. Their jibber-jabber is way more strange than the boys’ jibber-jabber. And tonight it’s sad to say that hardly any of my friends will be here- or at least the ones that will talk with me. Maybe I can hang with Baby John while Mouthpiece continues to ignore my proposals.

“Nearly finished?” The principal walks up behind me.

I nod. “Yes, sir. I’m very glad that the Jets have been behaving.”

“I agree, though this time of year always makes me antsy. They always seem to slip Halloween pranks under my nose and I can never find out how! Thanks again for helping out with the setup.”

As the principal walks away I hold back a chuckle. No doubt the Jets have partnered with the Sharks to do something even bigger this year. Last time they dumped a bucket of pumpkin guts all over the teachers. Lord knows what’ll happen tonight.

“Diana! Ready to go?”

It’s Baby John, followed by his goil Jackie. Of course every decent guy I know already has a date, leaving me to be the lonely wallflower tonight.

I force a smile. “Sure am, Johnny. You and Jackie all set for the bash tonight?”

Jackie, Velma’s little sis, grins and nudges John’s shoulder. “You bet we are! We’re wearing matching costumes! What are you going as?”

“It’s a surprise,” I say simply, then add a smirk. “You’ll have to wait and see. Now let’s go!”

After I’ve walked home and set my heavy backpack down, my mother’s already buzzing up to me.

“Diana, dear! Did you ask him?”

I bite my lip and busy myself by washing my hands. “Yes.”

“And?” My mother waits on-edge.

This is what I get for being too open with my parents.

“He never said anything. I’m going alone.”

My mother sighs and pulls me in for a hug. “Dear, you shouldn’t be going alone to social gatherings. At your age you should be going on dates! Is there anyone else you’d like to ask?”

My anger starts boiling and I push away with the hint of a scowl on my face. “No, all the odda boys are already taken or too stupid! Now can we please talk about something odda than my depressing social life?”

Before she can respond I dash outta the kitchen and rush upstairs, shutting my bedroom door and collapsing in my desk chair. Just relax. Just because he doesn’t feel the same doesn’t mean your life is over. Time to get my costume on.

Once I’ve zipped up my sleek black dress and clipped on my crimson cape, I all but wrap my honey-colored hair up in tape in order to fit on the wig. Black heels complete the look, and after a touch of goth makeup I head downstairs where I find my father waiting.

“Oh no! A vampire! Don’t bite me!” he teases as I walk over to grab my coat. “Remember pumpkin, you don’t need to have a date to have a good time. The fun is all in how you chose to spend your time, so go have a happy Halloween!”

At least his pep talk is better than mother’s.

I allow a small smile and give him a hug goodbye. “Thanks, dad. I’ll see you later.”

As I walk back to the gym I see it’s gotten much darker, almost sunset. My costume seems to give me some much-needed confidence and it helps even more when the people I pass keep giving me odd looks. All the perks of being something scary. When I get to the gym it’s super crowded with various costumes, but hardly any of them are like mine. No one decided to be scary this year? Sad.

“Whoa! And who are you, good-look’n?” I hear Action ask behind me.

I turn and find he’s dressed as a pirate, and is also standing with Riff, Bernardo, and Mouthpiece, who recognizes me instantly. His eyes look as if they’re about to pop out.

“Diana? That’s you? Geez, that’s quite a getup!”

“Like it?” I ask, just a little bit shy.

He nods repeatedly. “Yeah! You’s always so- so…”

“So goody-two-shoes?” Grazi walks up dressed as a flapper goil and smirks at my outfit. “Bit goth, don’t ya think? You going to a funeral?”

I let her snappy insults wash right over me and decide to walk away to the concession table where Tony and Maria are standing, both dressed in homemade candy corn costumes.

“Hola, Diana! Please join us!” Maria beckons me over.

“Luv the costume!” Tony praises.

I smile and shrug. “Thanks, that means a lot. At least you guys think so. I just escaped the drama queen herself.”

Maria’s face scrunches up. “Oh, no. You can hide over here with us. Forget about Grazi.”

Tony nods. “Trust me, Diana. Nearly every guy here’s given you at least a second glaze since you came in.”

I bite my lip and look away. “I just wish Mouthpiece would notice. But all he ever does is act like I'm just any odda person, even though we’s been friends since kindergarten.”

Tony starts to say something, but then gets interrupted by Riff. He and Maria go off to join the odda Sharks and Jets, leaving me once again to be alone.

I sigh and mudda to myself. “I wish Spot or Blink were here…”

“Well they might not be, but you get the next-best thing!” A voice says from behind.

My eyes light up and I turn around to be met in a big hug. “Racetrack Higgins, you son-of-a-gun! You crashed the party?”

“I couldn’t miss a chance to see my brodda now, could I? Besides, you guys have way more fun dances than we do!”

Seeing the Manhattan boy gives me new-found joy, but that still doesn’t hide my previous feelings.

“So what’s got ya down, Di? You’s all dolled up in this gorgeous outfit and you’s off in the corner look’n sadder than the dead.”

I huff and roll my eyes. “With how people are here I might as well be dead. All my friends got dates except me. That and your brodda’s been putting me on the back burner.”

Race gets a distant look in his eye, then smirks. “Well see, that’s the thing with us… When there’s one-”

“The odda ain’t far behind!” Mouthpiece sneaks up and tickles my sides.

“Wait- you- Mouthpiece stop it!” I cackle as I try to squirm away. “Did you know Race was coming?”

Mouthpiece playfully shoves his twin brodda and they both laugh. “Can’t split us up all the time, can they? I tried to find ya but you’s off hiding over here!”

Race sneaks me a strange look with a gleam in his eye. “I think I’ll meet up with you two later. Right now I’s gonna go scam some punch.”

He walks off, and almost instantly Mouthpiece’s body language changes to be more stiff. As if I’ve got a contagious disease. How did things change this much?

“So, um… I haven’t seen ya around much.” That’s because you haven’t noticed! “How’s it been?”

It’s been saddening to see my friend get distant from me.

“I’ve been… ok. I see you’ve become good chums with the Sharks.”

He laughs and looks over at where the odda boys are talking. “Yeah, we’ve got a great prank planned for tonight! Wait ‘till you see it!”

Normally I’d share his enthusiasm, but I still can’t understand how he thinks ignoring me and then chatting it up is all fine and dandy.

“Great. Gonna be a blast, I bet. Um, I gotta go. Have fun tonight, Harvey.”

His real name. Mouthpiece knows I never use his real name.

I turn and hurry away to lose him in the giant mob of students, all previous thoughts of excitement and Halloween all forgotten. Of all nights why did it have to be during my favorite holiday? Unfortunately my dark outfit stands out like a sore thumb and Mouthpiece spots me before I get to the back door.

“Diana, wait!” He scoots out right behind me. “You avoiding me?” He talks in a joking manner, as if it’s nothing.

How is this fair?! “But that’s- It’s not-! Ugh! I can’t believe you can’t- Never mind!” I keep walking away into the streets bustling with trick-or-treaters, but he still follows.

“Wait, what’s wrong? What can’t I understand-?”

I lose what’s left of my little self-control and shove him against a lamppost. “I’m in luv with you, you stupid Jet! I’ve tried and tried to show you but every time you act as if I’m just a friend and will always be just a friend!”

His face flashes 50 different expressions, ending with an open-mouth flabbergasted look. “But… you’s never said anything before.”

“Just because I’m quiet don’t mean I don’t have something to say. But how would you even know if I did say something? You’ve been more distant than I have! Now unless you’re gonna be my friend again then please leave! Maybe I can squeeze in some trick-or-treating to help save what’s left of tonight…”

Just then, strong hands grab my hips and I’m turned to face Mouthpiece’s bright blue eyes.

“Say you won’t kill me-” My breath hitches as he leans in and presses a soft kiss on my cheek. “I never thought I was good enough… never wanted to put you in danger. But I never wanted to seem cold or distant to ya. I’m sorry, Di.”

I- I don’t know what to say, what to do- He’s felt this way the whole time? “H- How could you put me in danger?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“Because-a the Jets. After what happened with Tony and Maria I thought that I’d never find a goil who’d put up with me, what I get caught up in.”

I set a steady look and bring a hand up to his face. “I’m not afraid to get dangerous, Harvey. You know me better than to think I’d shy away from danger. And since you’s on good terms with the Sharks now there’s been no more rumbles! I’ll luv you no matter how crazy your life is. I just hope I’m enough to keep you happy.”

Mouthpiece hugs me closer and buries his face in my wig. “God, Diana. Is that even a question? I luv you so much it’s been so hard not to say anything. Will ya still take me?”

My fingers run through his blonde hair and take a deep breath. “You’re never too dangerous for me, Harvey Gonzales. I’m finally glad to know you luv me back! I’ve missed you.”

Mouthpiece leans away slightly and gently removes my wig. “I wanna see you, your own hair, your own face- the face of the goil I’s luved my whole life. And I wanna kiss you again.”

So he does. Deep and passionate, but nothing too fast so it’s not uncomfortable. It’s everything I’ve waited for!

“D- Don’t you have a prank to do?” I try to say in-between kisses.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d rather stay here with you.”

When we break apart to breathe, in the dizzying bliss I put my head on his shoulder and nip at his neck.

Mouthpiece chuckles. “Uh-oh, I got bit by a vampiress. The nicest, hottest vampiress I could ever deserve.”

I let his childish joke slide and hug him impossibly closer, letting out a happy sigh. “Good to have you back, Harvey.”

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starsscribble · 2 years

Text

AITA?

Fandom: DC Characters: Batfam

Like most people his age, Dick had heard of the ‘Am I The Asshole?’ page on Reddit. He has even seen some of the stories read on his Tik Tok fyp. He was no stranger to it. Yet he didn’t think he would be one of the people sharing his story on the subreddit. Yet here he was with a laptop in his living room. Pissed off girlfriend in their bed. The title to his post already written.

Am I the asshole for telling my girlfriend I won’t stop my sister from hugging me?

Let me start by saying I never thought I would end up posting here. But here we are. My gf (23) Abbie and I M (24) have been together for a year now. Abbie has met my family and they all seemed to get along. The problem started a day ago at my younger brother Ty's party. I don’t live too far from home but I’m also not close to visit as much as I would like. So I don’t get to see my siblings a lot. This is where the problem started. One of my younger sisters Y (18) is touch starved. And out of the family, I’m one of the few huggy ones. So when she was younger and I was home I'd hug her as much as I could. I still do this now even tho she has gotten better and more members of the family have helped over the time I’m gone. Unknown to me this was a problem with my girlfriend. When we get back to our place after the party she blew up at me. Telling me it’s weird that I hug Y so much. How Y is now an adult and needs to get over being touched starved. How people will think Y and I are together since we’re not real siblings.

I lost it at the comment about Y and I not being real siblings. I yelled at her. Told her that I won’t stop hugging my sister. And if she keeps pushing this I would end the relationship. She ended up locking herself in our room. Yesterday her friends messaged me calling me an asshole. Saying that it’s not much to ask to stop hugging Y. Today I got a message from Y telling me that she didn’t want to ruin my relationship and that she won’t hug me anymore. I know my sister and I know this had to hurt her to write.

When I brought up Y’s message to Abbie today she said she didn’t send any message to Y and it must have been one of her friends. But she was happy that Y was understanding of the situation enough to be an adult and back off. I told her Y didn’t need to back off. And we got into another fight. She once again locked herself in our room and refuses to open up. I’m getting messages from her friends again. And I just need some help and advice from people not in my life.

It was posted. Not only did he use a different account but he made sure the IP wasn’t anywhere near Gotham or Buldhaven. He made sure to cover his tracks. With all that done Dick laid down on his couch and tried to get some sleep for the coming day.

It was a quiet day. Arielle; his girlfriend, didn’t say a word to him. Not a good morning and not a goodbye. Total silence and he tried to speak with her. Tried to be civil. So he left for work. A normal day in the corrupted police force.

It was at lunch that he got a text from one of his siblings.

Tim : Ty really? You called me Ty.

Dick : What are you talking about.

Tim : The Reddit post. It wasn’t hard to figure out it was you who post it.

Dick sighed as he typed out his text messages. Of course, Tim figured it out. Dick had hoped that no one in the family checked that sub-Reddit.

Dick : Does anyone else know?

Tim : You mean does Y/n know?

Tim : No

Tim : Not yet anyways

Dick : Please I don’t want her to know. She already thinks she is messing up my relationship.

Tim : I will do my best.

When he was in the middle of his paperwork was when Jason texted him.

Jason: Really

Jason: A Reddit post.

Dick: Did Tim tell you?

Jason: No. I live for drama and Am I the Asshole is full of it.

Dick: Why am I surprised?

Jason: Idk. You shouldn’t be.

Jason: But this isn’t the point.

Jason: The point is. Y/n is going to see this.

Dick: She barely uses Reddit.

Jason: But not Tik Tok!

He sighed again. He didn’t think this was going to get as big as it had in his family. Closing his phone Dick set to finishing his paperwork and heading home.

On his way back home he received a text from Cass.

Cass: Break up with her.

Dick: Let me guess you saw the Reddit post.

Cass: No.

Cass: Arielle texted Y/n. Now she is upset.

Yet again he sighed. This whole thing had blown up and now he had to fix it.

Getting home Arielle was her normal happy self. She greeted him with a kiss, mentioning something about making his favorite meal. Setting all his things on the table he watched her for a bit before speaking up.

“I think we should break up.” There was no skirting around this. And he didn’t want to. Yes, Dick loved Arielle but he loved his family more. He loved you more. Because he still remembers the scared teenager who sunk into their first hug. Who loves her hair being ruffled. And doesn’t mind being used as an armrest at the Batfamily cave meeting.

“What?” Arielle's happiness dropped as she stared at him. “You’re joking, right? Right?” He wasn’t and he made it clear.

“You have a problem with-”

“All I’m asking is for her to stop touching you so much and you allowing it! People-”

“You mean the media! The media who know and understand that Y/n and I are siblings.”

“Well. I…” She huffed throwing the bowl in her hand onto the counter. “Get out.” She pointed to the door. Which threw Dick for a loop.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me get out!” Storming over to him she began to try and shove him out of the apartment. “You’re breaking out with me. Get out of my apartment!” Dick was quick to pull her away gently so as not to hurt her.

“This is my apartment. Not your.” He stated staring her down. She tried to match him but he didn’t work. She quickly looked away.

“It’s the least you can do. I don’t have a place to stay.”

“Then call a friend. I’m sure one of them will come.” With that, he walked out of the kitchen and away from her. He needed a shower in the worst way. Not only to remove the grim of the day but all the emotions that were brought with it.

Two days. That was all it was and Arielle was out of his life. Her friends gave him dirty looks as they helped her move. Whisper nasty words under their breath but he didn’t care. Once she was gone and he had the spare key back it was like a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he needed.

He went back to Gotham right after. Surprising everyone in the manor. Y/n shrank away from him but he quickly; and easily scooped her up in his arms.

“But you’re-”

“I broke up with her.” He cut her off. Setting you down. He could see the blaming of yourself start to form in your eyes. Hug you again tightly he spoke. “She wasn’t the right one. I don’t need someone in my life that doesn’t get why I would want to hug my sister.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He pulled away placing a kiss on your forehead. “You didn’t do this. It was her. Don’t blame yourself for something she did. Got it?”

“Ya,” you whispered out.

“What was that? I didn’t hear that.” He pocked your sides causing you to laugh. And try to get away from him.

“I said ya!”

#dc comics imagine #dc comics x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #nightwing #red hood #red hood imagine #Jason Todd #jason todd imagine #Red Robin #red robin imagine #Tim Drake #tim drake imagine #cassandra cain #cassandra cain imagine #batsibling

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brunoholmes · 4 months

Text

Deducing smoking and “vaping”

This is the result of my studies on smoking and vaping.

Smoking; is a problem we have been dealing with for numerous years now and vaping; is a new epidemic most appealing to the young.

They are both detrimental to our health.

But how do we as deductionists come to know whether a person smokes or vapes?

Sometimes it may be simpler, and sometimes more difficult.

Smoking

I think we can confidently say that this one is easier to deduce than the other.

The so-called “hard smokers” are the easiest to identify. They will have a yellowish stain on their fingernails. We can very easily notice the smell. Also if they have a moustache then it will also probably get discoloured. They also will probably have some lung problems and will cough quite a bit.

We can also agree that it is more popular among people of the older generations.

Vaping

This is the trickier one.

It is something of a trend among the youth. But there is no point in going in this direction. We’re here to know how to deduce whether someone vapes or not right? In this case, knowing why people vape(and smoke) can be vital for our deductions. Among the youth, it is mostly the outside pressure(their friends do it and make them do it too). They want to fit in, or they are in some cases forced to do it. When it comes to older people, it is a lot more often a reminiscence of the past(an addiction they “acquired” for example when they were younger), a way to deal with stress, or both. This is why most people do this.

Often e-cigarettes have certain flavours which we can smell. For example, we smell bubble gum but there seems to be no bubble gum anywhere near them and this can clue us in the direction that someone smokes.

Increased thirst is the second effect. People who vape often get a dry throat and with that comes an increased thirst for water.

Problems with concentration(in teenagers; I do not have data regarding adults).

Problems with breathing. They will have a harder time breathing than nonsmokers. For example, if someone is generally in good physical condition, but after some exercise(light to light-medium. One that shouldn’t make them tired and need to catch a breath) they would need to catch a breath.

They also experience the famous smoker’s cough.

Finally, we come to excitation, a state of arousal(surely seen in teenagers but probably also in adults) it most probably comes from the dopamine that gets released by the consumption of nicotine.

And lastly pain in the lungs.

So let's get it all together. Deducing that someone smokes normal, traditional cigarettes is easier. To infer that someone does it we just look for one or two of the tell-tale signs listed previously. When it comes to vaping though, it gets trickier. We need to focus more on them overall, getting the idea of their personality and their friend circle will surely prove helpful.

I hope that this was helpful. I am aware that there is a certain possibility that some of this information is not accurate, so I will update this post as I will gain new information.

-BH

#deduction #observation #deductive reasoning #sherlock holmes

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sins-and-wins-with-vix · 2 years

Text

Everything Right/Wrong with Ninjago “Legacy of the Green Ninja” E11: The Last Hope

Disclaimers: Show owned by LEGO. This is not a professional review/critique - it’s mainly intended for comedy!

Make sure to reblog, comment, and/or like! And tell me your thoughts!

- I think I might need to find a more creative way to win the intro each episode… ✅

- “I still have to battle my son…” “Battle, AND DEFEAT!” Well gee Overlord, thanks for the comfort /s ❌

- Actually, why does he bother with the whole “and defeat,” thing? His plan is to possess Garmadon’s body and fight from there, so he doesn’t have a reason to get so heated over the idea that Garm might not want to. ❌

- ^Screenshot exists solely for middle schoolers to thirst over ❌

- Zane dresses like my middle school PE teacher. Next thing I know he’ll be lecturing me about wearing open-toed shoes to class and correcting me on my attitude ❌

- Also, Jay didn’t bring extra underwear but he did bring beach attire? ❌

- “Are you trying to reveal our hidden location?” Yeah, there is no way it’s still hidden. ❌

- Cole does not apologize for almost murdering Zane’s pet ❌

- “They’re good, but they’re not that good.” “I know.” Get rekt

- “I’ll just need a little help.” Misako leads the ninja away from the group, for really no reason ❌

- I get they’re desperate, but none of them even bring up the question of what exactly happens if the Final Battle just… doesn’t. The writers are trying to establish destiny as it’s own force, then establish certain rules for it, and then show the characters acting in ways that contradict those rules, and there are effective ways to do that, but this just… isn’t it for me? I’m just really confused ❌

- “What good is an ultimate weapon if I’m not around to use it!” This is the 3rd time in the past 2 seasons that a villain has pretty much used this exact line ❌

- “Never doubt my evil again! Not if you wish to remain my ally when I rule!” Obviously, Garmadon was peak threatening villain in the pilots, and never really reaches that state again, but he never really needed to. Because of the way Garmadon’s written and meant to be perceived now, trying to throw him back into that mysterious/ominous “shadow king” role would never work at this point, and that’s okay! But even so, moments like this, even if it’s small, make his character for me in ways that I can’t even put into words. ✅

- “Tick tock, tick tock!” Zane quotes the title of his true potential episode, which would be a nice reference if it weren’t for the implication that Zane is aware of the recording, titling, and streaming of this particular day in his life, as well as that he seemingly has no problem with this massive breach of his privacy. ❌

- After seeing Misako, Garmadon self-consciously glances at his arms, because evil warlords can get insecure too, Margaret. ✅

- “I know you too well, Misako. Why did you allow yourself to get caught!?” Love a husband that just knows his wife’s a bad*ss ✅

- “Lloyd doesn’t want to fight?” I can assure you I am very normal about how Garmadon thinks his son hates him by now and am not emotional about this whatsoever ✅

- “It is our destiny… I don’t care about him!” 🚨Warning🚨 Your brain has now constructed a premise for an angsty oneshot that makes little sense in the canon timeline and that you will likely get attached to, but never actually write. Proceed with caution! ⚠️ ✅

- “Then you’re not the man I married. I should go…” Misako looks surprised when Garmadon stops her, meaning she was ready to abandon the entire plan and just walk out, no helmet at all. ❌

- Cole has super strength, so why would he take this much damage from a few barrels? And shouldn’t said barrels be moving much more than they are? ❌

- “Being evil these days is really unappreciated!” Garmadon is an advocate for villain appreciation ✅

- I get that the Stone Warriors have built like a hundred vehicles by this point, but it still catches me off guard that they have an alarm system for the helmet in the middle of a previously uninhabited island ❌

- Kai just got punched square in the face with the hand of a giant metal samurai mech - how is he still talking right now??? ❌

- “Well we better think of something quick cuz… I’m out of lines!” ✅

- Look, I could handle it when it was just one-off clips, but I’m supposed to take Garmadon seriously when he spends over half the episode with this awful f*cking hair ❌

- If we compare how long Jay wears the helmet to how long Dareth wears the helmet later on, then either Jay should have control of the army by now, or the Stone Army don’t later listen to Dareth because of the helmet, but because they just genuinely respect him and his authority. Either way it’s a sin ❌

- “I finally have you ninja in the palm of my hand!” “LET THEM GO!” F*CK YEAH, GREEN BEAN- er, I mean, I’m not invested in this at all ✅

- “Holy cannoli! Lloyd and Garmadon in a face-off! Take the shot, Lloyd!” “He’s vulnerable!” “Do not hesitate!” “Strike now!” I love this! They’re coaching him through this because, even though they know they can’t help him in the Final Battle, they still wanna help him and coach him through the best they can because he’s their little brother and they’re not gonna leave him alone! (Side question: do any of you actually read when I go into little rants like this or are you just used to scrolling past them lmao) ✅

- AND LLOYD LOOKS BACK AS THEY’RE TALKING BECAUSE HE HEARS THEM AND HE KNOWS WHAT HE HAS TO DO ✅

- “I’m sorry, father, but you leave me no choice. It is our destiny.” AND HIS VOICE IS SO DRY AND DETACHED AS HE SPEAKS ✅

- AND GARMADON JUST STANDS IN DEFEAT AS LLOYD’S RESOLVE SLOWLY GIVES AND HE JUST CAN’T DO IT ✅

- “Wow, this clock is a mechanical masterpiece!” Yeah, and a toy set no one is brave enough to build ❌

- Cole climbs up this entire clock to reach the helmet while everyone else just stands and stares ❌

- You’d think these highly trained, athletic ninja would be better at catching ❌

- See, I just couldn’t possibly understand why people are so insistent that Kai and Nya need more sibling moments. Look, they hugged right here! It was shown for a whole 1 second! What more could you want? Sweet moments? Acknowledgment of the almost parent-like role Kai tends to take over Nya? Anything beyond the occasional comment that they are, in fact, siblings? I just think you’re being needy /s ❌

- “It’s just the way the cookie crumbled.” This line hits a little different after Seabound, doesn’t it?

- Also, the Stone Army kidnaps Nya, and Kozu says “or what? You’ll make a big splash?” A Big Splash is the title of the first episode of Seabound, and then right after we get the cookie crumbles line… This is quite a few coincidences at one time.

- ^ Obsessed with the fact that Jay was about to deck Cole ✅

- ^ and now he’s just laying on top of him ✅

- “Come on, Lloyd. Let’s go home. You’ll get your chance.” I think you’re missing the point, Wu. He doesn’t WANT his chance. ❌

- “I give you… Garmatron!” The Overlord got his naming skills from Dr. Doofenshmirtz ❌

- “It’s more beautiful than I could ever imagine!” In all the time the Stone soldiers were building this, did Garmadon never go to look at it? ❌

Sentence: Emotional damage

#ninjago sins/wins #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #ninjago kai #Ninjago zane #ninjago cole #Ninjago jay #Ninjago nya

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concealeddarkness13 · 2 years

Text

Fictober Days 6, 26, and 29

I did all three prompts in one scene, so I hope that’s ok!

This is original fiction from a new story that I haven’t talked about! So, there is a decent amount of exposition.

Content warning for language and mentions of past violence.

Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, and @drabbleitout!

“You love this, don’t you?”

I glanced over at the AI made from nanotech as he peeled partially off my shoulder and stared at me with as much indignance as his nanoparticles could. I had affectionately named him Steve, and he had agreed to the name. The nanotech was at my right shoulder. During a job gone wrong, I had a bad run in with a chainsaw, and my arm would have normally had to be amputated, but the nanotech held the arm and joint together and kept bacteria away from it. It also gave me a nice little AI who snitched on me whenever I used my magic to escape the holding facility. Yeah, I was stealing from a rich asshole’s residence, and of course, I had to go to the same place that someone was planning on assassinating the same rich asshole. And I didn’t get out in time to avoid the chainsaw or the cops. The cops weren’t terrible, honestly. They actually cared about people, but that meant they decided to send me to a place that was supposed to help me, but guess what? I fucking loved being a thief, so that place wasn’t helping at all.

I stood up from the rooftop that my portal had spit me out on. I had magic that allowed me to make portals. The only problem was I couldn’t control where I’d go if I tried a faraway jump, so I had no damn clue where I was. “Could you tell me where I am, since you totally already told the cops?”

Steve sat on my shoulder with a metallic huff. “I shouldn’t.” He paused dramatically, as he always did before smiling over at me. “But okay. I’ll tell you all about this place.”

I jumped off the roof and used a portal to jump into one of the buildings. It was quiet as I searched for a map. Steve started talking. “This city is called Fioria. It’s a couple countries over, so they won’t be finding you for a few hours at least. It is the capital of Shergin, and an important battle happened here just a few years ago. Shisto tried to conquer the country, and they got close, but the people of Fioria prayed to Fayr, and she responded and sent a malice after them, engulfing whoever wasn’t fast enough.” I glanced at him, and he stammered. “W-well, that’s what happened if you believe in the gods. For skeptics, it was probably more of a pandemic, and that’s why everyone is forcing a quarantine on Shisto.” He pouted a little. He was such a romantic. “If it was a pandemic, wouldn’t that mean everyone in that country is now dying? At least in my first idea, the malice stopped once the invading army left.”

“Then why is everyone enforcing a quarantine on Shisto? It’s not just because of the war.”

“Then everyone’s dying!”

I shrugged. “That fucking sucks. But I can’t believe those posturing bastards in that shining tower are actually gods.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. I didn’t need a map anymore, but I needed a good place to hide. Steve only sent them what city I was in. Might as well see how long it took before they found me. “Anything else I need to know about Fioria?”

“Oh! There’s an entrance to Arcadia here, close to this building, actually.” I hissed and walked back outside, looking around for the shining building and going the opposite direction. “I know you told me to tell you when there’s an entrance. But why?”

“No comment.” I looked around and found…the perfect place to hide and get some goods. A rich bastard’s home. If I stayed undetected, they wouldn’t let any cops barge into their home. Perfect.

Steve noticed where I was looking. “You are not going into a similar place to where you almost lost your arm.”

I grinned. “Of course. I’m doing it, shut up.”

He separated his whole form into his individual nanoparticles with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re so gonna get killed this time.”

“Nope.” I stomped my foot for the dramatic flair, and a portal appeared at my feet. I fell into a room that was rarely used and started searching around for goodies to steal. This was great! A quiet mansion with plenty of shit to steal! I could stay here for days, and no one would probably even notice me.

Steve stayed quiet to keep from alerting anyone, but there was no one around. I kept snooping around, stealing whatever I wanted for a few hours. Steve perked up and whispered, “They’re here.” I nodded and kept going, now looking for a place to hide.

Until I opened a door and a fucking shrine stared back at me. I froze at the depictions of the gods, my eyes falling on a particular one before I finally was able to move and immediately sent a portal up to the roof to get out of this fucking house.

Of course, that was right as the cops flew over the house. So, they definitely saw me. Fuck.

Steve glanced over at me as I sprinted across the rooftop, having to wait a few minutes until I could make another portal. The hovercraft flew right behind me, and I heard some stomping boots following me, so they were going on foot as well. Probably Jyn and Histi. They both loved the chase as much as I did.

And a smile was pulling at my lips as I jumped off the roof and into a portal, closing it before they could follow. I was now in the crowded market, and I slipped accessories away from people, and I even stole a jacket from a vendor and put it on, slipping through the crowd and hiding comfortably in them. The hovercraft flew overhead, and their footsteps followed. The hovercraft was scanning for me.

I whistled, and Steve sent some nanoparticles to cover my face as if he was a facemask to help stop facial recognition scanners. I kept walking, keeping my head down, but as I still kept aware of my surroundings, I realized that Histi was ahead of me, and Jyn was behind, and there was nowhere to go, so I made a small portal, but before I could fall all the way through and close it, Jyn grabbed my hand and fell through too. We ended up in a small area with cover from the sky, but he just smiled and kept hold of my hand. And I didn’t have the motivation to try to shake him off.

He laughed, his scarred face looking a lot less menacing with the smile. “Adaptable, I like that. Especially that trick with your AI. He must really like you.”

I sighed as Steve retreated back to his spot, and I couldn’t help but smile. If I was just always going to be caught anyway, at least I could keep trying to fool Jyn and Histi. They were fun, and I actually really liked them. “Fine. You caught me again.”

Histi ran up with a sigh. “You really had to go to the most difficult to get to spot?”

I grinned at her. “Of course! I have to make it at least a little hard for you. Can’t make it easy.”

Jyn laughed and ruffled my hair. “You gotta go back there, though. They’re trying to help, you know that, right?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a lot of stuffy people trying to tell me that they’ll make sure I won’t have to steal anymore. And that would be nice if I was stealing because I needed to, but I don’t need to, so there’s no reason to waste a spot on me.”

Histi even laughed at that, and Jyn shrugged. “We don’t make the rules. Since we’re here, I’ll buy you a snack first. They’ll probably lecture you for a while once we get back.”

#fictober 22 #writeblr #I don't even know the main character's name yet

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 1 year

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Why Do Acephobic Jerks Bring Out My Dark Side...

[Note: do NOT reblog without permission, also some of this will be mature talk, such as the type of people who believe “r*pe” fixes someone, but really it doesn’t and does more harm than good........this isn’t for little kids, and the tags will have “mature audience only” and “not for kids” along with other mature tags. also no one has to read this post, as it is optional....so only read this post if you want to.]

there is nothing wrong with being Ace or Aceflux, and even when I do flux some humans will still have a problem with my being Aceflux.

Toxic-Humans who seem to have a problem with Aces

and some who even agree to that "corrective r***" are going to be not attractive to me...

and those who do the corrective r*** might end up going to hell, and shouldn't even go to heaven.

even if other Earth Angels might disagree with me on that, but if some who are Acephobic cross that so called "corrective r***" line....then they should be punished for it.

I will NEVER forgive toxic-humans that think it's okay to do such a disgusting thing...

and there is some Aces that can be Bi, Vincian, Lesbian, Sapphic, Achillean, Enbian and Heteroromantic.

and it isn't right for both sides to try to force Aces to be interest in s*x in the same way that Heterosexuals or some who in the LGBT.

like one side saying that all Aces are Straight while the other says that all Aces are Gay......FYI, some Aces will be romantically attracted to the opposite gender or the same gender or both, not all Aces are gonna be the same.

and even if I do know that not all people in the LGBT are jerks to Aces, I still would rather be a part of LGBTQIA.....

this is because of the jerks in LGBT who don't seem to want Aces to be part of them and say that all Aces are straight, and while some Aces are Heteroromantic-Ace or Heteroromantic-Aceflux, this isn't the case for all Aces...

plus I can be Aroaceflux and have another romantic identity added to it, meaning I wouldn't just be Aromantic-Flux....even though I know that I wasn't always Aromantic or Aroflux...

but that can be said for many who don't always start out as Aromantic but might become one later on...

I have had crushes before, and I even fell for the wrong type of guys, who I now know weren't the right type for me, and might of not really loved me for me....and I was a fool to trust them with my heart.

and besides being Aroaceflux, I know that I am a type of energy empath, and it might be possible that I have been picking up "lustful energies" that were not my own that would cause me to feel....

well let's say "turn on"....so I have another reason to wear my gem bracelets, besides the other reasons I wear them....

it is also to protect me from picking up those type of energies from people, that can fly around the air and end up in my space and cause me to feel it. besides those types of energies causing well that "switch".....

it might be possible that those energies can also cause seizures in children, some energies could be dangerous for babies and children who are empath, and if there is like too many people in a very big room, then the energies of those people will cause a overload to the body when the energy of those people end up being absorbed.

like even if you are minding your own business, and if you had seizures that aren't really the normal type, then you might end up having your body absorbing the energies of others that end up around the air.

some seizures will be energy based, and even if doctors try to solve the problem the same way they do with the seizures that don't happen because of energies....

they will only end up doing more harm than good and causing those who have energy based seizures own bodies to become addicted to the medicine....

I have learned that the best medicine for me, was moving away from the town that most of my seizures had happen in, because since moving to the town I live at now, I haven't had a seizure since, which I think might have to do with most of the places in the other town I had lived at before, had some bad energies in it.

it might not make sense to some, but not all seizures will be the type that will need the medicine, but even those who have energy based seizures will still be stuck taking it...

so far I'm the only Aroaceflux who has figured out they are a type of Empath and made sure to protect myself from other people's energies....

if I'm gonna feel any form of being "turn on" I rather it be on my body's terms when it flux to that, and not because of outside energy that belongs to someone else.

if I had to pick a song that fits the foolishness on how some humans who put down other humans for being Ace or Aceflux....

it would be "You'll Never Win My Love" by Jem & The Holograms.

if I was ever harmed in that disgusting "corrective" way, and my big brother ever found out......it is possible he would beat the inhuman filth who would dare harm me in that way. even if we might not agree with each other at times, but I'm still his baby sister (I can still use the word "sister" because I'm a Enbirl...)

and if he found out that one of those sickos had deflowered me without me being okay with it.....then he would likely punch them and beat them senseless. but I rather him not cross the line when beating them up, even if they deserve the beating, I don't want him to cross a line.

if those sickos keep going down that disgusting path, then what will be waiting for them will be a very mad parent or sibling who will beat them up. and if it weren't for the fact I'm also using my gem bracelets as sealing charms and limiters....

I would possibly go "Alessa Gillespie" on those sickos...

I love Silent Hill....I hope there will be a third movie someday. I still haven't beat the Silent Hill games I have, I know I'm stuck on some parts of the one where you play as Heather.

one of the reasons why I decided to use my gem bracelets as sealing charms and limiters, so I don't end up like Alessa Gillespie or Carrie White....

even if there are some people who are Acephobic, at least some of them know not to cross that disgusting line to try to “fix” someone.

that isn’t love, that is a heartless and loveless action that will only end up hurting the person, possibly both mentally and emotionally.

that isn’t “fixing” someone, that is breaking them to the point where they might never be the same again, and would probably have to therapy to talk about the trauma that was done to them.

it isn’t right and it sucks that humans like that can both trigger and bring out a dark side of myself.

maybe the song that would match me when having to put up with Acephobic jerks, would be “Never Fall In Love Again” by Evan Rachel Wood.

“they can’t tell me what’s all about, cause I been there and I’m glad I’m out.”

and if I give my heart to someone who’s Acephobic, my heart is likely to shatter.

also is it weird to have thoughts of wanting to punch both Asmodeus and Raphael...?

I have my reasons of wanting to punch and or slap those two....

I’m still gonna have Raphael on that restraining order, he is still not allowed near me, like we could be in the same house and he could be in the other room, but he isn’t allowed to come too close to me.

and yes I had prayed for that restraining order, why I had to do it, I don’t want to explain about it right now...but I will say this, if it is true that Raphael has a pranking side to himself, he needs to learn there is a time and place for that.

and well, Asmodeus just confuses me, and yes I know he is suppose to be the embodiment of lust, but that ain’t what is confusing me.

maybe I can talk about the confusing thing with Asmodeus another time...

but I don’t think I will ever truly understand or accept Acephobia.

or why some humans think it’s okay to do that disgusting “fix” and think it is a good thing when it isn’t, it is loveless and heartless and will only do more harm than good.

maybe it be best to try not to let those Acephobic jerks as well as those who do that whole stupid “fix” thing, get to me.

maybe talking about this once in a while in maybe a much calmer way might be good at times, but not all the time, maybe only once in a while.

I don’t think I was in a calm mood when first getting some of the feelings out about those who r*pe just to, well you know....but it isn’t okay no matter if it’s that stupid disgusting “fixing” or the other...

I know my family wouldn’t cross that disgusting line, even if I know they might not understand why I’m Aroaceflux, and might not know there will be some Aces who will be Heteroromantic and not all Aces will be the same.

I still can’t talk to them about it, I did want to come out as Aceflux, but like I said before, I wanted to get my family’s thoughts on Asexuality first before I came out.

like I said the other few times when I told this story, it didn’t turn out well, and I had to act like the talk wasn’t about me, and once I was in my room I let myself cry.

sometimes you can’t come out to your family, and that is the case with me.

I don’t think my family are like those Acephobic jerks and some of who end up crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

I wonder if I talked to my big brother about it, would he accept me for being Aroaceflux...?

maybe I can ask him to promise not to tell anyone else in our family about it.

weird, for some reason right now, tears started to come out of my eyes...

maybe a part of me is worried that he might not accept me being Aroaceflux either.

I don’t know, but maybe if I try to do some stuff to take my mind off of it.

maybe it is possible to build up a immunity to some energies if your a energy empath, I’m not sure....I will have to look it up and see if it is possible.

I’m still gonna wear my gem bracelets when I sleep, to protect me for outside energies, and because of certain reasons I can’t use my dream-catcher for a while, I will still use one of my other gems as a alternative.

maybe after I check out a few arts on here, and then go and read, I can try to do some meditation, or maybe play some video games....

then again, maybe I can just check a few arts on here, read a little bit and then go to bed early....cause I just want to lay down and try to relax and not think about how stupid some toxic-humans are.

I hope some can understand my thoughts and feelings, and it doesn’t get misinterpreted.

no sane person would be okay with that sick and twisted thing that goes on.

even if you could write some mature fan fic or write a movie or video game with that kind of thing in it, but at least have the sicko get the karma where their actions have consequences.

I would feel safer with The Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel, than dangerous Acephobic Humans....yeah a Defective Earth Angel feeling more safer around a someone like Alastor, makes you question half of humanity that make up half of Omnimanity....

Alastor is still funny though, he’s dangerous but funny.

also I know I don’t know many empaths, and I didn’t even know I was one before when I kept having seizures in the places where I use to live before living in the town I live at now, because for some reason they stop all together.

I don’t think my family believes me or takes me seriously about my talking about that my seizures might be energy based.

heck, even I know that some who read this, wont take it seriously and only maybe a small half will and understand that not all seizures will be the same.

plus it’s like you can write mature stuff in some fan fic, like some stuff that is “snu-snu” implied but not really feel anything towards it.

I guess that might be confusing to some, but it’s like if you think about a mature scene from like one of the Deadpool Movies, but you don’t really feel anything about the scene...maybe some who read this might get what I’m trying to say.

or like if you think about the mature private time scenes in Mass Effect video game, where Shepard ends up having well “snu-snu” with one of the love interests, and you might end up finding yourself not really feeling anything towards it, like you know in the s*xual way....

maybe some will understand what I mean, and some might be considered lucky to not have their body go through well feeling “turn on” out of the blue, and finding out it is because half the time it isn’t you, it’s someone’s energy going through the air and your just ending up absorbing it.

and yeah, some people get some things wrong about that type of energy empath thing...

I mean, you don’t have to make physical contact for it to happen.

and I’m not sure if gem protection will work for everyone, and then there is the possibility you will still be valuable when you go to sleep.

and maybe I’m not the only one who gets all “dark side” when it comes to humans who are Acephobic or like thinking that their way of “fixing” solves everything, what they are doing is making some real life human less attractive.

and is it weird to have thoughts that Acephobics are possibly gonna be the reasons why I don’t want to fall in love.

like maybe some might have those thoughts, I don’t know...

but I know that some who are Acephobic, just don’t care or understand.

they will possibly keep thinking that s*x is more important or like only being s*xually attracted to someone...well it sure seems that way.

it’s like “oh you should be really into s*x” or like “hey, why aren’t you into s*x, maybe you should try it.” or them being all “you just need to do it.”

DON’T FREAKING TELL ME TO DO IT JUST BECAUSE YOU PUT IT AS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE THE FEELING THAT SHOULD BE IN THE HEART, I AM NOT GONNA DO IT BECAUSE YOU ACEPHOBIC JERKS THINK IT’S MORE IMPORTANT THAN IT BEING BALANCED OUT WITH THE HEART FEELING!

sorry everyone, but with how some Acephobic people are, they are basically acting high on s*x and they are kind of making it seem that is the only thing that is important.

I can’t be the only one who views it that way, because it really does seem that some humans thinks s*x is more important and some who are Ace or Aceflux are just something alien to them, and they just assume that all Aces are straight or gay, not all Aces will be the same and we know that it will be the Toxic-Straights who will be the ones who believe that all Aces are Gay, same goes for some who are in LGBT who believe all Aces are straight.

I know that not everyone in LGBT are jerks to Aces, there are some good people in LGBT who aren’t insensitive jerks to those who are Ace.

and I don’t want there to be a misunderstanding with the good people in LGBT, and I hope they understand why I would rather be part of LGBTQIA, because at least in the Multi-A in it, the Ace is included in a fair way, right...?

I’m still not sure if I am Intersex, even if I have suspected it but I am really not sure anymore, there are different types of Intersex, and not all will be noticeable after you are born.

I know that the “I” in LGBTQIA, stands for Intersex.

if there was a blood test I could do, that can show me if I’m Intersex or not, that would be great.

I mean they have that home blood test, that let’s you see what your blood type is, why can’t there be one where it can tell you if your Intersex or not.

and I can’t talk to my family about it, and it’s not likely I can get a doctor to help with it.

and there are reasons why I suspected that I might be Intersex, but maybe I’m not.

maybe I shouldn’t worry about it right now, I’m still unsure about it.

anyway, I hope some you understand why some humans who do that disgusting stuff and half of them might be acephobic, peeve me off.

maybe whenever people like that peeve me off, I should try to do stuff that calms me and helps me relax, like maybe listening to some music and reading, and saving playing video games with fighting in it for later.

I can’t help but love using the bat in Fallout 4, and I was finally able to upgrade one of the bats.

it does seem the bat gets a bit more powerful when you upgrade it in the game.

anyway I’m just gonna go and check out a few arts on here, and then maybe in the next post, I can talk about some fun stuff like fan theories about a show or movie or video game or book series.

#r*pe mention #acephobic #acephobes fuck off #deflowering #aroaceflux #empath #may be triggering #dark side #mature audiences only #mature warning #not for kids #do not reblog without permission

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appleduna · 2 years

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We Hunt The Flame and accidental homophobia- a small rambling essay

BIG SPOILERS FOR WE HUNT THE FLAME//

Queerbaiting is a term that kinda varies on meaning from person to person. Personally I think it has a couple meanings, but the one that matters today is bait and switch. This is for all intents and purposes having a queer-coded character than punishing the reader for interpreting them like that. Benefiting from the queer aesthetic and not following through.

So anyways I recently read a book called We Hunt the Flame by Hafsah Faizal. It was pretty good, not amazing, but good. And people really like this book. For good reason, I think it’s much better than other novels of its genre.

The problem I have with this novel is pretty small but to me emblematic of a trend in YA Scifi and Fantasy, and that’s queerbaiting/sidelining. You might ask where is this book even remotely queer and I’ll answer that by introducing you to our main problem- Altair.

Altair throughout the novel is a classic YA archetype- the funny man who’s got a hidden badass side, and FUCKS. So basically a sexy crouching moron hidden badass. I usually am not a fan of these characters despite them often being the best in their series. Examples of this character are- Jesper Fahey, and Kenji Kishimoto. (And let's be clear Jesper is a good example of this trope) They usually steal the show away from the other characters by virtue of being more interesting than most of the other characters. And also they’re usually bi-coded.

Maybe it’s cause people associate biseuxal people with a sorta funnyman attitude which is sourced from homophobic tropes but we’re not getting into that today. The problem I have is not following through with this coding.

One of my least favorite thing straight authors pull is the one-off line that this character is queer, and never elaborating on it outside of maybe a line at the end of this character actually doing something queer. This is tokenizing. I shouldn’t have to explain why- but here we go- They’re benefiting off of the reader thinking ‘oh theres a queer character so this book is progressive, and the authors not homophobic But never actually doing anything with that character, they don’t show this character being queer, they don’t have to do the hard thing and research what queer people are like, what being queer is like, what coming out is like. They don’t have to work, and that show’s a lack of giving a shit.

I’m so desensitized to this that I give straight authors a pass when they pull this stuff cause frankly I’m not gonna have every review ranting on why ya book no.45 is homophobic.

But We Hunt the Flame somehow makes it worse, and taints an otherwise good book.

...

So lets get to it.

Altair is a general, and the Sultan wants him dead, that’s most of what we know about him at first. But we do know that Altair is the closest thing the male love interest has to a friend. And throughout the book they’re kind of a dynamic duo. They chat and banter, and Altair forces him out of his comfort zone more than most of the other characters, cause he’s the only one with that close of a relationship with him. This is kinda required, since the main character has no interest in either of them, seeing as they ‘killed’ her closest friend. And for Nasir to become an attainable love interest for the MC, he needs to be socially loosened up. This is fine, I see the narrative purpose and I actually think it makes both characters better. But here’s the problem- Altair flirts with Nasir very openly, and very brazenly. Which is a normal thing for YA books who employ these tropes. Besides the fact that they have more chemistry than the MC and Nasir, there’s no problem.

Until the reveal.

So YA fantasy tends to feel the need to have huge twists at the end of the story, that changes everything! (except they usually don’t) and dishearten the characters (except when they don’t) and recontextualize the whole story! (except when they don’t) And We Hunt the Flame is no stranger to this.

The Twist?

Altair and Nasir are half brothers.

So any of yall read Cassandra Cla-

I hope I don’t have to explain why this is homophobic but I will cause I LOVE writing this all out

Faizal uses Altair’s flirting to show off a piece of his character, to show him as a funnyman who everyone gets along with. They show it off to show that Altair is not afraid of Nasir, and see’s him as a human being. All of this buildup, the tension, the dynamic, the friendship of Altair and Nasir are at least a little bit romantic coded- and what Faizal does is punish the reader for thinking this. She punishes them by making them brothers. She benefits from the setup, from the characterization that their queerness brings and then slaps away any queer interpretation of these characters pretty soundly.

(Seriously I have no clue why someone would have characters who are sibling have any sort of romantic/sexual comments to eachother UNLESS they’re Cassandra Cla-)

It’s a showcase that these tropes are not only harmful but not productive for your story. Faizal shoots herself in the foot for this one, because her decision to tokenize Altair’s bisexuality, to use it as a joke, ends up with her either looking like she either supports incest, or is homophobic. SHE’S NOT EITHER (I hope) But it makes her look that way, and that’s a shame. It’s plainly just bad writing. Cause there’s a very simple solution to these problems- remove the lines, or remove their brotherhood, and it’s suddenly not homophobic, this bait and switch only makes the novel worse.

And once again, I am not accusing Hafsah Faizal of homophobia, or anything else, I think this is a problem with the YA Fantasy in general. But I want to hold her accountable for this. I don’t know why other’s haven’t mentioned this before, but it needs mentioned.

#we hunt the flame #bookblr #criticism #small little essay #booktok #booktwt #hafsah faizal #sands of arawiya #altair #whtf #queerbaiting #homophobia #spoilers

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howtoliveinparis · 1 year

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“He Never Hit Me”

I saw this article from Anna Kendrick in the LA Times. She discusses her new movie and how personal it was to her because she was in an abusive relationship. I’ve always liked Anna, even if she’s definitely a theater kid (eager). If you took theater you know what I mean. That's also kind of what make it so shocking. Even Anna Kendrick can be a survivor of abuse.

I’m just going to paraphrase the article because it’s a bit of a read. I have not yet seen the film (it hasn't been widely released). From what it sounds like it may be a modern day Gaslight. Cukor! Bergman! If you have never seen Gaslight, go watch it as soon as you finish this article. You will not be disappointed.

What I found interesting was Kendrick, not just admitting that she was abused, but describing how it felt being in a non-traditional abusive relationship. "Watching movies while in her own abusive relationship and never recognizing her own experience, which made her question whether it was just normal" is something I know I’ve done. It really weighs heavy on your mind. It causes a lot of problems that make it harder for you to come to terms with it.

She further explains “Well he never hit me and I’m not really afraid that he’s going to hit me. How do I discern between normal conflict and abuse? ’”. I think every woman can relate. Society gaslights us into accepting so many things that are actually abusive behaviors or things that’s we shouldn’t accept. “Kendrick discussed how living in an abusive relationship creates so much self-doubt that people question their own reality. She describes it as, “He’s so convinced that I am a monster that I can’t see how I am not.” I did this a lot after my relationship ended. I still do it.

How many people have been there? 🙋🏻‍♀️ I have an entire stream of consciousness blog post (during my mourning period), where I’m trying to come to terms with it. 'He never hit me, but…' how many women say that? Just asking ourselves that invalidates and diminishes our experiences. “In society, physical abuse is very clearly defined as an evil, and I think psychological and emotional abuse, even for those who have suffered it, can sometimes question whether it’s a real thing.” Until you’re being forced to question reality and your experiences I don’t think one can really know just how taxing that is mentally and how it degrades any work that you can do on yourself.

“Simon [the abusive boyfriend] genuinely believes himself to be the victim.” When people ask “Did he hit you?”. Well no, but. My ex Christian was the same. He tried to DARVO me, and this caused a lot of anguish because I started thinking if I hurt him, I’m sorry for hurting him because I love him, and I never want to hurt him, I must be an awful person because I caused him pain. And this thinking was just one long spiral, never ending. I still go through it.

Of course that’s the key difference isn’t it? Taking responsibility and accountability, feeling shame, being in pain at the thought of hurting them. Having those thoughts creep into your mind almost daily and feeling constant remorse.

But that’s what makes you a good person. Because the abuser doesn’t feel any of that. The abuser is only a victim in all of it. The abuser pretends they didn’t do anything wrong. Abusers never do anything wrong. They’re perfect. Nothing is ever their fault.

I’m really happy women are able to share these stories, and most importantly to share these stories publicly. It makes me feel less alone and makes me feel like my experience is validated. And because we have each other, and each other’s stories, we can form a protective bubble around each other, and advise each other, and in that we get the courage to stop accepting it. If you would like to know about safe spaces please feel free to message me. There are numerous private groups where you can hear from other women, share your story, and find people who understand what you’ve gone through or what you are going through.

I know it’s heavy subject matter, the film itself looks a bit suffocating, but it helps me to see my story from other women. In turn I hope my story helps others. And I hope this movie does the same.

“Alice, Darling” releases on January 20th.

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la-la-land-ideas · 9 months

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Andy and Luc

Andy was stressed beyond belief, I could see it written all over her face. Her husband had just called and said he was out of town on business, AGAIN. She has expressed to me in the past how lonely she gets, so I knew she was feeling the same now.

A piece of her hair falls from her messy ponytail to cover her face; I resist the urge to tuck it back into place.

She looks up at me with a shy smile and says “sorry, this time is supposed to be about you, not me.”

I shrug and offer a comforting smile, “it’s ok, it’s normal to be frustrated in this situation. We only have 10 minutes left, I can leave if you need a few minutes.”

She frowns slightly, “that isn’t very professional on my end.” She glanced at her watch, “but I do have some paperwork to get done. So if you don’t mind…”

“Not a problem at all,” I reply.

We both stand up at the same time. “I’ll walk you out,” she says, leading the way toward the door.

It’s only a few steps, but I stop closely next to her and look in her eyes, “you’ll be ok, you’re strong, and also it’s ok to feel frustrated.”

She blinks back at me, nods her head just the slightest bit and offers a weak smile. I take a step toward the door, but feel her hand gently grab my arm to stop me. She closes the door, still holding on to my arm. Then she kisses me. I’m surprised but it feels so electric.

Almost immediately she pulls back, letting go of my arm, not looking at me, a few more strands of her hair falling over her face. “I shouldn’t, have done that, I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

I softly reply “it’s ok, I understand.” I don’t touch her but try to read her face for what might happen next.

She shyly looks up at me, still hiding behind her hair. I have a smirk on my face, and I ask “do you want to do it again?”

She pauses for a moment, then grabs my face with both hands and kisses me deeply. My hands find her waist and gently pull her toward me, afraid she is going to pull back again at any moment. This kiss is softer, with less urgency, but much more longing. The electricity is still simmering on my lips, but it isn’t quite as sharp as before.

After a long moment, she slowly pulls away, but keeps her hands on my face. I loosen my grip slightly to give her some space. “Are you sure?” she asks.

I smirk again, “I have been wanting this for a long time, Andy.”

She genuinely smiles at this. I brush her hair out of her face and carefully let my hand fall down her face and leg is rest on her should. I can see the longing on her face; she wants me bad, and I must oblige.

All of a sudden, she pushes me against the wall and kisses me with a fervor not present before. I grab her waist, harder this time, and pull her close to me. Her hands are in my hair, my hand snakes under her shirt to feel her back, she shivers slightly and let’s put a small moan, almost too soft to hear. I smile as I keep kissing her, knowing I am making her moan. I reach up and feel the back of her bra, wanting to undo it so badly, but not wanting to rush into things, not knowing how far she wants to go.

I briefly pause the kiss and she immediately moved to my ear. Holy fuck, I think, as a tingle runs down my neck. I whisper, “can I take your bra off?” She continues kissing my ear and whispers, “and the shirt too.” Oh my god, I am ecstatic.

I undo the clasp on the bra and let it fall open, then I reach for the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head. The bra falls off with the shirt, she is forced to stop kissing me. I look down at her and damn she is even more beautiful than I ever knew. She gently guides my hands to her breasts. I am practically drooling. Her nipples are already rock hard. I begin to caress them while still staring in awe.

I manage to mumble, “you are beautiful.” She gives a small laugh, then says, “your turn.”

I hesitate. She knows my gender identity, but I don’t know what she wants me to be in this situation. I look away and say, “I don’t mind taking the shirt off, but I want to keep my binder on.”

She smiles, “not a problem,” and swiftly grabs my shirt and pulls it off of me. I feel self conscious for a second, until she kisses my shoulder, then trails down my arm until she gets to my fingers.

Then she locks fingers with me and pulls me toward the couch. “I want you on top of me,” she says, almost a command.

She sits down and pulls me on top to straddle her. Then I kiss her hard. Her hair is a complete mess at this point, but I find it so hot. I grab a fistful, careful not to pull too much, but just enough that she moans.

“Luc, I want you to fuck me,” she whines. I smile as I continue to kiss her. “Take my pants off,” she tells me. I obey and slowly open the button and start shimmying them down, taking my time. She has on beautiful black lace panties, and I practically start drooling again. “Those time,” she adds. Off everything goes and all that is left is her beauty. I can tell she’s already wet, which turns me on even more. I feel the rush in my stomach at once.

I kiss her, softer this time, hands at her sides. Then I trail down to her chin, making my way to her neck. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth in pleasure. I go all the way across her collar bone and then down to her breasts. Her breath hitches as my mouth envelopes her nipple. I give each a good, long moment of love before moving down to her stomach. I know she had children, but damn momma, she is fit as hell. I kiss all the way around her belly button, then move towards her hips. I feel her anticipating what is next, but instead I move to her knee and start making my way to her inner thigh. I pause and take in her beauty, how wet she is and how sweet she smells. I skip over to her other thigh, teasing her. Her hand moves to my head, guiding me toward her pussy.

“Is it ok if I suck your clit?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to cross any lines without consent. She moans a “oh god yes” and pushes my head closer to her.

At this point I am kneeling on the ground and her legs over my shoulders, spread wide open and ready for my tongue. I want to keep her waiting just a moment longer, so I blow some air onto her clit, she immediately gets goose bumps and shivers.

“Fuck… Luc…” she moans.

I take that as my sign to start. The first taste is so sweet and wonderful, I also moan. I reach up and clasp her right hand in my left, grabbing her hip with my other, she keeps her other hand on my head, grabbing my hair. I go slow at first, testing it out, seeing what makes her twitch and moan. I pick up the pace and we settle into a rhythm. I can feel her getting more and more turned on as we go and her moans becoming longer and louder.

She lets go of my hair and uses that hand to grab my hand on her hip. “I want you inside me,” she almost begs.

I move my head to her pussy and slowly insert 2 fingers. I pause and ask “is this how you want it?”

She smiles and let’s how a big moan. I take that as a yes and get back to work. It is only a short bit later that I can feel she is getting close. Her pussy starts contracting more, her breath fastens, she is holding me tighter. I go a little bit harder, and feel her hips buck beneath my tongue and push towards me. She is basically screaming now, “FUCKKKKK YESSS, LUC.”

I keep fucking her hard while she cums. Her legs tightening around me. “Keep going,” she moans.

The first wave dies down a little, but shortly after an even stronger orgasm overcomes her, squirting out onto me. I don’t care, it is fucking hot, objective complete. She releases her grip on me and let’s her legs go limp, exhausted. Her tan body is glistening with sweat, her hair could no longer be called a ponytail, and a huge grin on her face.

“Come here,” she curls her finger, beckoning me toward her mouth. I kiss her, happy to share the sweetness of her. She is tired, but she digs her nails into my back, pulling me closer.

“Your turn,” she whispers.

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