kalachelone

[kalachelone]

seeing all these rottmnt/2012 crossovers bash on the 2012 bros’ relationship with each other is kiiindaaa upsetting as someone who’s uncomfortable with expressing and receiving overt affection

but hey what do i know i probablyy just have all toxic unhealthy relationships where we never understand each other and share mutual trust and love *twirls hair*

the 2012 bros may not openly express their love like the rottmnt boys do, but that doesnt mean its not there. and acting like the rottmnt relationships are automatically better and the only Right standard for healthy relationships seems pretty,, juvenile and inexperienced imo. love isnt only expressed through physical affection and saying things like “i love you,” openly, and assuming there is no love in a relationship without those things is… odd.

love is not only in words or hugs. the 2012 boys can love each other just as much as the rottmnt boys without being open about it. 2012 raph, especially, loves to show affection through acts of service, physical affection, and quality time, but he doesn’t like any of this to be commented on because it makes him uncomfortable. and thats okay! he doesn’t need to express affection openly to have it be there.

just as rottmnt donnie can express love and affection outside of hugs and words, so too can the 2012 boys. they all have their own unique ways of expressing love that the others all respect and recognize, and dismissing that feels less like it’s intentional, and more like the people writing these crossovers just don’t recognize alternate forms of expression exist. which, again,, reeks of inexperience.

( also semi-related tangent speaking of donnie he literally fucking . put a shock collar on his brother like he’s a dog in an attempt to change him. and brainwashed his brothers. and frequently puts his own wants and needs over their own - which is totally fine, if it didn’t happen all the time. it’s kinda laughable to say 2012 raph is worse than rottmnt donnie honestly

siblings hit each other. okay. siblings hit each other. i need y’all to recognize this. i will power drive my little brother into the floor over the last oreo. siblings hitting each other is not abusive (TYPICALLY) because there are established boundaries both parties abide by. like i will never touch my siblings if they are in a bad mood, trying to concentrate on something, or otherwise in a bad position (like standing somewhere dangerous, by a corner etc), and i will never intentionally hurt them. if i think they are actually hurt, we stop immediately until they tell me theyre fine. roughhousing with your siblings is fun. it is bonding. its a self-esteem booster to be able to pick up ur freshman brother okay.

the 2012 bros always abide by these rules. they never hurt each other beyond what the other party can handle, and if they do, it is very clearly treated as a bad thing by them or the other brothers so they realize they went over the line, and they resolve it by the end of the episode (as is the way of formulaic kids shows).

rottmnt donnie. put a fucking shock collar on his brother. and this is funny to him. and not something he ever learns from. and totally not weirdly sexual. But 2012 raph is the bad guy? ok )

i mean. i dont know what i expect from a fandom full of chronically online children who truly dont have experience with relationships. but it just really irks me for some reason and its currently one in the morning so im feeling whiny about it.

affection outside of words and hugs exists. affection outside of words and hugs exist!! and if you know that then you know that the 2012 boys love each other so so so much, just as much as rottmnt. just because they express it differently than in sanitized queer TV shows and not overtly, so you kinda have to pick up on nuance, doesnt mean they dont love each other. let people love other people in non-overt ways!

[kalachelone]

Billies INTRO Post: Who, Where, When, WTF

100 ASKS MEME: TMNT OC - THE BILLIES

Original 100 Asks Meme Questions List

@turtallyawesome gave to me these questions three. Let's have the TMNT ask them...

THIS IS Part 1   //   Part 2   //   Part 3

Leonardo clears his throat. He was told the cats all had the same name, but he hadn’t expected them all to have the same face. Is that racist? To not see the differences in cat people? Or are they legitimately identical triplets? He shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. Just ask the question he was assigned and don't make these mutants feel weird. Deep breath!

“Billy, Billy, and... you too, um, Billy. (#82.) Do you exercise regularly?”

Three little black cat mutants swaddled in various hoodies and puffer vests stretch their little black cat feet out from under their jorts and basketball shorts. They nod so vigorously that their big ears pop out from under their knit hats. 

"Oh yes! Yes! Billy and Billy and Billy exercise! Every day! Like soldiers do!"

At this point they scramble around awkwardly to demonstrate their routine. 

"Push-ups! Billy does push-ups! Lots!"

"Billy does burpees!"

"Billy crunches the sit-ups!!"

Watching three cats wearing all their laundry attempt to do exercises, with their tiny black fingers and toes spread on each limb, Leonardo covers his mouth. It's adorable. And objectively terrible. Years of dojo discipline have not equipped him for this. There's so much wrong all at once, his impulse to teach is utterly overwhelmed. Where could he even start?

The Billies are all pointed different directions. They're all doing different exercises horribly. Each cat has their own rhythm. There are numbers being chanted, but they aren’t chronological and none of the Billies have agreed on which numbers are real. Their bulky clothes flop all around and loose change starts dropping out of their pockets and folds.

"One, two, seven, nine, three, four..."

"Teen, twoteen, fiveteen, twentyteen..."

"Miss, Issip, Pee. Twomiss, Issip, Pee. Tenmiss..."

Leonardo clears his throat. "Good job, Billy. And Billy. And, uh... yeah. Billy. You too. You can stop."

One Billy flops to the ground and snatches up all the dropped coins. The other two sit up and salute Leonardo. Their salutes don't match.

"Yes, sir!"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" 

Billy swats at Billy on the ground. "Get up! Exercise stop, parade next!"

"Parade rest," the Billy on the ground corrects. Billy on the ground pockets their money, stretches, and curls up.

Leonardo decides that he will not be herding cats today. Even though the impulse to help them with their exercises pushes at his heart like a physical force, now is not the time. "You can all relax. Donatello will be in with the next question for you all."

[kalachelone]

this Leo social angst is so good!

PROMPT FIC: The International Incident

@supershiny-raven asked:

😺 confessing their feelings 🍯 friends to lovers 🤠 Fake dating Leo

BayVerse Leonardo X Reader

Rating: PG-13 + She/Her Reader + TW: alcohol, mild swearing, threats of exhibitionism

The International Incident

PART 1:

“Leo! HELP! I’m in trouble!”

Your desperate voice over the phone snaps him into action mode. He hits the shell cell emergency alert button to get his brothers moving and presses the speaker phone button. Two hands free, he can belt his swords into place while getting details.

“Did something happen at the bachelorette party? Stay calm. Tell me what's going on.”

Leo hustles out into main room, barking orders. “Donnie. I need a location on her phone ASAP. Raph, I know you just restocked the first aid kit; make sure it gets into the truck. Mikey—

“Ohmygod Ohmygod Ohmygod!! LEO, THEY FOUND ME!!” Your voice overloads the phone speaker and makes it pop and squeal.

Michelangelo races over to Leonardo and the phone. His face is stricken with fear for you.

“I’ve got a location on her! She’s at Boho Karaoke Orchard—“ Donatello cuts off as bandsaw squealing knifed out of the phone.

“YEEEE! I FOOOUUUUND HEEEERRRR!!!” A chorus of drunken women squeal and laugh in delight. “Our laaaaassttt SINGLE LADY!! Get her shirt! She’s doing topless shots until she gets 3 hotties’ phone numbers!” A raucous cheer goes up.

Raphael barrels back into the room, about to demand when they’re leaving. He gets an earful of you and your best friend, the bride-to-be, fighting over the phone.

“NO no no no, please! I don’t— Let me keep my shirt! AND MY PHONE! Kristy! Give it back! You— you can’t make me to do the shirtless shots!”

“I can and I will and I warned everybody that single ladies in my bridal party get extra attention tonight! You’d better be wearing a sexy bra! Gimme the phone! Who’s Leo anyways?!”

Michelangelo puts his hand over the microphone on the shell cell and whispers, “So…Is this, like, an emergency-emergency?”

Raphael snorts and throws himself into the recliner. “Not one we can help with.”

Leonardo just stares wide-eyed at the phone. Why the heck did you call him of all people? Is he supposed to bust into a karaoke bar and swoop you out before your friends make you do shots? Honestly… maybe you and your friends have already had some drinks. That would explain all this.

“C’mon, sweetie! Who’s Leo? You keeping secrets before my wedding?!”

The phone in his hand echoes with toilet flushes and background girl talk. Apparently you called him from the ladies’ room. He shifts uncomfortably. He should hang up. The women’s bathroom is a private space and you aren’t in the kind of danger that needs … turtle power. Maybe he and the guys could wait outside the bar and make sure you get home okay. With your shirt back on.

“Leo’s …Leo. Um, I shouldn’t talk about… “

Yeah. You're tipsy alright.

“Wait. Who is Leo?” Someone else butts in.

“O.M.G. Is… wait! Is this why you’ve been fighting doing the shots!? IS LEO YOUR BOYFRIEND?!”

Michelangelo swipes the phone right out of Leo’s hand.

Oh no. Leo should have hung up immediately. He should have hung up before he even alerted his brothers. He should have gone back in time and hung up before he was born.

Leo snatches at the phone, but Michelangelo is laughing to bust a gut and has already tossed it to Donatello. Shit. They're going to play keep away.

"Gimme the phone, Donnie." Leonardo stalks closer to Donatello's brain station.

Hopefully Mikey mute the microphone or the whole bridal party is going to hear his brothers.

It’s bad enough that he can hear his brothers.

“OMG. LEO. ARE YOU HER BOYFRIIIEEENND?!”

“Knock it off, Mikey. Don, could you please just hang up and give those girls some privacy?”

“No way! Throw me the phone! We’re not missing this!”

"No! Raph. Don't--"

Leo spins Donatello’s office chair, but it is too late! Donnie has already slingshot the phone over to Raph in the recliner. All Leo gets is a face full of laugh-snorting nerd.

Fine! Follow the phone!

He pivots lightening fast and strikes for the phone in Raph’s grip. Leo leans over Raphael and grins in triumph as he squeezes the plastic casing now in his hand… wait. This is the remote control. The phone is suddenly in Raph’s other hand.

Which is how Leo gets a front row seat to your ultimate betrayal.

“YES! LEO IS MY BOYFRIEND!! I LOVE HIM!! NOW GIVE ME MY PHONE!!”

The sudden happy cry of “OOOOooooOOOOO” from the ladies’ bathroom is loud but not as loud as Leo’s brothers joining in. Shit-eating grins all around. Donatello’s giggling snorts dance out from behind his screens. 

“Ho. Lee. Shit! You have a boyfriend and you didn't tell me?! You didn't introduce us?! Is he your plus one to the wedding tomorrow?! He's on the phone right now!! Gimme the phone!! LEEEOOO!!! WE GOTTA TALK, MY MAN!!”

“No no no nononono! KRISTY! THIS ISN’T! STOPPIT! I DIDN’T! Oof! I DIDN’T! Gimme!! I DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT’S LONG DISTANCE!!” The sounds of you shouting and jumping for your phone echo around the lair.

Three of the boys lean in closer with cheesy grins. All eyes on Leo. It is so rare to have something to tease the guy about. Watching him get flustered and embarrassed about you? Best. New. Hobby. Ever. 

For his part, Leo stands stock still. His brows stretch the top edge of his bandana as they climb up his forehead. 

You called him your boyfriend. That is completely false. You are inebriated. You are trying to avoid doing to shirtless shots. You are trying to get your phone back. It is obviously false.

His face heats regardless.

You two have never discussed feelings. Friendship or otherwise. Not that you aren’t friends. You are friends. For sure you are friends. Even if you never explicitly spoke about friendship. But friends can be like that, right? Just being. Not naming it specifically.

His hands open and close. He doesn’t have anything to grip right now.

It’s the significant-other-level feelings that need to be discussed first, right? That’s what TV and books and movies and common sense tell him. He can’t be your boyfriend and not know. You can’t actually love him—like LOVE-HIM love him—and he not know.

He swallows hard on a mouthful of spit. Hearing you say those things and knowing they aren’t true? Everything under his front plates spins like a washing machine. He rubs his stomach ache absently.

Meanwhile, the bride-to-be is giving you the third degree. “He’s not talking. So you tell me! How long distance is long-distance? Where did you meet him? How long have you been hiding him? Is he some creep from the internet?”

“Kristy. Please. Give me the phone. He’s not a creep from the internet. He’s a nice boy ...from Canada.”

“A nice boy?! From Canada?! GIRLS! We’re taking this back to the song booth! He’s still on the phone! Get your questions ready. I’m about to get married and go on a 2-week honeymoon so we have only have two hours to get to know this CANADIAN LEO. Get ready, LEO!”

“Can’t I have the phone?,” you plead.

“Nope! But we can have another round of cocktails! Who wants something fruity?!”

A whooping chorus of friends shouts approval in the background.

“Raph,” Leo cuts in at a whisper. “Just hang up. The phone’ll lock and they won’t be able to call back.”

“Are you kidding?!” Raph tosses his head back with a guffaw. “No way! Mr. Long-Distance Canadian Nice-Boy! She called you! She needs you! Aren’t you gonna stick this out and keep her from having to do shirtless shots in front of strangers?”

“…” Leonardo shifts uncomfortably. Strictly speaking, this is a mess of your own making. But the way Raph phrased that…

“Oh you bet he is!” comes from Michelangelo. “My brother is a hero!” His face radiates sincere admiration and innocent conviction. The way his eyes sparkle, however, says he knows what he’s doing. 

Ooo! That stinker is honor-locking Leo on purpose.

Leonardo clears his throat. “Oh. Of. Of course. Of course I’ll pretend to be her boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry, Leo! I’m drawing you up a complete Canadian Boyfriend character profile that will stand up to basic Googling.”  Donatello’s fingers fly over his keyboard. The screens around him pop up more and more information: City, Province, job, apartment, local attractions, weather stats, maps, photos.

“And how hard can it be to fool a bunch of drunks?” Raph winks at him, then tosses Leonardo the phone.

//END PART 1

[kalachelone]

PROMPT FIC: Just One Bed

@infuriatedleprechaun asked:

🩹 tending each others wounds 🍦 lovers to enemies  🛏 1 bed

BayVerse Raphael x Reader

Rating: PG-13 + Gender: Neutral + TW: Blood, Swearing, Police

“Are you sure there’s only one bed?”

Ikea packaging blocked front door to your brand new apartment in a fire hazard heap of cardboard and styrofoam. White laminate plywood lay in scattered stacks around the room.

It was your brand new studio apartment. That’s what the listing had called it, anyways. More like a closet apartment. Raph had barely fit through the only window and there was no way he was going to fit into your bathroom. The good news was that the kitchen, the office, the living room, and your bedroom could hold him! Because they were all one room.

“Yesss… Um. One FRIHETEN.”

He gave you a flat stare. “And what is that?" He pointed around at the various piles. "Which is that?…” 

“The FRIHETEN is my new sleeper sofa bed! And it’s that pile in the middle.” You wiggled past him in your shortest short shorts with a wink.

He promised to help you put your apartment together tonight on the understanding that you two would immediately break in every surface. So far, there didn’t appear to be many surfaces. Pretty bare in here. Still, your energy was high and he got to watch you bent over Swedish mystery furniture. He kicked off his shoes and lightened his belt. He was in for the long haul.

“Oh! Here are the VINLIDEN!” Your tank top had slipped down and was that a nip-slip? He reached excited hands towards you, ready to steady you with a romantic hand-on-the-ass. You handed him a bag of sofa feet instead.

He squinted at the four wooden cubes, then held the bag up higher to read the package.

WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!

“GEEZU—“ Raph jerked his arm down out of the ceiling fan. It swayed back and forth, making the lights dance with it.

“No no, I’m the one putting together the GEZZU… GEEHZZU? JEHGUZU—? Whatever they called the folding desk,” you teased. You waved one of a dozen allen wrenches towards another stack of alphabetized particle board. You watched him with worried eyes. “You okay up there, big fella?”

“Yeah, yeah. Stupid thing.” Rubbing his arm and sparing a death glare for the ceiling fan, Raph ducked down and waddled forwards around a third and fourth heap. “So then, what’re these? Why’d you pull everything out at once?”

“I got excited.” Such a cute little shrug! Your tank top was barely hanging on! “And ambitious, since I’ve got New York’s handsomest helper tonight.” 

Another wink! Ha! You were gonna kill him. “But that’s two TERJE and a BOAXEL.” You were gonna kill him with Swedish furniture.

“I’ll say ambitious. You worked all day, you wanna put together this here entire EU, and still expect to have juice for the two of us?” His raised brow demonstrated his thoughts on the likelihood of that. Raph would still help! He was a turtle of his word. But if this whole night was an 8 hour teasing session? Woof.

Donnie had offered to pitch in, and looking at all this, another two hands would have been nice. But Raph had indicated that this would be naked furniture assembly, and Don’d backed off. The naked part might still happen, but Raph might have screwed himself. Go figure. 

Oh well. No way two turtles and furniture would have fit inside this freaking lunchbox you were renting. Raph lifted the edge of the FRIHETEN sofa bed thing and snatched out the instructions. He took a healthy step back, making room to work. Raph’s shell and sai collided with the fridge.

CRRRRACK!

You sat up sharply from your JEHGUHU(?) desk assembly. “Raph. What was that?”

Raphael held very still. “Um. Your fridge?”

“My fridge?” You stood up and picked your way through the furniture field. “What makes a fridge go ‘CRACK?’” Why had you opened this stuff all at once? What foolish thing to—“WHOA!!” Your heel caught the edge of a stack of wood and the plank went sliding! “Oh SHI—“ 

SMACKCRUNCH!!

You flailed and fell face first into Raphael’s wall of a bicep. The smack was your dignity. The crunch was your nose. You reeled backwards, clutching your face. Eyes streaming, you stumbled and CREEEEAKKRUNCH! 

Raph pulled his shell out of the front of the fridge!

He lunged to catch you, huge feet coming down on the bones of the FRIHETEN. He held you tight to his chest, bent over you, heart hammering. You couldn’t see a thing between your tears and Raph’s plastron, but somewhere a high-pitched WHEEEEEEEEEEZE buzzed in your ears. It blended with a CRREEEEAAAK—

CRASH!! RATTLE!! SHAKKLE!! CRUNCH!! PLINK! PLINK! PLINK!

The neighbor banged on the wall.

WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!

“Knock it OFF over there!!!”

Raph still hadn’t moved. In the silence, smaller things shifted with a TINK TINK THUD. The weird WHEEEEEZE hadn’t stopped either. You could taste blood. Nose blood. Great.

“BDaph?” You sounded ridiculous now. “BDaphael?” You wiggled a little, but the big guy wasn’t moving. “Wus dat dhe fbdridge?” You’d never heard a fridge full of the next two weeks’ groceries fall over before, but if you had to put a soundboard together… it would sound a lot like that.

“WWHHHHEEEEEZZZzzzzzyes.” Raphael gasped an inhale for the first time since his lunge. He breathed in huge heaving gulps.

You struggled your way free, one hand still over your gushing nose bleed. “BDraph?! What’s wdrongk?” Your foot slid off a bloody piece of TERJE and your ankle rolled like a cinnabon. “YIKE!” You’re down on your ass with hard SLAP of short-short cheeks on laminated board. Nose blood staining your shirt, your carpet, your FRIHETEN.

Wait… the FRIHETEN. That wasn’t nose blood coming out from under Raph’s foot. Oh. Oh no.

“BDraph?… Fuckg. BDraph?! Is your— is the— through your—?“

Breathlessly, “Yeeeahhh. Yeah. It is.” He looked down, and it was a mess down there. What was his blood, what was yours? “Look. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Look. I’m. I’m gonna stand up and get. Get my shell cell.”

“Uhb Huhb.” You were okay with this plan so far. Your ankle was starting to swell. You were hanging on to calm with your fingernails. “O-Okay.”

“I’m gonna.” He moved and froze. That hurt like a sunovabitch! “FUCKING SHIT!! GODDAMIT!!”

The neighbor banged the wall again.

WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!

“I’ll call the fuckin’ cops! See if I don’t!”

If Raphael weren’t an enormous mutated turtle, you could tell the neighbor to call for help, but the best you could do is a tearful, “DSORRY!!” Hopefully he won’t call the cops on you anyways.

Raphael, face shifting colors with the effort of staying silent, shifted his weight with a wince, reached back to the pile of his stuff, and snagged his shell cell. With relief, he hit speed dial. He stood up straight and caught the blade of the ceiling fan to the side of his face.

WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!

“FUCKING FUCK!”

“…um…. Hello? This is Mikey speaking. It’s a good thing you called, cause we’re all out of fucks right now, Mr. Too-Good-For-Weekly-MarioKart—“

“Mikey! For—Knock it off! Put Donnie on the phone.”

“Oh, you wanna talk to who? Leo? Sure thing, Raph.”

“DO NOT DO THIS TO ME—“

+++++++ EPILOGUE +++++++

Leonardo and Michelangelo came to collect and bandage Raph, who now loathes your apartment, your neighbor, and all things Swedish. There will be no booty calls at this address. It is anathema. The words Raph used were ‘fucking cursed.’

The neighbor did call the cops, but by then, April was there to take you to the ER for X-rays. She smoothed things over: you had a terrible furniture accident that was witnessed by your boyfriend via video call--that's why there was a male voice yelling. He called your local friend (her) and now you were going to the ER. Go home, policeman. Get bent, neighbor.

Donatello cleaned and assembled as much of your furniture as he could. The BOAXEL and one TERJE survived. The rest… not so much. However, clever turtle that he was, he staged some photos to explain the fridge damage and documented that the fridge wasn’t properly anchored to the wall per New York City’s rental laws. Your landlord owes you big money and a new fridge.

Michelangelo circled back before dawn and cleaned up the food mess leaking out of the fridge. He left a folding cot and some TV trays. He even set them up for you.

April loaded some grocery money on a gift card for you. You can pay her back later if you want.

But you cannot wear those short shorts around Raph anymore. He gets flashbacks.

[kalachelone]

STUFF I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I WAS STILL ABLED...

Taking notes is a lifesaver.

.

My memory sucks now. And one of my worst symptoms is confusion. Throw in that when you're exhausted all the time, your days blur together.

But to get help, you have to show up to appointments on time. You have to explain how often your symptoms show and what actions worsen your troubles.

I dunno, Doc. My brain is a wet ham. Lemme see what I wrote down.

Every appointment goes in my phone calendar with who the doctor is. Then I can look later and say helpful stuff like, "Yes! I did see Dr. X on Octember 32nd," or "Yes! I will see Dr. Y on Marjuary 44th."

I have a little notebook that goes to every appointment with me. I write down questions I have before the visit. Then I write down the answers during the visit. There's usually instructions for tests or appointments or medication adjustments. Write them down, too. Later, when I talk to family who want to know that my doctors are helping, I can explain how the visit went. And I don't forget to schedule tests!

I have a computer file for taking notes when I talk to the government officials running the social programs I use. Being on the phone with bureaucracy! Ugh!!

I have a "To Do" list of big things. I have a separate list of small things. On days with energy but no brain, I can do from the small list. On ambitious days, I can take from the big list. And on neither day will I waste precious energy or brainthink juice on trying to remember what needs doing.

And... most important of all. When words were so hard and diagnosis was so far away, I made a checklist of symptoms. I only had to put an "X" in the row next to a symptom if it was happening. The columns were all the dates in the month.

I could hand my doctors months and months of symptom sheets and not have to explain too much. We could see the chronic migraines, the indigestion, the exhaustion, and all the rest. Patterns got visible. And because it was dated, doctors took it seriously. I don't need to keep those sheets anymore, but they're one of the big reasons I got the help I did.

I am still supposed to be logging my migraines, though.. I'm pretty bad at it. When they happen, I can't think to write things.

But it's been like that for lots of my symptom flares. So when I'm clear-headed, I do my best to go back and mark things

The notes themselves are important, but also important? Remembering not to beat myself up when I mess up. No one is perfect and disability makes it tougher. Bullying myself won't fix it.

.

This helped me, maybe it will help you. Try not to start it all at once, that can be overwhelming. And seriously, don't kick yourself if it's too hard. Maybe see if a friend or family member will help you.

.

Seems like something we should all know.

.

.

.

Disability happens to people without our control or consent. Every single disabled person has strong feelings about their own situation and I would not presume to talk about anyone’s thoughts but my own. But none of us chose to do life on hardmode, so if the world could listen this month, there’s a lot to say.

[kalachelone]

STUFF I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I WAS STILL ABLED...

You end up inventing a language.

.

Words and phrases I used before just do not cover these new chronic illness and disability sensations.

Explaining to doctors aside, because they need specifics and concrete examples and I end up talking to them in exhausting paragraphs and lists, I still want to have casual conversations with people who know and care about me. Who ask how I'm doing.

I need shorthand for recurring weirdness. So I burble something and if it sticks? Woo hoo! ¡Vocabulario!

I tell friends, "The bottom fell out," when my body has pulled the energy plug on my brain and I am powering down right now. Probably gonna sleep? Right here. Wherever that is.

I use "skittles everywhere," as a quick summary of 'yes, I had my thoughts together and it was a pretty good day, but I got confused about something suddenly--maybe it was an emotional hit? maybe a stress situation?'--and my thoughts scattered like I dropped a whole bowl of candies and no, I cannot do anything useful about it; I am gonna stand here and blink at this debris field for a bit cause I have completely forgotten what I was doing.' It's kinda like "the bottom fell out" but more about thoughts and not so much about energy.

There's words I picked up online in disability spaces like "spoons," "flares," "scrombled," and "potsie." (More about the legit joys of online community later.)

And then there's using words that everyone uses, but not how everyone uses. My energy is fragile today. My thoughts are just a crust, so I don't trust them to last. Oops, yeah. Fell through. Now ham-brain.

And it's communicating, but quick and kinda surface level.

Like, we all know "pins and needles" if, say, your foot falls asleep. But there's no cultural touchstone for, "my circulation is very poor today, so the weight of my blood is pooling in my lower limbs and I can literally feel myself getting dumber the longer I stand up because my brain is not getting enough oxygenated blood right now and it is kinda like drowning, yet there's no sense of breathing urgency or air hunger just now, but that part will be happening shortly because my heart rate is climbing and I'm starting to prickle with sweat."

So I just tell my loved ones, "Feelin' potsie," and they cut me some slack. And find me a chair. And that's good enough for now.

.

Being able to communicate with other people keeps me from despair, honestly. I recommend building your own language without shame.

.

Seems like something we should all know.

.

.

.

Disability happens to people without our control or consent. Every single disabled person has strong feelings about their own situation and I would not presume to talk about anyone’s thoughts but my own. But none of us chose to do life on hardmode, so if the world could listen this month, there’s a lot to say.

[kalachelone]

STUFF I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I WAS STILL ABLED...

It's not always obvious what's wrong.

.

Hi, Doctor. I'm tired. Like, all the time.

No. All the time. I wake up exhausted. I fall asleep at work. I fall asleep in the shower. I'm scared to drive.

No, Doctor. You don't understand. I'm not 'sleepy.' Not 'drowsy.' I'm tired in my bones. My blood feels heavy. The weight of my head hurts my neck. I can't think sometimes--I forget how to read--i get lost in familiar places! I say 'tired,' but I mean that 80% of my life, I feel like a sloppy heap of mud splattering and crumbling from too much moving, too much thinking, too much feeling, too much light, too much noise, too much everything. I'm confused and disoriented and like I'm in a terrible dream.

Oh.

That's a symptom of a lot of things?

Anemia. Migraine. Sleep apnea. Vitamin deficiency. Thyroid dysfunctions. Brain diseases. Heart diseases. Neurological disorders. Blood disorders. Autoimmune issues. Depression and other psychiatric conditions. Lifestyle choices: sleep, food, activity level. Environmental factors: mold, pollution, allergies.

There's a lot of testing to rule things out, huh? Could take years? Yes, I know it will be expensive. Yes, I accept that some of the tests will hurt. Yes, I commit to rearranging my eating/sleeping/exercising habits and seeing every recommended specialist.

Doctor, you don't understand. Either we find an answer, no matter how long it takes, or I am trapped outside of the world forever for no reason. Not testing won't make these horrible feelings stop.

Can you imagine feeling this way? Always? During your friends' birthdays? When your boss demands work? When you're home alone in the middle of the night trying to remember how the sink works? During the commute. During the shower. Taking out the trash. Feeding the cats. Staring at your bills. Talking with your family. For years... weddings, funerals, holidays, weekends, 4am, 4pm, when your loved ones need you, during every emergency, while you fail at your job, at your hobbies, at your relationships, at being your basic self?

Fuck, Yes! Doctor! Run! The! Tests! We are burning daylight!! Let's get this ball rolling! Journey of a thousand miles, begins with single step, etc!

I do want to feel better. This is not my imagination. It's not my fault. I am a reliable witness to my own life and I don't care how many tests 'come back normal.' Those must be the wrong tests to find what's haywire. I know something is wrong and even if we can't fix it, I must understand it.

.

I'm now in year 7 of trying to improve my situation. I know so much more about my conditions than I did. I am getting help. I still don't have a full picture. I'm still disabled.

But it's not like it was.

Please. Don't give up. Diagnosis can take years. Some people never get a firm answer. Regardless, you will learn ways to cope. You will meet people who help you cope. Don't give up on yourself. You are worth the effort.

.

Seems like something we should all know.

.

.

.

Disability happens to people without our control or consent. Every single disabled person has strong feelings about their own situation and I would not presume to talk about anyone’s thoughts but my own. But none of us chose to do life on hardmode, so if the world could listen this month, there’s a lot to say.

[kalachelone]

STUFF I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I WAS STILL ABLED...

Post-viral illnesses are a thing.

.

I mean, we all know about long covid now. When the covid virus does too much damage to organs, nerves, veins, arteries, and the immune system? Then it's 'hello, longterm disability.'

But think about before covid. People would say, "It's just a virus. It's not an infection. You don't need antibiotics or to go to the doctor. Just drink orange juice. Take some over the counter medicine. Sleep it off. It'll pass."

Which can be true! Yet, even in the before times, folks were catching and being disabled by 'just' viruses.

Long HIV = AIDS

Long polio = paralytic polio, post-polio syndrome

Long Chicken Pox = Shingles

Long HPV, hepatitis, & others = cancers

And 'Long' versions of lyme disease, mono, hepatitis, herpes, flu, epstein barr, and other viruses--they're all known to doctors.

They can lead to multiple sclerosis (MS), myalgic encephalomyelitis or chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS), fibromyalgia, dysautonomia, POTS, mast cell disorders, heightened allergies and food sensitivities, chronic migraine, organ damage...the list goes on.

It's not 'just a virus,' and it never has been. You must rest and recuperate and listen to your body.

No, longterm problems don't happen to everyone or every time. And no, nothing is helped by panicking.

But if you still have symptoms after you're 'cured,' you're not making things up. Your mind isn't tricking you. This isn't your fault. Post viral illnesses and syndromes are real. Go talk to your doctor.

.

Seems like something we should all know.

.

.

.

Disability happens to people without our control or consent. Every single disabled person has strong feelings about their own situation and I would not presume to talk about anyone’s thoughts but my own. But none of us chose to do life on hardmode, so if the world could listen this month, there’s a lot to say.

[kalachelone]

TMNT Micro Fic #3

“Whoaaaah… Dude.” Michelangelo jabbed the enormous bruise that showed through all three of the holes in Casey’s jeans. “Ouch! Mikey, don’t freakin’ poke it!” Casey sprawled on their couch with no intention of moving before his game came on. “Meathead, that’s not all one bruise, is it?” 

Casey swatted Michelangelo’s hand again before answering, “Yeah. It is, Raph. I got in a fight. Hit my body off a dozen Foot soldiers and a dumpster. Three nights ago. Ring any bells—Quit it, Mikey!” “Just trying to see…” Raph sighed, but didn’t lean back. “Yeah, yeah. We remember. That’s still… weird-looking.” “Oh, like you bastards don’t know from bruises. Mikey! Back. Off. What is your problem?!” Casey used two hands on Michelangelo’s shoulder to shove him away. Laughing, Michelangelo called over to the brothers playing hard(est) mode competitive Tetris. “Leo, Donnie, you guys gotta see the colors on this thing!” 

“What am I? A sideshow?!” And that’s how Casey Jones ended up in his boxers, sitting on the turtles' couch with his pants around his knees while the turtles gawked at the human and discussed bruises. “I mean, of course, Casey. You’ve seen what our bruises look like.” Leo’s focus was on the weird colors peaking through Casey’s human skin, but his quiet tone was at odds with his brothers’ teasing. “I walked around the farm with dozens of them.” That comment smothered the mood like a pillow pressed with two hands. The silence stretched as the whole room pictured Leonardo nearly beaten to death by the Foot. Desperate to pull the brakes on bad memories, Mikey jumped in.  “Yeah, we get brown spots like bruised pears. You look like technicolor hamburger!” Michelangelo gestured broadly at the admittedly hamburger-y swirls of red, purple, and purple-black on Casey’s thigh. Nobody else seemed ready to laugh, though. Mike tittered awkwardly in the silence. No way was Casey Jones going to leave Mikey hanging. They were back in the city now and happiness was mandatory. 

“Haha! Yeah! I freakin’ told you my bruises look sick as hell, Raph!” He elbowed Raphael. “Look at this shit! Oh, and there’s one on my tricep from two weeks back, should be going green and yellow by now!” Casey rotated his arm out, one hundred percent ready to do stupid human tricks until the guys were laughing again.

Donatello cleared his throat, “That is an awful lot of blood clotting in your leg, Casey.” Casey was not letting this get dark. “Yeah! Frickin’ hardcore, right?! It’s almost black in the middle!” He threw the horns with a cheesy grin. “Casey Jones is metal. As. Hell.” Raphael snorted. 

But Donatello was determined now. “No--I mean, yes. It is hardcore. But with a hematoma that size, you’ve got to take it easy. You can break smaller clots off something like that. Give yourself a stroke or--

Casey tried to maintain eye-contact, but giggle-snorted with a huge, sly grin on his face.

Donatello blinked at him before wilting. “…Give yourself a stroke? Really?”

Casey busted out laughing, “I give myself plenty of them, D!” He made a rude motion over his crotch and suddenly Michelangelo was guffawing. Raph’s chuckles joined in and warmed up the room.   Jones waved his hands and got his giggles under control in time to reassure Donatello and Leonardo, whose faces had only pinched with more worry. “No really, man. I'm on an aspirin regimen. Keep el sangre flowing. Don't sweat it! Casey Jones has veins like super highways and blood like rockets!” Just for added impact, he made the rockets', “Psssschhhh!!” take off noise.

With a helpless smile in the face of Casey’s over the top idiocy, Donatello could only offer, “Casey. …that's. Not how bodies work.” But by then, Casey was swapping high fives with Raph and Mikey and had a hand out for Leo. “Gimme three, man! We hard! Bruises ain’t shit!” Leonardo rolled his eyes with a grin and met Casey’s hand with a solid slap. “You got that right."

[kalachelone]

TLDR: I’m from old-fandom, decades ago when bullying was not acceptable. Please respect your fellow fandom freaks. Because you're one too.

TMNT fandom used to be an incredibly accepting place. We were all horrible little freaks with a weird and socially-unacceptable habit of day dreaming and writing and drawing and, honestly, obsessing about hidden turtle men in the sewers. 

Social pressure from real life kept us humble and grateful for the existence of others like us online. Because outside of fandom, the world was full of  people who had normal hobbies, like sports or crafting or gardening or volunteering for soup kitchens. Those normal people could talk about their interests in public! Mention their safe pursuits in mixed company! Claim their talents and their results in the social circles at school or at work or at church!

Make-believe man-turtle enthusiasts had nowhere in our real lives where it was okay to admit the depth of our interests without being bullied or shunned or branded as a complete freak. Whether you were a kid or an adult! 

And I have said nothing about shipping or smut or specific versions of our mutants.

If you wrote/drew/enjoyed the tamest, sweetest, most pure turtle content, you were still an IRL freak!

That's why, when us fans found each other online, space was made for all of us. Our only requirement: love the turtles. 

I get that newer fans don't have those extreme social pressures. Times have changed. 'Fandom' is not mainstream, but it's understood to exist for thousands of TV shows and movies and games. Now, the internet is everywhere and it's easier than ever to find people who agree with you. Heck, there's every expectation that there are people who agree with you; you don’t have to wonder if you’re alone.

Loving the TMNT is not an isolating experience anymore.

That's great.

But it also means that current fandom takes its fans for granted. Fans that write the wrong kinds of fiction are bullied. Fans who draw the wrong arrangement of characters are shunned. Fans who enjoy more than one type of story are disposable, worthless, and unwelcome to speak or share with the larger group. 

Fandom is meant to be a refuge for all us freaks.

How did the real world become kinder while fandom got meaner? How does that make sense? Why are the people who have the most in common doing the most damage to each other?

Of course, rate your content, tag your content, respect requests not to discuss certain topics/ships in specific settings or with specific people. Yes, yes, yes. Consideration and respect for each other's boundaries is fundamental in fandom and is how we have been able to co-exist for so long!

But respect and consideration are built on treating each other--all of each other--as if we all have value and worth and dignity. 

Every member of fandom is a real person with feelings. 

Every member of fandom likes a variety of content. 

Every member of fandom deserves to have a safe space where they are not insulted or tormented or excluded for their thoughts or creations.

Please, live and let live. Co-exist. Respect your fellow freak, you fandom weirdo.

[kalachelone]

Reblogging to credit @winnyverse for the scripting, layout, and lettering. This is still one of my favorite comics.

“Stupidest Fight Ever” - Script and lettering by me, art by the legendary Sneefee.

Not sure why this disappeared from my blog, but I’m putting it back! Nothing lewd going on here, just a fluffy tcest comedy. Collaboration from way back in the golden years of 2008. I am still so proud of what we accomplished with this silly thing.

Snee and I were friends back in the day. I still miss her a lot. Whatever she is doing lately, and for whomever, I wish her well and hope they are worshipping her properly! At the very least, I hope they are treating her better than our fandom did. <3

[kalachelone]

People keep asking “How can anyone have a problem with AO3 doing fundraising!”

And I’m just like…. Have people not noticed all the virulent anti-AO3 hate on tumblr propagated by the anti shipping community? Antis have a problem with AO3 raising money because they hate the fact that AO3 won’t allow them to censor content they don’t like and doesn’t tolerate bullying. That’s who is putting out these posts like, “how can this nasty site raise so much money?” Read between the lines.

And for all the people who are just like, “If they don’t want AO3 to to raise money why don’t they just not donate?”

Because antis are incapable of saying “this isn’t for me so I won’t support it but I don’t care if other people support it. They have to actively discourage other people from supporting the thing. At the same time, they also won’t stop using AO3 because 1) they’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites who want readership and that’s where the readers are and 2) they’re too lazy to put together their own archive using AO3′s open source code because that would require doing coding and buying servers and doing all the moderating they want, which is hard, and they just want to engage in empty virtue signalling, which is easy

Anyway, my point is, people need to be aware that these people are out there and they hate AO3 and they want it to go away even though they’re actively using the platform. They’ve even said they want AO3 to fail so something “better” (re, something they control) can take its place. Some of them are blatant about it, calling AO3 a cesspit of pedophilia, and some of them are subtle about it, saying more innocuous things like ‘Does AO3 really need 130K a year?” “Shouldn’t you give your money to individual needy people doing gofundmes for stuff that’s more more important?”

But all of these people have the same end goal, which is the destruction of the archive, and the way they’re going about it right now is to try to discourage people from donating.

So instead of asking, “Why do people object to AO3 raising money?” start telling people “Hey there are people out there who hate AO3 and want to destroy it and we have to protect the archive from them.” And donate, if you can, and signal boost, if you can’t.

[kalachelone]

This literally kills me inside 😭

@nickelodeon

[kalachelone]

Every time I see an innocent pic of the Turtles tagged as “NOT T-CEST DO NOT EVEN! I WILL DO A VIOLENCE ON YOU!”, welp, now I’m thinking it. This pic was not even remotely t-cesty and now it’s full on OT4 no matter who is in the pic. My mind is now full of the t-cest. Guess you will have to do a violence on me.

The most innocent of pics.

Seriously, I wouldn’t have even been thinking it.

But now it’s all I can see.

[kalachelone]

There we go

[kalachelone]

This game just keeps getting better.

#tmnt #animal crossing #acnh #dream job #yes mallary it’s a real job

[kalachelone]

ARCHIVE YOUR FIC ON AO3 FOR ETERNAL GLORY

It physically pains me to see people post awesome fanfiction to tumblr and nowhere else. Tumblr moves so fast! By tomorrow people who didn’t look in a tag at the right moment won’t know it existed. By next week even people who did read it won’t be able to find it back to reread. Finding anything on tumblr via search function is practically a fluke. For all intents and purposes, your hard work has a halflife of about a week at most.

PUT YOUR WORK ON AO3 WHERE IT CAN LIVE ETERNALLY, I BEG YOU

People who come into that fandom in a month, a year, even a decade will be able to find your work!

People can bookmark it!

People can rec it to others!

People can reread it into infinity! (and people like me can do that and comment every time!)

You can get comments & kudos until the endtimes because people will keep finding your work! (seriously I still sometimes get new people finding and loving my work from ~2013)

And best of all, people can SUBSCRIBE to your work so they will get email about new chapters and stories! (I’m seeing people do manual ‘Tag you in the next chapter’ lists and seriously, physical pain, this wheel has already been invented and it is rolling beautifully)

PLEASE LET ME BOOKMARK YOUR FIC I BEG YOU

“But I need an invite for AO3!”

Yes, and the waiting list is currently 2-3 days. That’s hardly worth not doing this for, right?

“But I only read fic, I don’t post it”

here is a post on why having an account just to read fic is also very worth it!

Lately I’ve been the tumblr person who jumps onto people who post cool fic to tumblr and going HEY HAVE YOU POSTED THIS TO AO3, YOU REALLY SHOULD, HIT ME UP FOR AN INVITE CODE and I hereby invite all you fellow fic readers and posters to join me into spreading the good word.

Please reblog this and tag your favourite fandoms and pairings! Spread this post to the people who need to see it! Save great fic from the tumblr void!