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manyunhappygreenies · 7 months

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I agree with the tier list but I'm curious why idw and 2007 are on the bottom half and not like 2012 splinter? Or even rise they were both pretty bad fathers

I'll answer rise and 2012 first because 2007 and idw fuel me with so much anger.

DISCLAIMER: I love Rise Splinter and 12 Splinter but they are not without flaws!!!!!

Trigger warnings will be in tags please adhere to them!

[Rise Splinter Start]

I put rise splinter in "you're okay" tier because Hamato Yoshi (will be calling rise splinter "Lou" from now on for context) did his very best and tried to make the very best out of a terrible situation.

He had lost his mother at a very young age and dealt with an emotionally neglectful grandfather who had only cared about a Hamato's duty to their clan up to his late teens into adulthood. [This undermines Karai's sacrifice in the first place. As she had sacrificed herself out of love for the world around her and the love of her father. Not because of a sense of duty.]

Lou moves to America in order to separate himself from his trauma, never addressing it but rather repressing it. In hopes he can move on and start a new life, which he fully intended when he proposed to Big Mama. [Though it's never spoken directly or stated directly in the show, it's implied Splinter was ready to even have a family with her because he loved her so much]

This is quickly torn to shreds when Big Mama reveals she's a Yokai crime boss [essentially] and human traffic [yes. HUMAN TRAFFICS] Lou to New York to become a champion in her Battle Nexus. While in the beginning of the show it's depreciated as Lou Jitsu loved being a Nexus champion we quickly learned in "Many Unhappy Returns" he in fact did not relish being a champion and was clearly traumatized by Big Mama's actions.

> Enter Baron Draxum

Lou is human trafficked once again and this time is experimented on, his DNA used to create turtle super soldiers that will be trained and raised to murder humans. [This show is super fucked up now that I think about it.]

And after completely destroying Draxum's lab, being freshly mutated into a rat man. Stripped of his humanity, he now has 4 turtle sons dropped into his lap.

TLDR: Rise Splinter did the very best he could in a terrible situation and struggled to overcome his own generational trauma. His actions are explained, not excused. He needs therapy, his sons needs therapy. He needs to make up for his neglectful behavior [which we do see towards the end of season 1 and into season 2] and understand his children are in no way shape or form obligated to forgive him.

[End of Rise Splinter]

[Start of 2012 Splinter]

My reasoning for putting 2012 Splinter in "Seek therapy before having kids" tier is because Hamato Yoshi [will just be calling him Yoshi for context] has been a parent before, while brief and tragically separated from his child for many years, on top of losing his wife.

Yoshi did as I would feel did the best he could but could have definitely done better. He's freshly traumatized, well into his 30s, maybe early 40s [?] And moves to America from Japan. [Clearly he needs therapy]

Yoshi clearly was not expecting to be a parent again, so soon after losing his only daughter. [perceived]

He loves his children, though he more often than not struggles to actually connect with them and see them as his sons rather than just clan members. I would consider this emotionally neglectful [?]

I personally always headcanoned this as a trauma response. A subconscious way to protect himself from the hurt of losing another child. And it's clear that Yoshi's trauma over losing miwa has manifested for his sons as well, as we see in the episode "Panic in the Sewers" one of the first episodes we actually see Yoshi PUT HIS HANDS ON HIS SON outside of training. And it's very clear that he was in fact hurting Raph. [Intentional or not. He still hurt his son.]

He loves his sons very much. But please. Get therapy.

[End of 2012 Splinter.]

Cracks Knuckles

[Start IDW Splinter.]

FUCK THIS STUPID ASS RAT I HATE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH. ESPECIALLY ESPECIALLY AFTER THE EVENTS OF CITY FALL.

YOUR SON IS CLEARLY TRAUMATIZED BY NOT JUST OROKU SAKI BUT YOU, HE IS AFRAID OF YOU ANGRY AT YOU AND DESPITE YOU KNOWING THIS YOU STILL CHOOSE TO INVADE HIS SPACE, PRIVACY AND COMFORT ZONE. FUCK YOU!

That being said the entire Trauma and storyline with IDW Leo being brainwashed was handled poorly and clearly written from a stigmatized view. I'm not surprised that his recovery was handled just as poorly.

[End of IDW Splinter]

[Start of 2007 Splinter]

Fuck you. You literally look like the cheetah from Cheetos you nasty, emotionally and physically neglectful fuck!!!

The only time you EVER paid attention to your sons was when Leo came home. 2 YEARS AFTER YOU SENT HIM TO CENTRAL AMERICA.

You did NOT care about Raphael's feelings about Leo's departure or return, nor the abandonment issues he had developed and the resentment that he had for you and his older brother.

You did NOT care that Donnie had to pick up the slack and pay bills so YOUR CRUSTY CHEETO LOOKING ASS COULD WATCH THE NEWS AND YELL "BOYS" WHEN LEO CAME HOME AND THEY CONVENIENTLY WENT OUT TO FIGHT CRIME

I DON'T THINK YOU EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED MIKEY UNTIL THE END OF THE MOVIE AFTER LEO WAS SAVED

TLDR: FUCK 2007 SPLINTER.

#cw / perceived child death #cw / spouse death #cw / implied human trafficking #cw / child abuse #cw / child neglect #cw / cursing #cw / caps #cw / parental death #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2007 #tmnt idw #rottmnt #greenie talks #anonymous #thanks for the ask!#if theres anything else i should tah please let me know!#cw / ableism

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toaster-trash · 7 months

Text

A disjointed comic about identity

#personal #vent #CW self harm #cw gender dysphoria #CW implied transphobia #cw implied sanism/ableism

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dc-said-bi-robin-rights · 4 months

Text

The first floor window of the Ranger HQ explodes outwards as Steel crashes through it, plummeting several feet in the air before hitting the ground, rolling, his armored fingers carving a line into the tarmac as he digs them into the ground to halt his momentum and rises to his feet. Above him, Blindspot walks forward calmly, his cape billowing behind him in the cold December wind as he looks down on his fallen enemy from the window ledge. He can feel the power rushing through the neon yellow veins of his armored suit as he clenches his fists, the simple action diverting all the excess power that isn’t being channeled into his telepathic boosters straight into his diamond-tipped knuckles. It was Mortum’s latest masterstroke: a strength upgrade that didn’t require any additional power storage. Just the action of curling his fingers into a fist would fill his gauntlets with excess power, power that would then be diverted elsewhere as soon as he uncurled them. He felt a chuckle coming on—he was gonna have to send the good doctor another check. It really was a brilliant workaround.

The roar of rushing air fills his ears, and he looks up to see a helicopter with the LDNW logo hovering overhead. He smirks beneath his helmet, raising a hand up to his eyes as their spotlight switches on, illuminating him in all his glory for their millions of viewers to see.

That was more than fine by him. Let them watch. Let the world watch their heroes be embarrassingly brought low, again and again, until they woke up to the truth that they didn’t protect anybody, least of all them.

He walks off the ledge and drops down onto the parking lot, shockwaves emanating from the fist he’d smashed against the ground, breaking the windows of all the cars around him and splashing him with glass shards as he rose to his feet. Another gift from Dr. Mortum, one that was as much for the drama and intimidation factor as it was for the usefulness that clearing a room of goons just with his landing represented. Armored as he was, Steel barely felt the shockwaves, of course… but the little trick was a godsend in front of the cameras, and there were few messages that weren’t enhanced by a visible display of power from the one who spoke it. Even now, he could imagine the viewers at home oooing and gasping at his little display. The thought amused him, and he wondered what the Breaking News! headline was saying at this very moment. He hoped it was something scary: an intimidating reputation was as valuable as a dozen fiery speeches, if not more so.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cyrus.” Chen’s voice was serious and stern, and as irritating to his little fantasies as the stubbornly conscious state of the man himself. Even with half his visor torn off and his breastplate dented almost beyond repair, the Marshal of Los Diablos refused to bend or break, even to a man he privately wasn’t sure could even be considered a villain. “You won’t enjoy what happens if you make me.”

“Cyrus Brown died in an ambulance, alone and abandoned.” Blindspot’s voice is a garbled mix of his real voice and the intimidating growls produced by his failing voice moderator. The effect is disturbing, and more than a little offsetting. “Or at least, that’s what you told the others, isn’t it? But you knew better.”

A flash of something indescribable passes over the half of Chen’s face not covered by the ripped visor. “I would take it back if I could.”

“But you can’t,” Blindspot hisses as he walks forward, fists clenching, power filling his hands, his armor’s pulsing veins glowing in the dark between the black plates. His own featureless faceplate was still intact, but visibly glitching, showing more of his snarling face than he was comfortable with. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was meant to be the coldly gloating one, hiding his emotions behind the stark neon wall that was his faceplate and the echoing nothingness of his voice moderator as he threw out vicious taunts and condemnations. Steel wasn’t supposed to be able to see the savage hatred on his face, and he was especially not supposed to be able to hear the broken fury in his voice. That had always been his problem. He succumbed to anger too easily. “You can’t, can you? You can’t undo what they did to me!”

“I can make it right,” he growls, as close to pleading as he’ll ever get. “I can help you. I can keep you safe from them.”

“No one can keep me safe from them,” he says, taking a steadying breath pulling himself back into neutrality with great difficulty. Not for the first time, he’s glad news’ helicopters don’t typically come with long-range microphones. “Only I can do that.”

“And Ortega?” They’re circling now, watching each other for the slightest sign of weakness. “I know she cares for you. I know she’d believe you can put this behind you, like I do.”

“And let them get away with it?” Blindspot demands, disbelieving. “Let them do it again?! To me!? To others?!” He gave a harsh laugh. “I chose this path for a reason, marshal . Not that I’d expect you to know what that is.”

“A path?”

“A choice,” he corrects, mocking. “The military man, through and through. ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘how high, sir’? ‘How deep, sir?’ ‘The whole thing or just the tip, sir?’”

Steel meets his eyes for a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, that sounds more like you.”

The next thing he knew, Blindspot was pummeling Steel, frothing with rage. If it had been Steel’s goal to provoke him into a hasty attack, it’d worked too well: his fist crashes into Steel’s broken visor, cracking what remained of his helmet and smashing aside his jaw. Steel stumbles back, but Blindspot gives him no quarter, raising his fists above his head and bringing them crashing down on his shoulders. Steel is forced to his knees, but he still manages to catch Blindspot’s next kick and launch him backwards a few feet into the air.

He lands in a crouched position, teeth gritted behind his glitching faceplate. Okay, lesson learnt. There’s still a pretty sizable strength difference between him and Steel, and he needs to remember that. Fine. Let’s see how he likes a fight on Blindspot’s terms, then.

He plunges his hands into the tarmac, sending his nanovores towards Steel. The ground cracks as they approach him, and though he jumps back, deploying jets all along his lower body to guide his ascent, they follow him up, forming a long ramp that reaches out as if to catch him. Blindspot can see the controlled panic in his eyes as his jump-jets start running out of steam, but he pulls the nanovores back before they can swam over Steel and bring his career as a Ranger to a grisly end by devouring him and his half-cybernetic body alive, letting Steel crash to the ground. The fallen marshal’s heavy armor leaves a small crater in the tarmac, but it’s one he quickly picks himself out of, leveling an unguided wrist-mounted rocket and firing it at Blindspot. The Rat-King chitters out a warning, though it’s unneeded—the pressure on Blindspot’s mind has lessened somewhat, meaning some of Steel’s dampeners had to have been damaged by the fall. His will surges forward, wrapping around Steel’s mind like a set of hands and squeezing. The rocket goes wildly off-course, hitting a nearby car and sending it vaulting into the air in a fireball, the impact doing nothing but kicking up his cape as he advances. The part of Cyrus that was Sidestep registers Steel’s unwillingness to use the more dangerous class of missiles he has mounted on his shoulder somewhere in the back of his mind, but the rest of him is just focused on how sweet it’ll be to make the bastard pay.

“Tell me something, Chen,” Blindspot starts, his voice distorting strangely. “I’m curious. How many mes would it take to make up one Ortega? Ten? Twenty? By what exact percentage is my life less than hers?”

“You’re making this something it wasn’t,” Steel growls, leveling another rocket at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try it. We know how that goes.”

A pause. “I guess that’s true.” Steel slowly lowers his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He gives a harsh laugh. “Now, we beat the crap out of each other for the cameras. And we don’t stop until one of is dead.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Liar,” he says calmly. “You’ve wanted that since the beginning.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re my enemy.”

“Do you?” Steel gives Blindspot a meaningful look. “What have I done to make you think that?”

“Left me in the Farm, for one thing.”

“I was trying to protect Ortega.” Another pause. Chen liked his pauses. “I thought you would understand that.”

“Didn’t tell me that you knew, for another.” Now who’s the one with the lists?

“You were dead. Then you were back. What did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any moment.” It was hard, to muster the anger from earlier into his voice. Even though he was angry. Even though he was furious. “Explained. Let me know what you had done before I started to get close to you.”

And there it is. The ugly truth.

They’d almost been friends. Now, they never will be.

“I fail to see what that would have accomplished.”

“I…” He let out a long groan of frustration. “It’s useless, with you. Guilty feelings aside, it’s like you don’t even realize you did something wrong.”

“I made a choice. I stand by it.”

“A choice to pick Ortega over me.”

“A choice to pick a living Ortega over a probably dead you.” Steel looks guilty, but not guilty enough to shy away from the truth. That’s something you can give him credit for, at least. “You weren’t a Ranger. There was no other choice I could make.”

“I was part of the team, damn you.” He feels so tired. “You know that. You’ve said that.”

“I do. I have.”

“So why…?” He chokes on his next words. “Forget it. Would you have made a different choice? If I wasn’t a Re-Gene?”

“I… don’t know.” Steel looked troubled by the admission.

“You don’t know,” Blindspot echoes, shaking his head. “I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can say it. Either answer will make me hate you.” He wondered what the news chopper made of this conversation, being unable to hear it and yet still seeing him and Steel standing there, talking when they should be fighting. “Either you decided I wasn’t worth the risk because I was a Re-Gene, or you did it because I was inherently worth less than Ortega in your eyes.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I could rip the answers out of your head,” he threatens without any real heat. “Your dampeners are down. You’d have no way of stopping me.”

“Do it, then.” Steel looks about as tired as Blindspot does. “I’m as curious to hear them as you are.”

He almost does.

Almost.

His will surges towards the chopper like a spike, piercing their minds with urgent thoughts of heading home. He waits until they’re out of sight to remove his helmet, exposing his face to the empty parking lot. To Chen.

“I had plans for how today was gonna go, you know.” A slight chuckle. “I was going to walk in, all righteous fury, and take my revenge.”

Chen holds his gaze. “What changed?”

Cyrus laughs, the sound free and pure away from the voice moderator. “What makes you think anything has?”

“You’re not killing me.”

“No.” He leans back, taking a seat on the hood of the nearest car, which groans under the pressure of his heavy armor. It’s a very casual act of criminality, but he doubt Chen is going to lambast him for it under the circumstances. “I guess I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Chen breaks it first.

“I saw your interview. The one on the bridge.” A slight pause, shorter this time. “I never knew you were into politics.”

“Any system that puts people through what I want is rotten.” He puts the helmet down and lays back, staring up at the stars. “We talked about it, you know.”

“It?”

“The sky,” he clarifies, like it’s not a total non sequitur. “What it looked like. Someone… I can’t remember who… thought it’d be green.”

“Oh.” A hesitant breath. Cyrus can sense Chen’s confusion… but also his interest. “Were you disappointed?”

“With the sky? A bit,” he admits, his eyes still skyward. “Then it got dark. And I saw the stars.” The last word is uttered with an almost dreamlike longing, with the tone of breath one might reserve for speaking about a goddess.

The Farm had taken a lot from Cyrus the second time around. But it could never take away the stars.

“They’re even more beautiful in the country.” Cyrus can sense Chen has no idea why he volunteered that information, but he continues anyway. “Especially overseas.”

“I know. Ortega took me to her ranch. More than once.”

Chen nods, but he doesn’t move from where he is standing. “You know I have to take you in.”

Cyrus sighs. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrus could hear the stunner being primed, but he didn’t bother sitting up. “But I do.”

“Using my own tech against me?” He chuckled. He’d been wondering where that old toy ended up. “That’s a new low.”

“You were dead. It was a way to honor you. And it did it’s job,” he admits.

“Not well enough,” Cyrus says, before grabbing ahold of Chen’s mind and drowning it as violently as he could. Every thought he’d had in the last four hours, every memory, every possible impression is found and ripped out, violently brutally, viciously, without the slightest hint of mercy or consideration being given for the sanctity of his mind. By the time he is done, Chen is a drooling puddle on the floor, unconscious thrice over. Blindspot barely gives him a second glance as he walks away into the night.

#cw mentions of implied sa #cw homophobia #cw internalized homophobia #cw ableism #tw: sa #tw: sa mention #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero #fhr sidestep #sidestep #fhr #fhr steel #marshall steel #marshal steel

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atherix · 11 months

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Chapters: 16/? Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: mumscarian, Scott/Jimmy Characters: Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, Scar (hermitcraft), Jimmy Solidarity - Character, scott smajor Additional Tags: Vampire Mumbo, Elf Scar, Watcher Grian, watcher jimmy, switch between perspectives fic, Flashback fic, at least half of it is flashback anyway Series: Part 24 of Midnight Summary:

Scar and Mumbo are off to the Twilight Wood to get enchanted oak for Scar's new staff. Meanwhile, Grian goes looking for answers.

#Midnight Series #Update #Chapter 15 and 16 #:)#CW for 15: mentioned ableism and implied abuse/neglect #CW for 16: past major character death and existential crisis stuff

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nicepersondisorder · 25 days

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turns one of the people who wants to call me a friend called his shitty ex a narcissist despite me telling our whole friendgroup how he should Not luse it as an insult, at least two other people with cluster b agreeing with me and talking how narcissistic absue is incorrect and harmful wording AND me telling him specifically that i have npd after he said some bullshit about bpd and cluster b in general. his ass is not getting my friendship 🥰

#he's also been an ass to other friends in general: refusing to be clear in communication; wanting us to guess what's wrong; implying we #needed to take sides in the conflict that Does Not touch us (us as in “friendgroup”) at all. it's interpersonal. it's not Group problem #vent #rant #tagging as both lmao #cw ableism #and the bullshit he said about bpd is that 1. he wants to stay away from people with bpd because they make him uncomfortable #(get over yourself jerk)#2. he won't talk to pwbpd unless they're taking medicine for bpd. literally stepped away from him when he said all that. AND he started to #rant about his bad experience with pwbpd. which he also apparently done to an another person in a friendgroup when they've told him #they have bpd. deep and exhausted sigh.#i love complaining #anyway i want him as far away from me as possible. at first his drama was kind of funny but now that he tries to involve a whole friendgroup #in his bullshit i just wanna said. adios buddy. i dony care.#🖤#anyway i hope he doesn't wish me a happy birthday today because i dont have energy to lie to him and he will make a fucking scene if i #outright telk him i don't like him. lmao

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susandsnell · 1 year

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Becky Albright 🌀

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

🌀 — from the number generator on google: 11 — heartbeat

She'll never forget it; Doctor Niedelman telling her parents that while cardiac disorders and abnormalities weren't usually a complication from scoliosis, but there was an increase in risk factor, and they needed to monitor it closely until surgery.

A lot of long, frightening words for an oft-pummelled kid to be sure, even if one of the myriad reasons for the target on her back was her bookishness, but decades on, Becky Albright still instinctively seeks out a heartbeat.

Call it force of habit; two fragile fingers, pressed lightly to the left of her breastbone, became as much a ritual for her as any of the stretches she was instructed to practice, as apples and honey come every autumn, as blasting music in her ears or burying her nose in a book to drown out jeers and stares and turns of phrase that painted her either as an incompetent, a freak, or a broken doll.

Becky remembers them as she does the words to songs on her well-worn cassettes; how mom's was always fluttering, and how dad's, steady and far too slow, before the day it stopped altogether.

She remembers the humiliated pounding that rocked her small frame and echoed in her ears during unending minutes when she gripped her cane tight as she could and simply weathered the patronizing 'concerns' of the useless witch they called an academic advisor at Gotham University —

"You know, law school isn't for everyone. If you have these...challenges, you may want to consider a more relaxed—"

She'll never forget how the toxin caused it to ram into her chest — how melting faces undulated before coagulation into hand after hand after maggot-fingered hand that pointed at her, that covered her mouth with the intent to suffocate, that dragged her down, down, down, pinned her in place and all she could hear was laughter, kids' laughter, and every cruel thing at once slurring together and dripping off those faces —

twistedbodyfreakfuckingingerkidlawschoolisnotforeveryonelousyuglycrybabyhunchbackdirtystupidpleasenotonourteamwhywouldanyoneinviteherdumbcri—

And Becky will equally never forget how slow her heart seemed in the hospital, the steady beeping of the monitor a reassurance, no matter how feeble and tremulous it felt in her chest. You are here. You are here. You are here. You never went away.

And neither did your demons.

But the heartbeat that's become the most familiar to Becky — she might even dare to call it her favourite — was the one that beat a furious staccato beneath the hollows of raddled collarbones, heavy enough to crack the pronounced ribs upon which she tended to precariously pillow her head when all was said and done.

Tapered fingers might tangle in her russet curls if she so allowed them, but they could not draw her from the intoxicating rhythms of her monster's pounding heart.

If she was fool enough to close her eyes in his presence — and oft, she did, in the interest of living up to plucky Becky, even when uttered as a taunt — she might imagine a dance. Some mystic rite, as ancient and unknowable as fear itself, a dizzying spin in accordance to his rhythms; to the drifting of clouds over the moon just outside her window. This heartbeat calls her to the dance, as hypnotic as a song, as promising of danger as an undertow.

Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum — Be-cky, Be-cky, Be-cky.

She laughs against his bare skin.

"Now, what could possibly be so funny?" Jonathan asks lazily, peering down his hooked nose at her with the closest he ever gets to indulgence.

With none of the terrified trepidation of the first time he came back to her by moonlight, so fresh from Arkham she could practically feel the damp and cold herself, Becky speaks up.

"Your heartbeat," she says. "It's going wild."

He clears his throat. "Yes, well, that's to be expected —"

Becky interrupts her Scarecrow, and doesn't even bother hiding her wicked grin.

"—when you're frightened?"

#becky albright #scarecrow #jonathan crane #bat-tag #well sorta anyway #writing prompts #thanks so much for asking me to write becky!!!!! i'm still figuring out my voice for her but the chance??? a million kisses for you anon #this got way outta hand and cringe but i'm rusty so whaddaya gonna do #cw ableism #implied but it's an important part of becky's experiences #ask to tag for other things!

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