#<- I don’t mean. fuck this is worded badly. I’m autistic and was autistic about cats for basically my entire life (I still am) I’m not sayin

[okcoolthanks]

So much of my home feed is just birds now this is fucking awesome

[demented-tours]

Making a whine funny so it goes better with dinner.

I texted this to a friend (because I text books sometimes; sorry?), but am putting it here, too, because maybe sharing rants about the sheer improbability of existence is helpful in some other space. Or it might get me flamed into the outer rings of hell.

Meh.

~*~

Tuesday was unavoidable work hell, and on Wednesday I fucked up my back. Badly.

Of course I did. Can't feel feelings properly, so body takes hit, which means that in certain equation: XStress=YPhysicalBreakdown.

It's even predictable. Polite, my pain.

But my lower back/pelvis is now, “Worse than I’ve seen it in years” said my massage therapist.

Not great.

And I just thought to myself, "How disabled a life should I lead?"

Like, if somebody told me tomorrow, “If you quit your job, do yoga 45 minutes a day in carefully controlled environment, take THESE supplements, sleep 10 hours no matter what, and focus entirely on breathing the rest of the time, you’ll have zero pain in your life,” could I do it?

Would I want to?

Hell, I think that might be sort of what I was trying to do before I realized it was a zero sum game.

But I find that I’m at this bizarre place where I’m like, “Okay. I”m (likely)autistic-ADHD-OCD-acronym empowered. Disabled. Anxious. Chronic pain. Autoimmune bingo card winner. I have a full time, highly stressful job, and I think it’s fun to write 6 books at a time. I’ve given up most of my social outings, as I prefer to speak on the phone or in small groups. I don’t like to eat in public. Obligations give me hives. Literally. And also panic attacks.

Except for those obligations that I weirdly manage for myself? But not all of them? Like, how can, "Dee, let’s write 5000 words today!" Not stress me but "Dee let’s do laundry!" make me feel like I am facing the guillotine, and honestly, please behead me faster so it's over already?

And, conversely, how can, "Should we have sex?" feel like somebody’s asking me to scale Mount Everest naked whereas, "Can you do six hours of research on box beetles?" feel so good I feel it in my teeth?

I fucking don’t get myself. The more rocks I turn over, the more confusing it gets. I am a pile of misinformation and contradictions, and it is exhausting trying to sort out these grains of rice from these grains of wheat.

"Just take care of yourself" they say.

Sure, Jan, I say back.

Because I really feel like if I took away all my stressors, the motion of my own lungs would become annoying. Like, congratulations! You have achieved a zen state!

And then, ten minutes into said zen state, I can feel my fucking lungs moving in an obnoxiously even rhythm and want to rip them from my chest.

Because it isn’t what I do. It’s how my body/mind PERCEIVES it and REACTS to it without my fucking consent.

And yeah, I read all the books on retraining your brain. That works great if you want to stop hating spiders because one bit you as a kid and then your mom kissed your booboo, and you got the bandaid you liked.

It does not work well if spiders are attached to garden hoses because you once killed a spider and then got beaten with a hose because you left the back door unlocked before being sent to your room without supper where you rocked yourself for comfort and now you have a VERY complicated relationship with spiders (which you cannot be near) and hoses (which you like in kinky bedroom activity) and food (you can't eat supper without permission) and locks (you collect them) and being alone (which, as Taylor says, leads to ending up in crisis) and rocking (which you do only on airplanes, now, for Other Complicated Ass Reasons)*.

So yeah. Not simple.

I really don't pay my therapist enough.

But then I think all this, and I think, “Do I REALLY not like to eat in public??? I used to love it. I think? Or was I faking it? Or sometimes?

"Or is all this misinformation, too? Actually, is everything? Self, are we pretending to be disabled to get out of doing things we don’t like? Or do we legit need to get out of doing things we don’t like because we are disabled**?"

I have no fucking clue.

And my back hurts.

Sigh.

<3Dee

*(Please note: This is purely an example. I was not beaten with hoses. And I like spiders, and I rock in cars, not planes, thanks.)

**(This is my own self talk, not commentary on anybody else's disability. Because YOUR disability is 1000% legit. I will fight to the death for your self respect and accomodations. It's just my disability that's clearly for show.)

[weaselle]

Hey. Do autistic people know that “normal” communication is not something most neurotypical people actually KNOW HOW TO DO?

I mean they DO it. But they have no idea what why or how.

The subconscious handles 90% of that shit. And when they get their conscious mind involved it fucks it all up.

Sometimes i see autistic people (or other neurodivergent folk) posting about their interactions with people about communication stuff, be it conversation, or eye contact or whatever, and I am like, oh no

if the other person KNOWS you are autistic, or whatever, it can compromise the other person’s ability to communicate, because they get fixated on what they usually don’t have to think about.  And they know you are the reason they are thinking about it, but have trouble feeling the difference between “it is this person’s fault this is going badly” and “i am not good at communicating when i have to think about how i do it”. So they blame the neurodivergent person, when really it’s more about their own inability to be conscious of their communication techniques.

A lot of neurotypical communication is dependent on not thinking about it.

Sort of the way people automatically know that in english you wouldn’t say “the red, old, big truck”

You’d say “the big, old, red truck” automatically without even being able to say why the word order is like that. Most people would get that word order right without thinking about it, but  couldn’t describe the rule they are automatically following.

Things like eye-contact and personal distance and various verbal language and body language details are like this. When neurotypical people have to think about it, it all breaks down and gets confusing and super uncomfortable for them. That’s why someone trying to describe rules about eye contact rarely makes sense, because it’s all automatic and situational, and like the big red truck example, they don’t actually know what they are doing or why. Sort of like being unable to walk your normal natural walk if you are thinking about it too much, being made aware of what they usually don’t think about makes them unable to do it right.

I have in the past gotten hung up on things like eye contact. I once couldn’t feel right while walking for more than a week straight. But when it comes to things like that, my gift is I have learned how to not think about it on purpose. 

So I often see this issue with communication when a neurodivergent person is posting about, say, a parent who has fixated on their eye contact or whatever, and i’m like noooooooooo, you poor thing, don’t listen to them, they don’t understand it any more than you do, their subconscious handles all that for them, they are just scapegoating you for their own discomfort at being made aware of what they usually don’t deal with and are now hung up on.

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on that today.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

I’ll be honest, I debated not making this post because I don’t want people to just assume I’m making every single of my favourite characters autistic (although why shouldn’t I lmfao who’s gonna stop me) and also because I know some of the stuff I saw as being autistic traits could actually be in fact due to the fact he’s a serial killer. I also know that people might complain because “saying the psycho serial killer is autistic is bad for the autistic community” but Dano!Riddler is my favourite character in the film so… yeah. It’s autism acceptance month so why the hell not! I know some of the points are probably a far reach but I still wanted to put them anyway because fuck it!

Edward Nashton (The Riddler) is autistic and here’s why I think so:

Ummm, his OBSESSION WITH PUZZLES, for a start! It’s the most obvious one! In the scene with Colson, he says, “Now ever since I was a child, I always loved little puzzles - for me, they’re a retreat from the horrors of our world”. Dude literally has a special interest in puzzles and riddles, using them to escape how awful the world is

His other special interest is probably Batman, maybe the Waynes as a whole? (He did a lot of research on them and their family history) Idk, but man is obsessed with them

That man is super socially awkward - and yeah, I guess you could say that’s because he’s an incel, etc., but still. It’s obvious he has no idea how to make friends in his day to day life.

A rather black and white view on the world/the city: he thinks his murdering is justified because it’s payback for how badly he was treated. Also he has a strong sense of justice!

Attention to detail: he created a whole cipher alphabet, wraps his head in cling film because he knows he can’t shed hairs on a crime scene, has this whole carefully thought out plan etc.

Speaking of attention to detail, can we talk about the perfect map he did on his floor of Gotham??? Like it’s literally an exactly perfect overhead map of the entire city, from what the roads look like to the top of the buildings.

He has a thing about Ave Maria and I’m sorry but his love of that song to the point where it’s in his theme on the soundtrack, he was listening to it at the funeral and then he started randomly singing it is definitely pointing to an obsession with the song??? Maybe just me???

^ you just know he went to the funeral not only to a) see Bruce Wayne, b) see the result of his murder of the mayor, and c) see the calamity of him having Colson’s car crash the funeral, but also because he was 100% vibing with the choir singing Ave Maria. Literally all of the above are correct.

When he’s getting arrested and they first order him to turn around, he doesn’t and has to be asked again - which, you know, arguably could be more of an assured , “I’m unbothered and playing it cool” psychopath thing but whatever. Could be partly because of an auditory processing disorder or something that means it takes him longer to understand and do things?

Also when he’s getting arrested, the first thing he says is that he’s ordered a slice of pumpkin pie which… ???

Flat speech???? Kind of??? There’s definitely moments his speech tone is a little flat. And I know this ain’t a fail on the actor’s part because Paul Dano is one of the best actors of his generation, every part he plays is well thought out and extremely well done.

Sometimes autistic people struggle with eye contact in that they can’t often make it - but also sometimes autistic people make intensely eye contact to the point that it makes people uncomfortable??? Because we’ve been forced and conditioned to make eye contact but we’re not sure how long. And I think he falls in that category

When Batman rebuffs him and says “you’re sick”, he just starts yelling the word “No” and general yelling.

He thought he and Batman were friends before they met because he was sending him greeting cards and he viewed what Batman was doing as “helping” him - again, they didn’t meet until after they were arrested, their only communications was through Riddler leaving riddles/his videos and then they briefly spoke on video call before Riddler killed Colson. Eddie was straight up like “oh, we must be friends now! I have a friend! :)”

^Honestly I don’t think he knows how to make friends, he’s definitely lonely and very much keeps to himself, which is a huge reason I think he may be autistic

When his plan fails, he’s just crying and yelling and banging the walls of his cell and moving about restlessly :(

In general he has some… interesting reactions to things (like full on smiling while getting arrested, sudden bursts of unrestrained anger, laughing when asked which ID is his…) Sometimes mood swings can be an autistic thing, as can inappropriate reactions in social situations

When watching his bombs go off from Arkham, he’s straight up mouthing the “BOOM”s to himself and loving it

Sometimes disorganisation can be a trait of autism and his apartment is, honestly, a fucking dive. It’s disgusting. I love that.

Poor posture

He tells Batman that his strength is “up here” (meaning his mind, because he’s extremely smart) but physically he’s not adept at all and that’s why he needed Batman to bring the rat into the light for him

He does a LOT of vocal stimming both in his streaming scenes and in Arkham. And I do mean a LOT.

I’ve probably missed some but that’s just what I thought when watching the film - would be interested to know if anyone else thought the same!

[mcnuggyy]

As a white person and budding artist (that sure is. An intro) I'm always super careful to try and avoid harmful cultural and visual stereotypes in my art and practice sketches. I was wondering if you have/have posted any tips for drawing mexican people? I always do research before drawing anyone from a different culture or of a different race but it can be tricky to find things written by theae minorities themselves and I am always hesitant to take tips from another white artist on drawing other races 😅 (I also apologise if I worded anything badly here, I'm autistic and struggle to word things sometimes! Please feel free to correct me if I did!)

Heyo! I think the biggest reason there isn’t or even I haven’t ever made a how to draw Mexicans is ‘cause Mexico is very very diverse, and the majority of us are Mestizo ( “mixed race, especially one having Spanish and indigenous descent.”) There are definitely racist stereotypes to avoid such as orange skin, thick black mustache, lazy, alcoholic, poncho wearing, Mexican. Obviously. But this is just one small part of the coin, when there is a lot of anti-blackness, and anti-indigenous sentiments in our own communities, EVEN THOUGH, the majority of us ARE mixed race. This has to do with colonization, and the way the Spaniards just really fucked us over, brain washed us, and made being a White Mexican the IDEAL Mexican. So there’s a LOT to unpack there. 

Especially with Mestizos being prejudice towards their Indigenous communities WHILE STILL practicing the very same important practices that came from those communities (Dia De Muertos for example) Basically there’s an issue of still wanting to be Mexican, and have pride in your country, and culture, but not wanting be like those "dirty brown” Mexicans. To the point where the government is constantly trying to push the “we are all one Mexican race and nation” while actively trying to get people to essentially erase our Indigenous communities. Like there’s this big idea of “marrying White” that even my mom used to believe in for a while, because her own mother taught her that as well in order to assimilate and what not.  Again, lots of colorism and bigotry within our own communities. It’s a very big and complex issue, that we can thank the Spaniards for ( and the Mexican government who continues to uphold these toxic ideas), YAYY colonization!!! Weeee!!!!

( I mean I can even see it in my own family, with my dad’s side of the family clearly not being able to pass as White being severely impoverished, while my mom’s side of the family, who overall is much more White passing, have been able to hold positions of power in large companies and can even afford to buy more than one house)

Sorry to get into that very long rant, but I do think it’s very important to know this information to get started with actually figuring out how to accurately portray a Mexican, Tejano, Mex-Am, Afro-Mexican etc. Because well, anyone can be Mexican, just like anyone can be American! But I’ll get into the main communities that exist in Mexico to help you out!

So again, Mestizos (mixed-race) are the biggest group in Mexico, making up over 93% of the population! So that’s a good chunk of us jaja! So it’s good to talk about how different you can look in a mixed-race family! And what better example than my own family!

Both my parents look very “stereotypically” Mexican by American standards, especially my dad who is the absolute definition of a macho ranchero Mexicano jaja. Both my parents come from small farming communities in Mexico, but look very different themselves! Each pueblo kinda has their own differences too! The people from my mom’s pueblo all tend to have much lighter skin, with cool undertones, some even have blue or green eyes, and red hair! While the people from my dad’s pueblo (98 people in total there, very very small jajaja) Tend to have deep red undertones, thick dark hair, curly hair, hooked noses, and very very rarely hazel eyes! So it’s no wonder me and my siblings look so different as well! (none of us are adopted I assure you) 

So I’m very lucky cause I have a HUGE family to use as reference, and reference is key!!! but there are many cool Mexican celebrities and public figures you can use as reference if you don’t happen to know anyone (tho It’s always good to have friends with different experiences from your own as always)

But here’s some examples of how different mestizos can look, including some of my own specific references!

There is also our Indigenous communities “ Mexico's indigenous population is one of the two largest in the Americas (only Peru is comparable in size). More than one in ten Mexicans speaks an indigenous language”

I really recommend checking out this website to learn more, as this is something I’m still learning more about myself! 

Then of course we have our Afro-Mexican community! Mexico is cruel to it’s Indigenous communities, but even more so to Afromexicanos, who until recently were completely ignored by Mexico’s census. You can read more about this issue here.  Spaniards of course play a big part in the issues that face Afromexicanos today.  You can learn even more about this history here!

Did you know Lupita Nyong’o is Mexican! (A fellow Lupita <3 )

And of course, can’t forget White Mexicans! Don’t think the Spaniards just left after a while, because they stayed jajaja. (Look no further than Novellas and most big celebrates for some examples fhhffhf) 

So there really is no absolute way to represent us! (which was an issue I had with Coco actually.. with everyone having the exact same orange/brown skin) There is certainly a picture that comes to American’s heads when they think “Mexican” but in reality, things are much more diverse, beautiful, and complicating than that! 

However I do have some small little things I personally like to do to help indicate when I’m making a Mexican / Mex-Am character design based off of all of the information above along with my family and friends as reference! 

Moles! I don’t know why, but every Latino I know has so many moles.... from my childhood friends to my ex boyfriend, to every single cousin have... MOLES MOLES MOLES! Why? I haven’t a clue, but I always add them to my character designs jajaja! Even if it’s just a little one on the neck <3

Thick hair! It is a curse and a blessing. My grandpa will never bald compared to a white man, but in exchange I have to deal with shaving my chin every day to compensate LMAO. So I like giving my characters thick eyebrows, dark body hair, or thicker hair than most designs! It’s cool and neat!!! But please be mindful about how you do this as there have been white artists who have done this in racist and harmful ways, such as rcdart. ( X ) ( X ) 

I also recommend checking out shows like El Tigre, and Victor y Valentino, for some more fun and simple designs that show a wide variety of Mexican characters! (Also I just love Jorge R Gutierrez’s designs in general jaja)

Hope this helps! <3

[clouds-rambles]

Okay so I had pasta and thoughts have returned!

Wording. Vocalising things is strange and difficult. I have to write a lot of essays for my respective courses and they're always worded in a very particular, somewhat atypical way. Same with my text messages and just my speech in general. The thoughts are there but I struggle to put them out into the world, which oftentimes just demotivates me and so I just sit, listen and think rather than speak.

Linking back to my previous point of 'there is a specific way things should be done', I have a very strong sense of justice. I don't understand social issues, such as racism, for example. Now bare with me here, because when people hear this they often don't let me finish and slander me. I understand that raacism exists. I rationally can understand why and how it came about and that people just don't like differences. But like... why? People are people. People of colour are people! Women are people! Gay people are people! Why can't people just be people? I know this is badly explained, but I think this might be the same reason why many autistic people are often pan and non-binary, because they simply exist as people without seeing the reason for needing to be defined.

Okay next point, kind of related now that I think about it, I struggle with interpreting social constructs. Time is an incomprehensible bitch. Strict gender and secuality are kind of pointless. At this point I'm making a different point to what I was originally wanting to say so going back to that, I'll often say things in a way that may be offensive. I never mean to do that, but I just word things wrong or don't fully explain what I'm thinking properly, and people get offended. I also do a lot of gestures too. Like, I've been told I have a tendency to look people up and down very judgementally, but I promise I'm not thinking anything bad, this is simply how I take in your presence.

Colours have taste. Smells have colour! Sounds have smells? The senses are kinda fucked up like that. That's why some foods are very much not to my liking, specifically the ones that taste of green (strangely enough not always a green food) and why some sounds make me feel physically sick.

Rambling. I mean, this you surely have noticed by now. I have three modes: no thoughts head very empty I simply exist in time and space though even that's uncertain and I can't do anything, many thoughts head too full and I am focusing on nothing and everything simultaneously also not getting anything done, and finally, many thoughts on one specific thing that I must do and will be physically unable to do anything else until I do so (usually not the thing I actually need to get done). Point is, I never get anything done but when I do, it's long-winded and to some extent, incomprehensible.

I think that's it. I do believe that is all I had to say. Maybe. Yeah. Thank you for listening to my ted talk :]

jahshsjsh wait I do that. But I just thought it was down to my dyslexia. Because I have dyslexia typing for me is easier because I sound out words. But sometimes I fail so bad at it especially when I’m tired. It’s also why I’ve started using shortening of words so I don’t have to figure out how to spell. But I trip over my words so much and have so much trouble speaking sometimes, and I’ll split a word down into syllables but I still won’t get it

OMG I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN. Theoretically I understand discrimination and as a queer person I’ve experienced some. But I just don’t understand it in practice. I don’t really understand why like I understand it’s a society thing but why I don’t get. Does that make sense?

OMG TIME IS SUCH A BITCH. The passage of time simply does not exist to me honestly (that and I can’t bend my head around the 24hr clock no matter how much it’s explained to me). Gender is the thing I don’t understand the most. Sexuality I get because being a lesbian to me is being attracted to femininity and people who want to be perceived as feminine. The gender thing is weird though. Taking in people in certain ways is something I have to do like ‘stealthily’ ig because my mum would always point out when i did something ‘not normal’ yk?

Oh I don’t have the colour thing, but that might be because I’m an artist and I’m trained in seeing and associating colours in certain ways. So apart from my sketchbooks having strict colour themes when it comes to writing I don’t have much more than that

Yeah I definitely do the rambling thing too. I find it hard to give one word answers and when I’m mad at someone I force myself to give one word answers so they know lmao (though because I’m conscious of my rambling ik how to lie decently bc I just stop myself from rambling bc apparently rambling is a sign of lying). Honestly get me on a topic and I’ll ramble about it for so long, I have trouble figuring out when people want me to stop talking though. And I only really get the hint when they start talking over me

Ty for the ted talk <333

[chickenfreeblog]

chicken i'm a teacher and i feel like a lot of the advice given to teachers for how best to support students with adhd comes from the neurotypical community. things like chunk information into smaller parts, give frequent breaks, use fidget toys, etc. and maybe that's all good advice (??), but is there anything you wish teachers would do differently? things that would give your brain the best chance of learning?

oh man this is such a good thoughtful question & one that i hope every teacher thinks about, but i know it’s tough so i really appreciate that you are!! i think the ones you gave are pretty good practical tips, honestly? i’m hoping other people will jump in because i just have my experience to speak from.

a couple things that i would say that are less... concrete but just stuff i wish my teachers had known:

- the formal dx isn’t everything / don’t assume that kids are neurotypical

i know there’s a lot of paperwork and stuff around these issues for you guys, so this can be a little tough to manage. one thing that happened to me though and that i hear a lot from friends is just like..... it’s hereditary, and also there’s a lot of stigma around being neurodivergent, especially in older generations? i know my mom really pushed back against anyone that suggested that i had adhd, because she has the exact same symptoms and was kind of like Why Are These Teachers Using This Parent Teacher Conference To Call Me a Big Freak. i know other parents that just think it’s too weird to have an nd kid and basically picked any possible weird workaround over getting an actual diagnosis. i think a lot of teachers kind of look at formal dx as a way to separate kids who are lazy but normal from kids who have “real problems,” and that can get really super gnarly if you’re, y’know, a ten year old whose parents just don’t believe in the idea of adhd for whatever reason.

- don’t assume that kids aren’t trying?

i know there’s totally just some kids that need more motivation for whatever reason, but...... i think the flipside is that..... you can also just put a ton of pressure on a kid who is genuinely trying super hard? i think a lot of teachers have a little bit of an idea that there’s a series of magic words that they can say to properly motivate a kid, and then presto, they’ll follow directions and be Fixed. and definitely they mean well!! but also i think you can really easily make a kid shut down if they’re trying their absolute hardest & none of the adults around them are perceiving it at all? it honestly was pretty traumatic to want to be good at school So Badly and still have every adult be constantly like okay...... we need to talk about why you’re lazy and don’t care and why you’re shitty at this, actually. i think my best teachers just really had a sense of humor about the fact that i was going to misunderstand stuff or forget deadlines and that it wasn’t a matter of them teaching it badly or me not caring to learn.

- if you figure out how to work with one kid with adhd..... congratulations you figured out how to work with one (1) kid with adhd

this is something that autistic people have talked about a lot, but i think it also really holds true for adhd? my partner and i always make each other a lil crazy because despite having Same Guy Disease we have uhhh completely opposite needs. jay’s dyslexic mcfuck and he wants verbal instructions and someone to talk to basically every waking minute or he’s like I’M BORED I NEED TASKS NOW!!! IMMEDIATELY!!! I’M POKING THE WORLD WITH A STICK. DO SOMETHING. whereas i..... cannot interpret verbal instructions worth one good goddamn and if you give me strict instructions and deadlines with no wiggle room i’ll simply get claustrophobic and die. like my ideal school situation is someone gives me a textbook full of problems and they sit in another room and never speak to me unless i have a question. genuinely. i know there’s some skepticism in ed about learning styles, but i do think for people with Sensory Stuff that just being... more thoughtful about how information is delivered and how they’re receiving it can really help? a lot of adhd people really struggle with written info or verbal info, and if you’re relying 100% on one option it’s... kind of impossible for them to Do School in any real way.

- just have a sense of humor / support kids if they figure out a way that works for them?

i kinda mentioned this earlier, but i think a lot of people fall into the trap of thinking that they can motivate every kid into doing things The Right Way, and then a lot of kids just shut down instead? genuinely the teachers i got along with the best were the ones that just.... kind of sat back and accepted that like, i was not native to their environment and wasn’t going to be able engage with stuff the way they envisioned. i took the same math teacher for three years of high school because at one point i just started ignoring her lectures & doing homework during every class. instead of confronting me about it she just was kind of like “weird!!! not technically a sin though!” and we?? got along great after that? like literally better than i had ever gotten along with a teacher until then. i didn’t even know you could go to math class and not cry! amazing. i won’t say i was ever super great at math, but i went from being the kid getting Fs on every single test and never turning in homework to being a pretty reliable B+ student. she totally could’ve gotten offended in that situation since she was trying dang hard to give an interesting lecture, but having her just kind of go “weird! okay” and not be like Callout Post: This Child Is So Annoying made such a huge fucking difference for me (shoutout to ms. butler thank you for letting me graduate high school etc etc)

let kids see other life paths without judgment

kind of in line with the motivation thing, but i think like.... yes kids with ADHD can absolutely thrive in academics, but also make it clear that it’s not a catastrophe if it’s not a good environment for them? there’s so much rhetoric around “you have to do well in 1st grade so you can get into harvard and be a lawyer” or whatever, and i think kids who struggle pick up on that more than people realize. i remember really genuinely feeling like there was straight up not a future for me if i didn’t find a way to just like.... get a new brain??? and i wish i’d had positive role models for the idea that like. you can have a cool interesting life even if you’re very bad at sitting in a lecture!! it’s fine!! maybe you can’t be an astronaut or whatever but it’s still worth trying to graduate and see what’s out there

OKAY my two practical tips: let kids wander the fuck around AND also. start a knitting club

okay this is just for me but lmaoooooooo my elementary school teachers thought i was gonna SIT STILL??? and THINK???? at the SAME TIME???? i don’t even do that as a 25 year old. please. you know those bikes that like power electricity generators? that’s what a hyperactive brain is like. if they’re not moving they’re just not doing anything. 

also yeah knitting club. you gotta. my 4th grade teacher sucked so bad on every single front listed above and she hated me soooooo much but she did teach me how to sit through a 30 minute meeting without crying. fucking around with string and sticks IS adhd culture probably. idk.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello, Autism nonny here with a very negative update :/…

So, after sending the message, I didn’t get a reply until yesterday. She said “Are you serious?? You don’t seem autistic.” I then explained to her that everyone on the spectrum is different and Autism doesn’t have a specific “look”, even though many people believe it does. I won’t go into detail but we had a very long conversation, she was really annoying me and it didn’t even seem like she was trying to understand at all, when I’d put so much effort into writing the message (it took me days). I got angry and she got angry and it turned into an argument (all via text). I said something along the lines of “why can’t you see how hard this is for me” (although in a more heated way) and she replied with “Not my fault you’re a (r-slur).”.....yeah.

Since then, she’s messaged me and apologised multiple times and told me it was something she said in the heat of the moment, when she was angry, she didn’t mean it at all. I want to believe her but, honestly, that doesn’t seem like something you’d say in the “heat of the moment”. And I have a nasty feeling that, in that period of time before she apologised, she said something untrue to my other friends or twisted the words of my first message and made me seem like a freak. (This is one of the disadvantages of everything being online).

I seriously worked myself up about it last night and cried for hours haha (I’m sensitive, okay?) and now I really dunno what to do. I don’t have to see her (or any of my other classmates) in person for at least a month, maybe longer, but I’m really worried. I’m honestly not sure whether i want to forgive her because, even though I dont believe she’d deliberately be ableist or anything, I really don’t trust her anymore. This is basically a repeat of what happened last time and it’s all a huge fucking mess. And, sad as this is, I don’t have many other friends, so now I don’t know where I stand with them. Now I have to go to online school and pretend nothing happened which is gonna be fun...not. I really can’t deal with this on top of everything else I’ve been dealing with and I’m very stressed.... joy.

Right, sorry for ranting again, and sorry to not be able to say anything positive...

Nonny xxx

(referencing this thread)

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

Oh goodness, I am so so sorry that everything went tits up. Unfortunately, this is something I don’t think I should say “you must / mustn’t” other than, do what you feel in your heart is right. 

For me personally, your friend crossed a line and broke your trust when she used re*d as a slur against you, especially after you pouring your heart out, taking time out to explain yourself, only to then turn around and act first like Not-Your-Friend as an initial response after DAYS of having the information, and THEN acting like her outburst was no big deal? I’m sorry, but that’s a dick move, and you have every right to be upset and angry. Google exists, she has no excuse for NOT learning about autism and what NOT to do when a friend tells her something deeply personal.

In my humble opinion, she showed her true colours here. She’s supposed to be your closest friend and she calls you a slur in a fit of rage? Fuck off with that nonsense.

BUT.

I’m not in the habit of breaking up friendships, and I also react rather badly to someone hurting me, and I MAY have just been overly defensive here. And while I don’t think it’s your job to educate her (again, Google exists), perhaps say “look, what you said hurt me, and broke my trust in you. I’m willing to remain friends but please know that it will take me some time to not feel like you’re always judging me. In the meantime, I politely request you read [insert link to information about your type of autism here] and understand why it hurts me what you did. We’re supposed to be friends, and if I can’t trust you to even accept me, I don’t see how this can ever be resolved.”

Okay, maybe not EXACTLY like that, because it’s still kinda passive aggressive, but you get the picture: let her know you are hurt, feel betrayed and unworthy of her friendship, and offer some education for her. It leaves the ball in her court on whether she wants to be the one to break up the friendship or not.

Which again, will reveal her true colours, and a person like that isn’t worth having in your life. Yes, we are all flawed individuals, and are ALL ignorant of things until we learn more about something, and that’s just being human. What makes one a good human is if one is open to listening and being empathetic to others. That’s important, I think.

I’m so sorry sorry Nonny. I know my word is pointless, but let me say here: You are fine just as you are. I’m sorry you have to go through this... having a crumbling friendship is a terrible thing to go through. Big hugs to you, and I hope for the best for you and that it all turns around <3

Love you Nonny <3

[goldenspecter]

Forgivness

Summary: “I was possessed! Da-A ghost took over my body!” Tucker shouts and that’s the moment he breaks down, pulling his hands away from his parents and holding him close to his chest-if he holds his chest, then no one can enter his body. That burning in his chest is back as he sobs brokenly. Here he was, breaking down over something Danny did to him and here he is, still holding on to Danny’s secret. Where was the fairness in that? “I didn’t want to!”

Valerie doesn’t know how to forgive someone. She’s never really had to, because people usually don’t hurt her this badly. Usually they apologize on the spot for some minor thing and Valerie instantly forgives them because she knows that they meant her no harm.

In which we see how Tucker copes with the events of Parental Bonding and Valerie gets some closure.

Archive of Our Own | FFN

Notes:

Here's the first side story in the AU! I'm quite happy with how this one turned out and hopefully plan on doing more of these as the AU progresses!

I knew I had to write this after writing that confrontation scene between Tucker and Valerie in the French Braids and it's been something I've been wanting to write anyways. Not to mention that I'm currently having some form of writers block when it's coming to writing the next part of the other fic.

- I've seen plenty of works within the fandom that addresses how overshadowing/possessing someone fucks them up but I don't think I've quite seen anything that talks about how it personally affected Tucker. It's really, really, really fucked up for Tucker to explicitly say no and not consent to be overshadowed and Danny, his best friend and someone who's the narrative says is a good person, ignore Tucker and do it any way and deeply violate his agency and consent. Even more fucked up that the narrative plays this for jokes at the end of the episode. This is literally a Vlad move my dudes, this is something that we should expect of Vlad because we know that he doesn't really view people as actual people, just pawns that he can use to meet a goal. Danny doing shit like this multiple times throughout canon(and it being played for jokes) only makes him more like Vlad. A more interesting concept would have been Danny asking to overshadow someone/not using except for dire circumstances but canon said fuck good ideas right?

-Valerie deserves closure. She deserves good things, good things and she deserves closure for being stood up at home coming.

-Re: Self-Harm Tag: Okay so Tucker has a certain behavior in this fic where he picks at scabs in his hair until they bleed but the thing is, Tucker doesn't really have a choice whether or not he wants to do it but rather it's compulsive. He doesn't really realize he's doing it and doesn't intend to cause physical damage(whereas its the opposite with self-harming) but he knows its a thing. Trichotillomania (hair pulling) and skin picking are commonly seen in autistic people. It can serve as a way to self-soothe and self-stimulate the individual in day to day life. Some Autism Specialists can classify this behavior as a SIB(Self-Injurious-Behavior) since it is harmful to the person's body. Also I do this a lot, have been for several years and once again the projection is real.

-Also Tucker in this AU has a really hardcore squish(friend crush) on Valerie but doesn't really understand/realize that he just wants to be friends with her and thus pursued her in a romantic manner.

Timeline wise in the AU: The first half, in Tucker’s POV, takes place right after Parental Bonding, through One of a Kind and mid way through pt one of French Braids. The second half, Valerie’s POV, is after pt one of French Braids and in between Attack of the Killer Garage Sale and Splitting Images.

-----

When Tucker fully comes back into his body, he's at the homecoming dance. Dragon Sam’s been subdued and back to her normal self and the three of them are standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Dude, sorry your date didn't pan out. Where is Paulina anyway?” asks Tucker, the words taste bitter in his mouth as he says them.

Sam shrugs, “Ah, who cares? Look, the DJ's still playing. I think there's time for one last dance?”

“Sure, I’d love to,” Danny turns and hands the amulet to Tucker. “Keep an eye on this will you?”

Danny doesn’t bother waiting for an answer before dropping the amulet in Tucker’s hands. Tucker’s fingers instinctively curl around the amulet and Tucker turns away from Danny’s smile because all he can see now is Danny’s green eyes smiling at him before Danny took over. How come he didn’t get an apology for being forced to stand up Valerie? How come he’s the only one who doesn’t get a happy ending this time around? How come Danny gets to pretend like none of this ever happened while he was stuck with the aftermath?

Tucker swallows the lump in his chest, “Wait a second,” he begins,  “I’m dateless again?! What does a guy have to do to get hooked up around here?”

“I want to go to the ball!” wails Dora.

He doesn’t know why he had to turn his feelings into a mere joke. He does of course. Because no one here really thinks his feelings matter and jokes are the only way he has right now to process it. Tucker knows this but can’t help the heartache and nausea bury when Danny and Sam laugh at his misfortune. Can they not see that he’s hurting or do they just not care ?

The fourteen year old forces a smile on his face as he steps away from Dora. “Maybe I don’t need a date that badly,” he says and runs away from the blooming romance and the burning in his chest.

~~~~~~~

Home should be safe. Home was safe. Home was where it happened, so how safe was he? Tucker opens the door and both of his parents are there, sitting at the table waiting for him.

How safe were they? Were any of them safe anymore?

His parents look up from the card game they were playing, “Tucker?” his mom asks, with confusion in her eyes. “It’s pretty early, you shouldn’t be home for another hour or two.”

Tucker shakes his head, kicking the door behind him. “Wanted to go home early.” He turns around facing the door and locks it, and with it, his emotions.

Maurice blinks, laying down his cards. “Did something happen dear?”

Tucker shakes his head even harder. “It’s nothing,” his voice cracks slightly and he can feel his parents' looks of concern.

Maurice stands up and slowly walks towards him, “Something happened dear,” he says softly and Tucker just knows that he can’t keep up this facade any longer. “Whatever happened, it’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t,” he says in a rough whisper. Maybe, if he keeps his eyes down then he won't lose it. “It won’t ever be.”

Maurice tries to wrap his arm around his son but steps back when his son roughly pushes him away. He tries again, but this time, he gently takes one of his son's hands and holds it in his. “Please, just talk to us.”

It’s the desperation in his dad’s voice that does it for him, that finally gets him to talk. “I stood up Valerie,” he says, voice cracking and thick with emotion, growing more and more panicked by the second. “I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to, I didn’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t have a choice?” Angela asks, coming up to him and taking his other hand in hers.

“I was possessed! Da-A ghost took over my body!” Tucker shouts and that’s the moment he breaks down, pulling his hands away from his parents and holding him close to his chest-if he holds his chest, then no one can enter his body. That burning in his chest is back as he sobs brokenly. Here he was, breaking down over something Danny did to him and here he is, still holding on to Danny’s secret. Where was the fairness in that? “I didn’t want to!”

Maurice gets over his initial shock at Tucker’s outburst, before he jumps in to help his hurting son. “Tucker, can you take deep breaths with me?” he takes exaggerated deep breaths, “Follow my breathing.”

“I can’t,” he manages to say through a sob, “It’s not safe, you aren’t safe, none of us are safe.”

“You’re safe honey, you’re safe,” Angela says, sliding off his hat and gently stroking his hair in an effort to calm him down. “Maybe we can go to the Fentons-”

Tucker reels back and the panic kicks into overdrive, “No!” The sobbing grows into deep and broken wails. They can’t go to Ground Zero, where the source of this misery originated from, because then all three of them definitely won’t be safe. Home is safer, Home has to be safer, Home needs to be safer.

Maurice and Angela look at each other in confusion, unable to understand why their child was so adamant about not going to the Fentons. Both parents put aside their confusion to help their son calm down, taking nearly 45 minutes to do so. Once Tucker was calm, they gave him some water and some medications to help him sleep through the night. Maurice walks his son upstairs,  stands outside the door as he changes into pajamas and personally tucks his son in for the night, turning out the light and leaving Tucker’s door slightly ajar.

Tucker doesn’t leave the house for the rest of the weekend.

~~~~~~

Tucker wants to stay away from Danny, he doesn’t feel safe near him anymore. He doesn’t know when his best friend is going to overshadow his body and take control of him.

He’s just on the brink of telling Danny to leave him alone, to not talk to him anymore when Danny says he needs them both to help him with ghost hunting and studying for the test.

Tucker feels the no on his tongue, practically taste it, but instead a sour yes spills out instead.

The incident with the Purple Back Gorilla happens and the week passes by quickly. Tucker can not help but feel uneasy, thankful when the weekend comes by.

Somehow, someway he’s at the grocery store and he comes across Valerie pushing a cart with a little kid inside of it. Nerves garble his voice even as he clears his voice, “Valerie? I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“Go away Tucker,” she says and he can hear the anger boiling in her.

“I know I messed up-”

She whips around, her green eyes narrowing at him in anger and he feels so small right about now. “You left me!” she hisses, “I was alone!”

Tucker winces, rubbing his neck. “Let me explain Valerie.”

"You don't get to explain how you stood me up at homecoming," Valerie starts, her voice tight. "You don't get to waltz in here-" Her shoulders deflate, the anger leaving her body and soon washes her over with sadness. Tucker knows that she’s holding herself back and he can only assume it’s because of the kid in the cart.

"Go," she points down the aisle, "I don't want to hear your excuses."

Tucker bows his head in shame, walking down the aisle and out of the store with the few items he bought, his chance to repair...whatever he wanted to have with Valerie gone.

~~~~~

Valerie doesn’t know how to forgive someone. She’s never really had to, because people usually don’t hurt her this badly. Usually they apologize on the spot for some minor thing and Valerie instantly forgives them because she knows that they meant her no harm.

But with Tucker? She has no idea where to begin. The only reason she’s considering forgiving Tucker in the first place is because Clockwork told her that Tucker didn’t want to stand her up, that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that Clockwork knew what happened that night but couldn’t tell her.

Clockwork leans over her shoulder as she contemplates sending Tucker a text. “What are you doing?” they ask, sipping on their juice.

“Trying to send a text,” she says, “To Tucker to talk about...you know.”

Clockwork tilts their head before nodding in realization. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know what to say!” Valerie says, throwing her hands up in frustration. “That’s just it!”

The small child shrugs, “Mmm, just go with what feels right?” they question in a stilted voice.  

Valerie raises an eyebrow, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I picked it up from someone on one of the TV shows you were watching,” Clockwork says, “I thought it was appropriate.”

It was appropriate, she has to give them that, no matter how stilted and unnatural they sounded while saying it. She encouragingly rubs their back, “You did good, though.” she praises, pulling them in close to her for a side hug.

Valerie’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, typing and retyping her message until she’s satisfied with it and pressing send.

You: I’ve thought about it and I’m giving you one chance to explain yourself. Meet me at the park at 5:30. I’ll be at the tables near the swings.

Several minutes pass by before she feels her phone vibrate, looking down to see the notification.

Tucker: Okay, meet you there.

Valerie sighs, pulling away from Clockwork. She sits up, checks the time on her phone. It’s 4:45 now and the park was only a five to ten minute walk from the Nasty Burger. Then again, it didn’t hurt to be early, Clockwork could play on the swings while she waits for him to meet her.

“You finished with your food?” she asks Clockwork, who nods. “Come on, we’re heading to the park.”

“Whoo!” exclaims Clockwork, eagerly sliding out of the dining booth. Valerie shakes her head with a smile, picking up their trays, dumping the food and sitting the trays on top of the trash cans as they walk out of the diner. Traffic was a little heavy, which only set them back by five minutes and the two managed to get to Amity Park in a timely manner.

Once they’re in the park, Valerie hunts for the set of swings. She quickly finds it, the tables she mentioned earlier close by. She sits down at the wooden tables and tells Clockwork to go play on the swing, which they do without a fuss. Valerie checks her phone again, the time now 5:05, leaving her with only twenty five minutes till Tucker was supposed to be here. She decides to scroll through her social media, occasionally breaking away from her phone to check on Clockwork.

Valerie feels the table and bench groan and shift under new weight, she looks up and Tucker is sitting right across from her.

He looks nervous and uncertain. So is she.

Turning her phone screen off and placing it face down on the table, Valerie sits there in silence for a moment before speaking.

“Uh, speak your truth,” Valerie says awkwardly and she wishes that she had gone over what she was going to say. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I got possessed by a ghost,” Tucker says, looking away from her and throwing his hands out. “I don’t remember what happened when I was possessed.”

“We’re her best friends! We should have known.” Danny laments.

“It’s not our responsibility to read and protect Sam’s emotions, she should have said she wanted to go to the dance from the beginning,” Tucker says back, straightening his tie a bit. “There’s nothing we can do about it now anyways.”

Danny thinks for a moment, then a mischievous smile appears as green eyes flash at Tucker.

Tucker realizes what Danny wants him to do, “No way. Forget it. Absolutely not. No!” he loudly protests and the next thing he knows, he’s feeling a gaping hole in his chest as his consciousness is taken over by Danny.

“You were possessed….by a ghost?” Valerie asks incredulously, she feels something tugging her arms. Looking down, she sees Clockwork looking up at her with their big eyes, silently saying “He’s telling the truth.”

Tucker’s nods, “I know that sounds absurd and it sounds stupid but it happened and I’m so sorry that I stood you up.” Tucker pleads, holding his face in his hands, one of them crawling up to his head and pulling at the short curls. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so, so sorry.”

Valerie notices how distressed Tucker sounds, how his voice cracks a tiny bit after he shields his face from her and how broken Tucker looks and sounds. There have been plenty of ghosts attacks in the city and it sounds just as likely he was possessed by one of these ghosts. He didn’t have a reason to make any of this up;  it wouldn’t have made sense if he did since he was too excited to be her date to the dance.

Clockwork’s words ring in her head, “If it helps, he didn't want to hurt you.He didn't want to though," and she gets it. She finally gets it.

Valerie reaches out, uncertain as she pulls Tucker’s hands away from his hair, not saying anything as she notices blood staining the pads of his fingers and holds it in her hand. Tucker stops shaking, stops pleading, simply stops and looks at Valerie, waiting for her to confirm his worst suspicions.

“That possession stuff? That’s some weak shit fam,” she says, “But I forgive you.”

Tucker’s body sags with relief, and the unheard ‘Thank You’ is loud enough for all three of them at the table.

Clockwork reaches forward, takes one of Tucker’s hands and holds it.

Valerie grabs a tissue and some hand sanitizer out of her book bag, squeezes some on the tissue and begins gently wiping the blood off of his finger pads. He tries to pull back but Valerie tightens her grip on him.

“Let...let us handle this,” she says softly, continuing to wipe the blood off his fingers. “Why so much blood?”

Tucker looks away in embarrassment.  “I have a thing where I can’t help but pick at the scabs in my hair,” he explains, “It gets really bad sometimes.”

“I bet what happened hasn’t helped any,” Valerie says, silently gesturing for Clockwork to give her his other hand so she can continue. “Do you remember the ghost who did it?”

Tucker shakes his head, “No,” The lie comes too easily. The little kid sitting next to Valerie eyes him with some scrutiny, and Tucker resists the urge to pull away from Valerie while wondering if this kid knew more than they let on. “What would you do if you ever found them?”

“Punch them in the face,” Valerie says without skipping a beat, oblivious to Clockwork’s and Tucker’s simultaneous wince. “No ghost gets away with possessing my friends.”

“Friend?” Tucker repeats back, “We’re friends?”

“Well, yeah,” Valerie answers, as if it wasn’t obvious. “You’re my friend now.”

Tucker blinks several times to make sure he heard her properly. “Oh, okay.”

Valerie finishes wiping the blood off of his fingers and he slowly pulls them back towards his chest. “I should go home now,” Tucker says, standing up and pulling away from the table.

“Why don’t we go with you? Me and...Isaiah can keep you company while you walk home. Ghosts probably won’t attack if all three of us are together.” Valerie says, standing up to wipe the imaginary dirt off her orange skirt. Isaiah follows suit, tightly holding her hand. “You in?”

“Sure,” he stutters. The three begin the walk to Tucker’s house and as they walk, he can’t help but focus on how safe he feels with Valerie and Isaiah and feels that gaping hole in his chest slowly begin to heal.

[rottendyke]

These are all also things that I have been asked or have been said to me about both my physical disability and autism that have made me immensely fucking uncomfortable and that you should just,,, never ask or say to a disabled person. Other disabled folks feel free to add on anything you've experienced

Things regarding my physical disability:

so like, what's wrong with you? / what did you do? (thanks for asking I literally don't know and have been the medical anomaly of the family for years)

I'd that for fashion or do you actually need it? (in reference to my cane)

OMG ARE YOU OKAY? (yelled down a hallway at me the first time I used a wheelchair at college on a very bad pain day, by somebody who already knew I was disabled??? Mostly not okay because like why the fuck would you just yell that it puts the individual in a hella awkward situation)

If you don't use it you loose it (both said to me on days where I've rarely left my bed/desk due to pain and also during the first day of me using a wheelchair at college)

But you're too young for that!

Wait until you get to my age! (said by an able bodied middle aged dude)

It's probably because of all THAT (said whilst gesturing to my scars)

It's probably growing pains (I'm a whole ass adult. I have not grown since I was like 14)

You're just lazy

You just need to exercise

Have you tried yoga/meditation/mindfulness/essential oils/various supplements

It's probably just all in your head

But you can walk

If you can walk why do you use a cane/wheelchair (because walking HURTS, Karen)

Yeah but I bet you're not as bad as me/I know you're not as bad as me (mostly said by my dad who thinks his occupational induced pain in his shoulder compares to the fact my legs DON'T WORK PROPERLY)

Okay so can you feel THIS *violent kick in the shin* (said and done after I mentioned that the nerves in my legs are fucked up and I sometimes don't feel pain from injuries. For anyone curious yes I felt it)

You're probably exaggerating (thanks Karen, that did wonders for my already severe self doubt)

Well that probably doesn't make it any better! (said because I smoke, as a coping mechanism BECAUSE of my various illnesses and disabilities)

Things people have said to me because I'm autistic + a few said to me because of my mental illness:

Ew, why are you chewing on that like a dog/baby? (in reference to me using a chewy stim toy)

Why are you doing that? (in reference to me flapping my hands to stim

Why do you do such HORRIBLE things? (said by a parent who was well meaning but worded it badly in reference to a new stim I picked up)

Can you stop doing that? It's annoying (shaking my leg as a stim)

Why are you being such a weirdo? (my sister. I was dissociated out of my shit and it was visible)

(tw R-slur) Various people calling me some variation of retard or retarded, mostly as a child.

Overall being treat like a child by some people when they find out

Oh so THAT'S why you're so good at art (said in a way meant to basically discredit the fact that I spent fucking years practicing to get to the point I'm at)

You're not autistic, you're too intelligent

You can't be autistic because you're not exactly like this other autistic person I know because they showed different symptoms/couldn't mask as well as me

You only started acting autistic once you got diagnosed so clearly you're putting this on

Yeah but like, autism is a spectrum and everyone's a little bit autistic so it can't be THAT bad for you

Yeah but you're high functioning so you're basically allisitc passing (yes. I was genuinely subjected to seeing the phrase "allisitic passing" so now you have to see it too)

You can't have all of that wrong with you!

If you're autistic why aren't you good at maths?

(tw R-slur) somebody genuinely asking me to give them a "retarded pass" so they could say it whenever they wanted. I told them to go fuck themselves

If you're really autistic why weren't you diagnosed as a kid?

Got called a window licker which seems to be something that only people in my area use as a slur for autistic people

*insert slur or ableist stereotype here* isn't that bad! You're just too sensitive

I'm aware this is a long post but this isn't even half of the utter bullshit I have heard coming from abled peoples mouths. Anyways as I said before if anyone else has anything to add feel free!

[alolanrain]

I have this AM!au HC where Ash’s life was basic shit until he left Pallet Town.

Like I’m saying that his teachers and everyone else was up front in saying his mom was a “shit easy worse” for having two sons with the man who left her and that she’s also “a pathetic accused for a women” because she can’t keep Ash’s bastard father home with her. Shit gets worse when Silver is dumped at her door.

When Red becomes Kanto’s new Champion after ten years everyone in Pallet Town doesn’t call him a “real” Champion because he’s selective mute, autistic, and has ADHD. So like he’s not “normal” so that makes him not a “real” Champion. They even celebrate when Red disappears into Mount. Silver for like 2-3 years until Green, Blue, Gold, and Silver D R A G his ass back down and to Delia’s house.

Ash is also getting called a pathetic excuse of a kid/son. Just an absolute waste of space. Gary objectifys because that’s his damn brother-in-law but he gets pressured by everyone in town to start hating Ash. So he doesn’t really hate Ash but is to afraid to go against a whole ass town at the moment.

When Ash turns 5-6 that’s when shit gets REAL bad. He and Gary watch as their brothers and half the other Pokedexer’s are killed right in front of them, by Giovanni personally and his main group of grunts/admins. They make it out alive but everyone in their family is dead except Delia/Professor Oak/and Daisy.

Everyone in town RAMPS the hate up for Ash and Delia. They don’t physically touch Delia but they do to Ash when at school. So now Ash is getting beaten up by older kids and his hands slapped by rulers by the teachers. At the age of 8 he’s pulled out of school and personally taught by Professor Oak, which puts a damper on his research but it’s completely fine by him because Professor Oak doesn’t want to see this kid become into the next new villain whe he leaves town at the age of 10.

Professor Oak purposely gives Ash Pikachu, even when Ash is the first kid at his labs like 3 hours before the initial “wave” of kids, even his own Grandson is still sleeping in bed, knowing full DAMN well that Pikachu is extremely higher leveled then the rest of his yearly supply of starters. For once Professor Oak claps Ash on the shoulder, and instead of reminding Ash to take the league slow and to waste as much time before inevitable coming “home”, Oak tells Ash to burn the league. Burn through Kanto like Red and all the others did. Make your brother proud by shredding every trainer in your path and come home a Champion so you can shove it into everyone’s face and tell them just how fucking WRONG they are.

Ash is already acting like an over exerted collage student who could be killed by God itself and would only say “took you long enough, motherfucking asshole” at the age of ten. So he stares at Professor Oak and wordlessly takes the Pokeball, also full knowing by the sticker on the ball that it’s not a normal starter, and takes the words to heart.

Like I said before, Ash is basically a human God even after the age of ten and the only reason he doesn’t take over the world from there is because it’s too much paperwork and physical work. But that doesn’t mean Ash tears through the league anyways and beats Lance on live television. Eyes burning bright and uncharacteristically scathingly angry and motivation to watch Lance’s team burn to the ground. Lance just raise’s an eyebrow at the last name of this over powered boy and nods his head. He would have guessed that Red’s little brother would be more powerful then the dead Champion. He’s just more shocked that Ash refuses the Champion title on live television but turns towards the camera and calls out a good chunk of people from his home town and tells them to fuck off and eat shit now that they’ve been provin hella wrong.

Now THAT makes Lance very curious and he dives deep into Ash’s Home town history. Disgustingly finding all this aggression towards Ash’s family and how unorthodox the entire school system is. He personally comes down to Pallet Town because he’s “curious about the town Ash came from” and everyone does a 180 when Lance is there. Talking nice things about Ash’s family and all that. Lance gets to the school just when a teacher is starting to berate another kid about how “worthless” they are because they have asthma and ADHD and how they’ll never be “normal and perfect like everyone else in town”.

Lance naturally acts out in anger and immediately calls the school to shut down and basically black lists the entire staff. This also forces parents to now shuttle their kids over to Viridian’s schools now and that staff had the heads up from Lance about everything. And their LIVID. They all loved Green Oak as their old Gym leader and just how dare they trash his husband and his family through the mud. The shit the kids try to start there gets shut down fast and hard. The school system in Kanto as a whole gets revaluated and more cracks in the system are sewn closed and stuff a lot of schools were ignoring are getting reinforced.

This is all happening while Ash is away with Misty and Tracey, he tried telling Brock that shit would burn between him and Professor Ivy but no Brock didn’t want to listen to him, and is completely blissfully unaware of how Pallet Town is going up in flames because now a shit ton of people are complaining how it was unfair that Champion Lance shut down their only schools and now they have to shuttle their kids AAALLLL the way to Viridian when their kids are now getting Bullied!

Hint: they kinda are but aren’t really. Other people aren’t taking their shit like teachers used to do in Pallet.

Delia and the two Oaks are just completely enjoying to utter shit show because a lot of entitled rich parents are starting to complain about Lance and his actions online and the Kanto League replies to them all on almost every social platform about how horrible it was in Pallet Town and just how they can see Green/Blue/Red/Ash/Gary wanted time leave so badly because the place was so toxic.

So Lance just burns most of Pallet Towns residents down and isn’t even sorry. He also makes it really open and clear just how happy he is that Ash has actually taken up the Orange Isles Champion Title and will be joining the Champion line up and become his new secondary Champion. Ash just laughs and says Lance was just nice enough to burn Pallet Town metaphorically to the ground when Ash has been pushing himself to not actually start arson in his younger years. People take it as a depression joke but Lance and Ash’s friends completely know he wasn’t kidding at all.

Also if Lance finally gets to meet Delia and maybe they start hitting in each other, then that’s just a bonus point to the both of them as they enjoy the anger from the rest of Pallet Town.

[anyu-blue]

Busy as a bee

~

*sigh*

I had this big long thing typed up.. it's all gone now. That's twice it's happened. Let's see if third time's the charm.

It was about my trying to figure out how to talk about the shit I've been going through without just dumping it all on someone and having it be totally unjustified too...

I'm mad at my dad. I'm mad at Tevs... I'm mad at myself.

Basically...I'm frustrated that I'm seen as so much lesser than everyone else.

I know it's like 'no you're not!! You only think you are!! They love you!!' ... I've been smacked both literally and figuratively for saying 'you guys treat me different/unfairly compared to x'... But.. gods at this point I. Just. CAN'T keep believing them or telling myself that when the evidence is right in front of me. I feel like I must have done something REALLY BAD and BIG for everyone to pull away so hard... But at the same time... I... Can't figure what it is or how. I've asked too, but the closet I've gotten to an answer is 'You're too much, Meek.'

I know I sorta... Became a worse recluse than I was (kinda I'm response to that. Trying so hard NOT to be too much)... But I kept telling and telling and telling I was available and offering what I could and more... I kept trying to deal- if I need something I would provide in return, just name the price... Did I forget or fail to follow through with something? Or something? No one can think of anything to tell me that didn't have a legitimate reason if ever I did (as good as or better than they have given me) that I shared up front and sometimes in advance with them. I even went into detail about what might happen if I am asked for help on a bad day- I tend to be a bit grumpy if woken up, but will still be there to help and will apologize for any harshness as I am going about it. I do that- but... Nothing.. and every single person has offered and practically forced (in W0lfie's case) all of the stuff I've asked for onto anyone but me. Need help finding/getting a good word in for work! Sure!! *Gives me links to indeed and Job service sites I'm already on/refuses to say my application is in the mix for positions at their workplaces or downright says they don't know if I'm a good worker even though I gave them my sick day and late count and all that fun stuff to pass off or downright doesn't tell me there's a good opening they know about*

Oh such-and-such is happy where they're at? So-and-so Can't hold a job because they keep quitting? *Gives information about good jobs and puts in a good word for them and sticks their neck out to get them hired.. is surprised when the offer is rejected by the family that says they're already okay with their current work or the unreliable friend they got hired quits*... Oh woe is me, I need help and there's no one to turn to!! *Refuses to call me knowing I have the day off, have my phone on, and have said I'm free that day... Asks literally every other person even the ones that demand payment for the job or can only do a part of it.. or just ends up doing it themselves by dropping another important obligation instead of calling me*

:(

The most common excuse for that last one is. 'oh I didn't want to make you more stressed.'

Um... I offered? I was here the whole time? What...?

*sigh*

I suppose I wouldn't be thinking of that stuff or be so upset by it all except for the fact I'm told these things and then I'm shown (and told) this last week people think I'm EXTREMELY lazy...

My dad and everyone else wants me to/thinks I should work more than 3 days a week... Or should get on disability if it's 'that hard.' Obviously they've never tried and seen THAT shit show... I have looked into it. Not only have I gotten treated like something to be disgusted by friends, family, medical professionals, and jobs alike (because it's oh so despicable to be on social security while young and spry- even though I have medically frail on my damn chart I'm apparently 'young and spry'- fuck you) when I've tried to pursue it, also being on it ISN'T a cake walk.. the restrictions. The WORK you have to do (and the work you can't do!! I'm right in the middle and technically can work too much for disability, but not enough for getting by on my own). The shit you have to go through... My own therapist told me some programs I could pursue would put me further behind where I am and I could possibly never get out... And she was the one that pushed me to get foodstamps, so it's not like she thinks they're hooey...

My dad thinks me working 3 days a week and refusing to do more lest I break down all the time is just.. lazy.. unfortunate... Stupid. He wants me to take all these homeowners and car buying and loan classes... Like I'm EVER going to be able to afford a single one of those things.. or think it's a good idea to throw down $25-$150 a pop for a class, let alone spend 8 hours taking one (I'd love to and think they're amazing things, but uh...)... Like somehow it'll 'convince' me to 'work harder'.

DUDE.

What.

The.

FUCK.

Is WRONG with you?!

I get it... I seriously can't work more days a week. If I do, I completely spiral out of control from the pressure as well as the guilt from spiraling and and.. you get the idea. I just do. I know I do. And I found my balance in 3 days on.

It's pretty easy to think 4 days off are, well.. 4 days off. 4 days to play. 4 days of freedom. But... I make things... I've made two blankets already. One more I'm working on.. usually AT work because I'm so busy. Birthday gifts. Christmas gifts. Holiday gifts. Trying to do commissions too to get more money in. Also.. em... I'm usually awake during the day to.. make appointments because my health is just a mess.. helping the friends that HAVE asked for help... Running errands because I can't at night (partly due to Covid changing everything's hours)... Or if I HAPPEN to get to.. I'm sleeping because I'm on a night schedule.. at night if anyone had need of me I'd be right there!! But guess what, THEY are sleeping. If I actually have a night off (which I haven't in nearly a month now because I CAN go over to my friend who needs help's house at 5 in the morning.. after I drop W0lfie off at work or I'd be there sooner.) I'm DOING things. Wednesday itself happens to be dedicated to FIXING my sleep schedule that I screwed doing everything my sisters need or want me to do during the day... It's up to ME to screw MY sleep so THEY can get or have what they need/want... Never mind they refuse (with legitimate reasons) to do the same for me (though I have legitimate reasons I could say no as well, but ooooh I'm the 'bad guy').

*rubs face* I'm so busy my mind and body is screaming at me in pain. Sooo lazy 🙄

But yet I'm shit because I refuse to work more.

Idk what it is, okay? I. Don't. Know. Maybe it's the fact that I'm Autistic and something overloads that hasn't been address like ever and so has only gotten worse (this is my guess), or the PTSD is doing something (my therapist's guess--- which not to derail but WHO ELSE IS IN THERAPY IN MY FAMILY?! you want to guess? That's right, NO ONE... No one is even TRYING to deal with theirs, and I don't just mean the pandemic. Big sister had it as bad, if not worse than I did. Refuses. Dad and step mom knows they do. Little sister scared. Little bro disinterested. 'There's no time' or 'costs too much' despite several having free sessions available to them via their job and Heath insurance- with multiple options- and everyone but little sister making more than they ever have in their lives on top of relying on others to pay any bills they can't keep up on... GRR).. or something else that just makes me become such a wreck. I hate it more than anyone else, you know.. because I have to live with it AND everyone telling me how lazy and lucky and entitled and how 'much' I am.

...

And you want to know what sparked all of this?

Tevs worked a 12+ hour day that ended up having me woken up by the cats that hadn't been fed.

Let me explain... Tevs and I got into it badly after I was continually deprived of sleep because she was working so much and blaming me for 'making' her deal with stuff at home I didn't even know were problems. She continued to explode and explode and treat W0lfie and I TERRIBLY after work as well AND continually told our other friends and family she so desperately needed a vacation and LESS work, and just kept pulling 10, 11, 13 hour days she didn't have to... All while not eating or drinking or having bathroom breaks... and I was DONE with it. I have and had offered to do more, just need to be directed on what needs to be done that I can do while they're asleep (duh) so she had no leg to stand on there... With the rest... She promised to not work more than 10 hour shifts (agreed upon because I have a 10hr shift at work with no breaks too) AND to either let us know in advance if she was going to be late so I could feed the cats, or have someone do SOMETHING to get the cats fed so they weren't deliberately jumping on me to wake me up... You know.. communicate a little more. Do a little better so she wasn't killing herself working. She promised.

Well..

Apparently (new information to me) a promise and Tevs giving her word.. are two different things. Promises don't matter. Giving her word had weight.

What. The. Fuck.

So MY getting upset this last week that not only was she working more than 10 hours... Not only did she not tell anyone about it.. not only did the cats come to wake me up (after I had FINALLY fallen asleep a short while before due to just how BUSY I was that day, and it was Wednesday 😭)... But she also REFUSED to speak to ANYONE and tell her where she was/that she was safe- completely and deliberately ghosting everyone... Until she showed up at my dad's house 12+ hours after the start of her shift in which she didn't eat, didn't drink, and didn't use the bathroom for the entirely duration..

...

I was told to back off. That my upset was unfounded. That I was just like our horrible mother and I was just trying to control her life.

Does that sound right to you?

It does to my dad. I would wager my step mom. All of their friends. And of course Tevs.

Nevermind that W0lfie was just as freaked out and upset... That she actually has a front row seat as to what I go through now/how hard I try to be kind and careful and respectful and relaxed and NOT controlling and finally gets it... And that she's now directly effected by all of it too... And agrees this is MESSED UP as hell...

No.

I'm shit. I need to work more. I need to move out and be on my own. I need to not rely on anyone. I am 'too much'.

Where did it all go wrong?

I now understand exactly why I felt and still do feel unloved. It's because of this stuff... I got smacked and told I was never alone or on my own.. that I had so much support and help... but.. well.. yes I was. My mind and abilities and more belittled or looked over in favor of others to bring up. Everyone is guilty of doing this to me in my family. I won't go into details because it's a lot. Many times.. many bad ones... Often I was told my reality wasn't the truth too. How is that supportive? I appreciate every bit they have ever done for me, but trying to point out where they fell (just like all people do).. I'm suddenly the most ungrateful thing ever.

My own parents rely on each other AND a third party (their son) to pay the bills... My dad's siblings both live with his parents... My step mom's family members live with each other and rely on one another to get bills paid.... Not a single one is forced or really suggested to go room with randos if they can't do it on their own. It was brought up to W0lfie that it's an option for her this last week... But guess fucking what she got that I didn't AS WELL as that.. "We'll always have a place for you here."

I did get that when I was younger and nearly kicked out for refusing to tell my mother I was Trans. I eventually caved, but, HA they didn't believe me. That mess was sorted out.. messily and I got to stay... Lucky me... Not to mention the fact that only NOW I might finally be able to just accept it and not closet myself for the sake of everyone else because I'm THAT done.. yay therapy. I'll accept being non-binary because I can never actually be a man the way anyone around me will ever accept or believe.. but I'm not accepting 'being a woman'. Screw you peeps XP

...

I don't get that kind of support because I'm their eyes.. I'm too much. Should be able to do it on my own. Too lazy. Too awful as Tevs has managed to paint by completely omitting important details.. I can't say things in a few words. I just can't. Because this is exactly what happens... But regardless.. that's all she ever shares. Just enough I'm a monster. I'm sick and tired of it.

Reminds me...

My dad and mom and the rest of our family would never get birthday gifts or holiday cards or anything if I wasn't around. Same with our siblings. I remember. I make. I remind. I push. But... They don't even know about that. About what I try to do for them that gets twisted to look like it's all Tev's doing because I often can't make it to deliver it myself... And when I do idk.. I guess I do it wrong or something because it's so... Blah of a response.. like they think I'm NOT responsible for it and just taking credit... That hurts. A LOT.

...

I'm going to try. One more time. Once more. With Tevs. Give her one more chance to make and keep her word. To not bulldoze and make excuses and talk me up like some sort of unreasonable monster if/when she doesn't... And one more chance for my parents to hear me out. Get the full story. Get my feelings and experiences in return. On Monday I might have a chance to lay it all out. Maybe. I want to try. And if I get the same treatment.. well.. I think they might just be cut out of my life if I finally make it out on my own like they want. (Hopefully something income based will open up for me.. hopefully... I'm considering looking into a different city altogether to well and truly get away from them.. but that would depend on getting a job too.. bluh)

Ah that's a another thing too though.. the thing is.. I CAN work. I CAN pull 7 days a week, 16 hour days without spiraling!!! Making. I am a crafter. If making dresses or cosplays or embroidering or making blankets or trinkets or... If I was able to do THAT.. I could work and work and work no problem... Maybe even drawing..

But with the stress of this job and my other obligations, I can barely touch those things to even get started... Stick in the rut.. and materials are so expensive if I need anything extra I hit a roadblock... Totally locked in... And it breaks my heart...

I'm not lazy... I'm in the wrong job 😞

[cubeswhump]

Defy Fate; Reanimate, part 1: The Pieces of Osiris

Gonna make it clear that I got “Defy fate / Reanimate” from this song. This story takes inspiration from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein but I kinda took the barest base of it and ran wild.

For much of my childhood, I was dead set on being a forensic pathologist. Then I got autistic burnout which turned into a nervous breakdown and had to reevaluate my life plan. I still have a huuuuuge love for forensics/pathology and I finally put it to use. A bit too much use. You’re gonna learn about rates of decay today.

Note: Part 2 is already written and will be posted tomorrow or the day after.

Tagging @more-miserables and @brutal-nemesis

Warning for gore, self-harm (not done from depression or misery), terminal illness, whump of a minor (via flashback), death (death is a whole ass focal point of this story so be warned), drugging, creepy whumper (like super creepy), consensual mildly-NSFW stuff that doesn't go anywhere, semi-professional surgery, dismemberment, disembowelment, general grossness.

Dearil was a constant; Lorelai barely remembered life without him. He showed up in first grade an awkward little boy who didn't speak a word of English and she was the happy helper with dozens of gold stars who took him under her wing. But they grew up and he learned English and gained confidence while Lorelai retreated into her shell.

Dearil seemed the type of kid who would be bullied relentlessly: openly gay, overweight, embraced his feminine side with pinks and purples and earrings, grew his hair longer than any boy at school, could tell you every plot point of Bleach and Naruto but couldn't follow a conversation, did these things with his hands that were later identified as stimming. However, he never held his tongue and had this air of confidence that even the mean kids respected. It was quiet, studious Lorelai they picked on, but no one dared bother her when big Dearil stood next to her. When chemotherapy made him lose his hair when they were sixteen, some classmates even shaved their heads to show support.

They stayed close even Dearil repeated eleventh grade because health complications made him miss so much school. They stayed nest best friends even when Lorelai graduated six months early, when he took a gap year, when Lorelai got into medical school. Even when the dreaded Boyfriebds stuck their feet in.

The two shared an apartment while Dearil worked on a degree in business and Lorelai was kept busy as an assistant in a morgue and full-time student. They had big dreams, but Dearil's were much more feasible: he planned to open a bakery that exclusively hired neurodivergent teens and young adults. Lorelai's plans?

"They only don't want to mix magic and medicine becahse the pharmaceutical companies will lose money!" she growled, glaring daggers at the emailed rejection of her thesis.

"People fear what they don't understand. I mean, science can't explain it and it's pretty fucking crazy," Dearil replied, shrugging. "If I had to explain it, I'd say it's kinda like equivalent exchange in Fullmetal Alchemist, right? I don't really get how it works. But you're smart. You're strong-willed. You'll do great."

She didn't get his anime comparisons, but she could get lost in the sould of his voice. If she could bottle it she would drink nothing else for the rest of her life.

Then another Boyfriend came along and she heard that voice less and less. She hated everything about Frankie: the way he zipped around on that noisy motorcycle (and how dare he wear the only helmet while Dearil rode around unprotected), his spikey hair, his smug smile, his grating laughter, his leathee jackets, his lips on Dearil's.

She refrained from hexing him. She wasn't a bad person who would use witchcraft to cause harm. Her acts were subtle and harmless: placing red rose petals in Dearil's pockets and shoes and placing petunia petals in Frankie's.

"I don't know what the flowers mean but I'm guessing it's some passive-aggressive bullshit," Dearil huffed. "Cut it out."

He got a bit angrier when she tried to cut off a chunk of Frankie's stiff hair. It was just for a bad luck charm, nothing lethal, but she pled the fifth on that one.

"You're like a sister to me," Dearil reminded her that day after Frankieeft. He meant well, but she wanted to scream and cry and break things. But she forced herself to smile.

There was a thought that haunted her every day. She would be the maid of honor, perhaps wearing teal if Dearil's current hair color was anything to go by. She would have to give a speech and congratulate the grooms. Watch them kiss. It should be her under that altar! She should be wearing a white gown and veil!

She resigned to life as a lonely spinster. She'd be married to her job.

That was the worst thing she imagined happening, until life hit her like a truck... and the delivery was a truck.

Dearil was so late getting home again. Any minute now he'd call and tell her he was spending the night with Frankie. And sure enough her smartphone rang, but it wasn't Dearil.

"What's up, Kensia?" she asked, but the only response from Dearil's younger sister was sobbing. Instant dread. "Kensia? Come on, use words. I'm not a mind reader."

So Kensia spoke, and Lorelai would have preferred she didn't. She didn't remember getting off the phone. She didn't remember much of that night at all, but she couldn't forget all of it.

***

She almost didn't go to the funeral. She didn't want to wake up ever again. She thought about joining Dearil. But she got out of his bed, staggered to her bedroom, and searched her closet for appropriate attire.

The black dress was old and wouldn't cover the runes carved into her arms, but what did it matter if someone got uncomfortable? Fuck everyone else. The dress was tight in her waist and she bitterly realized that it would fit soon enough now that Dearil wouldn't be baking sugary treats all the time.

His mother came to greet her dressed in all white. The whole Jean-Pierre family wore white, even Dearil's dad whose wardrobe consisted of grey suits and plain ties. Catheline wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug and Lorelai wanted to push her away and shout, "I'm not here for you!"

A cheap pine coffin for someone so great. What a disgrace. It was closed too. A closed-casket funeral was the most logical solution but it hirt Lorelai to know she wouldn't see his beautiful face ever again. That beautiful face was pulverized. Even Frankie, who was wearing a helmet, was killed so Dearil didn't stand a chance. He was killed on impact, painlessly.

Painless for who? It hurt so, so much.

She could scarcely hear the spoken eulogies over her own sobs, and declined to give one herself. Dearil's own mother wound up consoling Lorelai throughout the ceremony, rocking the young woman in her arms like a child. No words were shared until the end when Catheline walked Lorelai to her car.

"Traditionally in Haiti, we gather to mourn for nine days. It's a social gathering where we eat and drink and talk, nothing stiff and formal," Catheline explained through her own tears, smoothing Lorelai's messy ponytail. "You're part of the family, cheri. We want you to join us."

Like she wanted to waste her time at some social event. The only thing she wanted to do was lie in Dearil's bed and smell him on his pillow. But she couldn't shut Catheline down like that.

"Why nine days?" she asked.

"That's how long the soul takes to leave the body - that's what we Vodouists believe. We gather for nine days to assire the soul ascends safely and doesn't get stolen away by any petro loas. Evil spirits."

A pause. Lorelai got an odd look on her face. "Was he embalmed? Were his organs donated?"

Disgust flashed across Catheline's face for just a second. She took a deep breath. "We believe that harm dealt to the body after death harms the soul, so we don't usually embalm or donate organs. Dearil did want to donate his organs, you know what he's like, so we respected his wishes. He wasn't embalmed. Why do you ask?"

The question had a bit of an edge. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

Lorelai wasn't crying anymore, though her eyes were rimmed with red. "Catheline... If his soul is still on earth, could his body be saved?"

Catheline frowned. "What are you..." Her face contorted with horror. "No! I have nothing against you doing witchcraft, but this is where I put my foot down. Interfering with the soul? My son's soul? Imagine the pain he'd be in! How could you even think of that?"

Lorelai looked away from her. "I'm sorry... I'm just really... I'm not thinking. I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't do anything to harm her."

Cathine took her hands. "Look me in the eye. Promise me, Lorelai. Promise me you won't tamper with anything you shouldn't."

Lorelai sighed, looking into those honest brown eyes, eyes so much like Dearil's. "I promise."

***

She promised, but above-ground burial only existed to tempt grave robbers. It was a blessing; the universe wanted Lorelai to do this.

What wasn't a blessing was the man standing outside the mausoleum. Fucking Catheline must have held her suspicions and reported on them. The guard's head snapped her way, and she bolted.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

Every step toward her car, every step toward her front door was a knife twisting. She was leaving Dearil behind.

She went to the gathering to keep up appearances. She drank much-needed wine and ate Haitian foods even when she felt like the smallest bite of food would make her vomit. She and Catheline said nothing of their conversation, and the older woman hugged her a bit much for her liking.

The witches in the forums turned on her. They called necromancy evil and her plan foolish.

People like you are why people think so badly of us! wrote WitchBitch666. No one had any tips but MagickalShells wanted updates on her progress.

No one had done anything like this. At least, not in written history. She was completely on her own. But it wasn't the first time she did something crazy woth magic, though the forums were more help the last time.

The migraines. The vomiting. The paranoia. The way he couldn't catch his breath. Finally, the seizures. After the appointment with the neurologist, Dearil had called Lorelai crying.

Four tumors across his brain, all cancerous. Two inoperable, the structures too important and delicate.

Dearil needed her like he did when they were younger, but it wasn't enjoyable this time. The doctors estimated that he had ten months to live. They only offered to attempt to shrink the tumors with chemotherapy and "focus on his quality of life."

He slipped into a coma toward the end, and Lorelai grew desperate.

Lorelai knew little about witches. Heathens, Mama and Pedro called them. They voted for increased limitations on magic at any election - local, statewide, and nationwide. They wanted it to be outlawed entirely.

But she knew witches did things that couldn't be explained with science. Maybe science wasn't everything. So she turned to the forums.

Once a week she would rip off a fingernail with her pliers. She would sneak into Dearil's hospital room and put the fingernail under his mattress, then slice into his hand with a razor blade and draw a rune behind his ear with his blood.

Hospital staff increased security when they found the harm done to his body hand and the blood on his head, but he miraculously woke up after two weeks. He still had cancer, though, and her work wasn't done.

"You've been doing what?" he had cried when he was coherent and cognizant enough to understand, staring at the deep, angry red slash across his palm. She lunged for his hand and he stepped back. "And let me see your fucking nails!"

"Come on, you're dying," she pointed out. "What do you have to lose?"

He cringed, but they both knew she was right. So he would let her take his blood and sleep with finger and toenails under his pillow, though he shuddered to think about. She lost weight and grew pale as he regained what his mother called "bebe fat" and life returned to his eyes. The tumors shrank with each X-ray.

"You're doung this, aren't you?" asked Catheline, very seriously, and Lorelai had paled. But when the teenager bowed her head, Catheline pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, cheri. But don't kill yourself to save him."

Week eighteen. Lorelai's nails were growing back ever so slowly and terribly brittle. With two toenails left, she had to wonder what offering she would give when she ran out.

But with the next X-ray, it was announced that the boy who was supposed to be dead in mere months was in remission. He walked with a limp because of the damage the tumor did to his cerebellum, but physical therapy got that fixed up. He returned to school, behind a year, and Lorelai became fixated on influencing western medicine to adopt witchcraft, if not becoming the first doctor to use magic on her patients in the United States.

The guard was there the next night, but she made sure she wasn't seen. She linked herself to the ground and, urging him to hurry up and take a bathroom break or something. Dearin's brain was the most important thing to be kept, but the brain is one of the first things to go, ces collapsing just minutes after death. Every minute wasted waiting for this stupid guard was cellular death. Losing her Dearin.

An illusion spell. He ran to investigate the vandals kicking at tombstones and each footfall was like feet stomping on Lorelai's face. She was never so happy to feel pain though.

A spell to unlock the door would be a waste of energy. One of the runes on her chest was already seeping, and she needed to save her blood for tomorrow. She picked the lock and slipped inside as the "vandals" led the guard here and there, running him ragged.

Dearil didn't deserve to be in this house of nobodies. Name after useless name among the granite on the wall until she found a Dearil Jean-Pierre. She pried off the granite slab with her crowbar, and then the concrete under it. She dropped the concrete on her foot and puffed out her cheeks to keep in the profanities. The concrete broke in two, and she expected her throbbing toe did too.

She gripped the sides of his coffin and tugged. It took a minute to budge. Dearil wasn't very tall, and neither was Lorelai, but he was wide and heavy. Her face turned red and she grunted with effort. She jumped back as his coffin fell to the ground. It was still jammed shut, and she wished they still nailed coffins shut. She didn't know what this sealant wasade of, but it was rough.

Running out of time. Guard could come back. Hurry up.

The lid came out, and the smell. Oh god, the smell. She gagged, but it was nothing compared to when her flashlight landed on what was left of her friend.. No, that actually made her swallow back bile.

He was missing one arm, only a little mangled stub remaining in his empty sleeve, but that wasn't the problem. His face, God, his face. The left side was caved in, skin and dreadlocks torn away to reveal the gore. He didn't have much of a left eyebrow, his jaw leaned to one side with missing teeth gaping at her, and what was left of his nose was a bloody pulp with the little stud nosering glinting far from where his nostril was supposed to be. And his eyes, his gorgeous eyes... Grey-blue scleras, left eye protruding from the socket with black spots around the iris.

"Oh god, Dearil..." She rubbed her eyes, willing herself to get a grip.

This was the easy part; all she had to do was transport him. But how was she supposed to fit a 5'7", 185 pound man in an, albeit large, suitcase?

It felt so wrong undressing him. She wanted her first time seeing him nude to be consensual, but not one "yes" left his bloated lips. She tried not to look anywhere inappropriate, flushing under her mask.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she produced the bone saw from her gym bag. She held the flashlight in her mouth as she sliced into one thigh.

Rigor mortis had passed and he was soft abd squishy, but the femur was still rock solid. It took a bit of force and then she moved to the other leg. The smell increased tenfold, and ut got even worse when she swutched ti a scalpel and sliced off strips of his wobbly, pudgy belly.

His neck was already broken and any damage could be fixed, so she pushed his chin down to his chest, avoiding looking at those glassy eyes. His remaining arm was okay to stay. It was easy to angle and wrap around his head, and she secured the limb with tape before cramming him into the plastic-lined suitcase.

She put the lid on the coffin and lifted it back into its divot. It was much lighter now, only containing clothes, flaps of skin, and two legs, and there was no evidence if tampering at first glance. She pushed the two concrete halves together and into their place on the wall, shoving the granite slab in after. They kept sliding and threatening to fall, so in the end she went around prying off and smashing dozens of slabs. With so much damage, they won't know where to start, and if they find other caskets unaffected, maybe they won't check his...

This plan was falling apart. No it wasn't. It wasn't, it wasn't!

Connecting her senses to the grounds, she found the guard outside. She held a lighter to her hand, feeling the warmth, imagining a small explosion and fire. Runes bled onto her shirt. The guard ran off to check the exosion at the other side of the graveyard, shouting. Feet trampling her face.

It was just an illusion. She wasn't one for destruction magic or vandalism. Well... The mausoleum said otherwise about vandalism, but as she walked away it was out of sight and out of mind.

She still struggled to lift Dearil into the passenger's seat of her car, having to roll the windows down to deal with the odor. She plugged her phone into the auxiliary cord and played his favorite music. She was never a fan during his life, but now she loved the sound.

She didn't go to their apartment. No, that would be far too predictable. She still had a key to Mama and Pedro's beach house, and when she checked earlier that day she found that they hadn't chamged the locks. It was only an hour's drive and she could make that to and from work, school, home without running out of gas money.

The roar of waves crashing on the shore competed with the obnoxious rumbling of a heavy wheeled suitcase on cobblestone. She got inside and turned on the lights. The table was new, very nice with polished wood. She didn't feel at all remorseful putting Dearil's odorous, leaking body on the pristine surface to operate. Preserving his brain was frst and foremost.

Face-down, his eyes didn't stare at her. She sliced around the top of his scalp, separated the skull, and then sliched straight down to his nape. She severed his optic nerves and then focused on removing the brain. The brainstem had to stay intact, so she removed the uppermost vertebrae it was attached to.

In her hands, she held Dearil's mind, the most important thing she had ever touched. Faintly grey and sagging with a chunk taken from the left. She struggled to figure out what larts were damaged the most. She reslized, with complete horror, that there wasn't musch left of Broca's area. Not his voice! I need to hear his voice! She'd have to fix that.

Wernicke's area looked okay though, so hopefully he would be able to read abd write without problem. His parietal lobe as a whole didn't look so good, and he already jad sensory issues... Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

She wished she could do an X-ray and see how the inner structures had decayed, especially his hippocampi. He needed to remember her!

Focus. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Whatever the damage was, nothing would be fixed if she just stpod there staring.

Her medical school had gotten on board with new postmortem brain preservation techniques. Liquid nitrogen, cryonics, blood substitute. The dust was mixed into the fluid in the tank, and now she allowed Dearil's brain to be submerged. She dripped fresh blood onto the rune under the tank and for just a second, the water glowed.

The human body is home to tens of trillions of microorganisms that keep you healthy. Though these populations are necessary for human survival, a single one getting out of control would be devastating. That's where the immune system comes in, suppressing overgrowth and keeping these populations in check.

But dead people have no immune system; bacteria runs rampant.

Lorai soaked a new mask in winter mint rubbing alcohol and pulled it on, and new gloves. Her goggles and apron stayed on, and sue set to work, starting the scalpel at his shoulder and ending at his breastbone. Mirror the stitch. Slice down his mutilated stomach to the start of his pelvis.

Peeling back the skin, it was clear his liver and gallbladder were no more; his insides were stained yellow-green with bile, and the winter mint did little to mask the smell of ammonia and hydrogen sulfate. She had to get rid of his stomach before the hungry microbes could do any more damage, scarcely breathing as she cracked open his ribcage and transferred internal organs to a garbage bag.

She couldn't exactly drag him outside and hose him down, so so brought him to the downstairs bathroom with the detachable shower head. He was so light now.

She rinsed him with the shower head. Water ran yellow-green, and then finally clear, though his insides still were definitely not a healthy red-pink. She wrapped him up in the fluffiest towel and brought him to the kitchen. She'd removed all the shelves in the refrigerator during her first trip to the house so she had no problems sticking Dearil's mostly empty husk inside.

And then she lit a few scented candles and went to bed.

***

The head medical examiner was a lonely older man. His wife was either dead or left him (Lorelai wasn't sure which, and she didn't care), and his only company was the corpses he sliced open. Lorelai saw the way he looked at her, eyes hungrily taking her image in. In the days after Dearil's accident, she started making moves on him even though it ft so, so wrong.

She smiled at him throughout today's shift. She washed her hair for the first time in days and let it hang lose around her face during her break. She even put on makeup, though it took a few video tutorials to get it loose.

Toward the end of her shift, she sidled up to him, whispering, "Hey, Viktor..."

He glanced at her. "Hm?"

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

He went red up to the tips of his ears.

"Come home with me," she said in a whine, fingers stroking his arm. "I'm staying at my family's summer home. I'm the only one there, all alone and sooo lonely."

"Fuck yes," he breathed.

"You ever have sex on the beach?"

"I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

She forced herself to smile instead of grimacing. "You ever been with a witch?"

"You?" His eyes widened, but then he smiled. "I bet you're magical in bed."

Ew ew ew.

"You've got that right." She placed a hand on the unmarked chest of the man on the table. His skin was the wrong shade of brown, but his hair was perfect. She already had a nose on ice that she'd taken during Viktor's break. It was a bit too dark as well, but it was just the right shape for Dearil. "How about we take this guy with us?"

Viktor recoiled. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, you said you want a magical night. Do something crazy!" she exclaimed. "You don't have to fuck him or anythibg, and we'll have him back by morning. It's not like he'll mind. It's a witch thing."

Viktor put a hand to his salt and pepper hair, eyebrows knitting together. A few emotions clouded his features before he came to a decision. "If you say so. But if we get caught this was your idea."

"Noted. But I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

He helped her wheel out the John Doe on one of the cheaper stretchers no one would miss, faces obscured by masks and a darkness spell. They stuffed the corpse into the tiny trunk of her car. Viktor pressed his lips to hers suddenly, bushy mustache scratching her. He smelled like literal death and whatever offensive oil he rubbed into his mustache so he wouldn't have to smell as much decay.

He couldn't keep his hands to himself during the whole drive, rubbing her thighs, kissong her neck, trying to unhook her bra and getting excited when he found out she wasn't wearing one. She wanted to slap his hands away, shout that her body belonged to Dearil, but this was a necessary step.

Her mind screamed but her lips purred, "Ohh, that feels so good."

He still hadn't settled down when they were taking the Doe into the house. "Talk dirty in Spanish, chica," he murmured.

"I was born in Florida," she sighed. "I don't speak that much Spanish."

"Don't you know any?"

"A bit. Do you?"

"I can say hola and count to ten," he laughed. "My Spanish classes probably ended before you were even alive. Come on, say something."

"Estas... Estas tan muerto," she said. "Eres solo, uh, um... un peón."

"That's so hot," he moaned, and she bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

Viktor's smile became a frown when they walked into the house. He set the John Doe on the table while Lorelai went and locked the door. He quickly sniffed his shirt when she wasn't looking, but the smell wasn't coming from him. And the bed in the adjacent living room was a bit of an odd choice, though he could appreciate the silk and headboard. And the ropes. This was gonna be a fun night.

Lorelai came back, a smile playing on her lips. She put a hand to his chest. "Come closer, Señor. Permítame whisper in your ear."

He leaned close, his smile tentative now. Her lups were so close they tickled him just as a sharp pain struck his neck.

"I never liked you," she whispered, pressing the needle in harder as he tried to pull away. He shoved her away and staggered back, staring at the clear fluid still in the syringe.

"What the fuck did you just do to me, you crazy bitch?" he screamed, clutching bis neck. Her smiling, round face had gone hard and cold, expression neutral.

"Oh, calm down. It's just lorazepam," she said. "They use it on unruly patients all the time. It's probably the safest injectable sedative."

Ge hit out at her but she easily dodged the sluggish attack. She pushed him down onto the bed, tying up his wrists. He still kicked his legs until she tied his ankles too. He was finally silent when she wrapped the duct tape around his head and moury several times.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, tying ger hair back. "Alexa, play Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski, full album."

It's beautiful out today

I wish you could take me upstate

To the little place you would tell me about

"When you'd sense that I'd want to escape," Lorelai sang over the muffled screams and shouts, pulling on her mask, goggles, gloves, and apron. Viktor could only stare at the saws, scalpels, drills, and needles that she left on the table before she disappeared into another room.

No one could hear him scream.

[train-heartnet-xiii]

sometimes it kinda hits me in the gut when I realize just how much I had zero chance of growing up “normal”

my parents were around 40 when I was born (you know this ups the chances of things like health issues and all that)

I’ve had health issues since birth (big surprised there given the first thing) and only one was both properly diagnosed and treated before I turned 20 and I’m neurodivergent (ADHD diagnosed, very likely autistic or another form of neurodivergence other than just ADHD too)

my high school age older sister died the month I turned one and that really messed up the family dynamics and left me with a birthday complex since I grew up with more relatives and friends of the family remembering to give my parents condolences on the anniversary of her death than did anything showing they remembered my birthday

my mom had her own chronic health issues and had to stop working because of them (and my dad not doing his part to help raise my older siblings) before I was born.

she was also a completely geek and raised me as a geek. I consider this a positive but it is something that came with down sides growing up.

my dad is basically emotionally repressed, thinks people need to learn to help themselves and you do that by not helping them, and probably has some form of diagnosed neurodivergence (the one friend he has that he can really relate to was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder in his 50′s).

his idea of relaxing sometimes involves arguing with other people who don’t necessarily want to be involved in the argument.

he stresses me out almost every time I have a serious talk with him about anything since according to him I should know when he means what he says and not as questions but when he mistakenly says something other than what he means I should know what he really means without asking for clarification unless I don’t ask a question to clarify and then I should have asked a question.

oh, hey, I’m queer too and the neighborhood bully lived right behind me and basically decided the geeky, disabled, neurodivergent, queer kid (not that he knew all that in words but you can’t say the differences those caused weren’t a factor) was the one he was going to focus on bullying and from age 4 to age 14 I had to deal with him bullying me badly enough to leave marks and for my mom to need to call the cops on him for it (against my dad’s wishes, according to him I should just deal with it and toughen up)

my second grade teacher wasn’t fit to work with kids and basically encouraged the class to bully me (oh, hey, anyone want to bet that had something to do with being neurodivergent and having undiagnosed disabilities?) then humiliated me in front of the class because the bullying affected me to the point I constantly shook like a nervous chihuahua and couldn’t eat lunch without spilling because of it.

my doctor didn’t believe that two of my health issues were real, thinking that they were psychiatric issues at best, and lied when asked about them. he assumed another issue found in my mom’s side of the family that affected my mom and my older brother was the real issue and without ordering x-rays to confirm told me to take tylenol as needed.

he also did jack shit about me taking hours to get to sleep, sometimes getting only 2 hours and frequently getting no more than 4, to the point that at age 16 my mom started giving me half a glass of wine before bed because that at least helped a little and my doctor wasn’t doing anything no matter how much he was asked to.

I really didn’t have any chance of growing up normal, I fucking swear.

[leporellian]

how i got into opera (unabridged)

i realize i’ve never mentioned how i got into opera before and it’s like. it was a whole ass Odyssey and i really feel like confessing my sins today.

‘so how do you find a special interest’ watch this.

RIGHT so i actually was exposed to opera all the damn time as a baby because my grandmother thought, for some dumbass reason, that opera calms babies down. which she was apparently right so i’m not gonna debate that shit but has she ever been to an opera. literally every damn minute of the ring cycle could traumatize a baby. literally what the fuck. but that’s not where this story begins because i don’t remember ANY of that shit.

anyway so as a kid i was always on that bullshit with THESE fucking things

these were supposed to make your baby smart or something but they didn’t work because i have the processing speed of the fuckin Pony Express. but they were good. (except for the beethoven one, which terrified me. fuck beethoven.) they were like, soothing images/puppets/toys with a backdrop of classical music scored on a marimba, which was like CRACK COCAINE to an autistic kid like myself so i watched these until i was in 4th grade despite the box saying ‘for ages under 3′ which really shows you how ineffectual these were at actually making kids smart. now this was like, the opera gateway drug, because it buttered me up into liking opera/classical music, which is a CAPITAL Sin.

so by this point i already like classical music. unless it’s by beethoven because he freaked me the F u c k out. which is where... 

PURRPALS FOR THE DS comes in

this game was literally a shameless nintendogs clone that was made to sell purina cat food. it was absolutely fucking bizarre. however i was a seven year old with a nintendo Dee Ess and toxoplasmosis gondii practically running in their Bloodstream i was on this shit like a hare in heat. but the important part of the gameplay was this guitar hero clone where you had to stage a fucking cat acapella group

it was easy as shit, being a badly designed game made for selling 

PURINA 

CAT 

LITTER, 

so i would immediately go to the hard levels, which were as follows.

- THE MAGIC FLUTE - RIGOLETTO - LA HABANERA - TORADOR

first of all these motherfuckers took one song from the magic flute and one song from rigoletto and said it was the WHOLE OPERA but THEY COULDN’T EVEN FIND A FOURTH OPERA SO THEY WENT WITH CARMEN TWICE. what WACKADOO Chicanery. also why the FUCK was rigoletto there it’s really the third wheel of this whole affair. anyway so since i played this shit regularly enough i was able to remember the song names, which, i had no idea what the fuck they were about but as a kid you never know what the fuck anything is about so i really was not bothered. i think i thought the magic flute was a ballet in the same cinematic universe as the Nut Crack Ker or something

anyway.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FRESH BEAT BAND

I HATED THIS SHOW WITH EVERY CORE OF MY BEING. i don’t know WHY but i felt such extreme secondhand embarrassment when i saw this show at the ripe old age of seven that when the school’s music teacher, which was the same one that loudly declared her loyalty to Mitt Romney in class one day (which is a different but no less entertaining story) showed a clip of this to us it was the first time i realized nothing was stopping me from walking out of the school. (which i didn’t. because i was a pussy. but fuck this show.) there was some dumb ass episode where all of the characters were doing different music styles or whatever- i really wasn’t paying attention i was on the computer in the same room of the television looking up how much my littlest pet shop toys were worth on ebay- and then they start singing 

LA FUCKIN HABANERA.

“i know that song!” i said, which sounds like joyful recognition, but in my head i was thinking something more akin to “WHAT THE FUCK THAT BITCH IS STEALING THE SONG FROM PURRPALS ON THE DS. LEARN YOUR COPYRIGHTS YOU HOE.” my parents immediately went ‘nah it has to have a different name’, which is when my ENTP really came out. i don’t believe in meyers-briggs but i got entp on the test and it basically means ‘stubborn little bastard who will start an argument with Literally Anyone” which is Kin Me Id. anyway i started being all ‘no i KNOW because PURRPALS on the DS told me’ so my parents were like ‘fine let’s just make the kid be quiet’ and looked it up on itunes. No Shit, i was right, because i knew my

PURRPALS 

LORE.

so anyway my parents knew my grandmother was crazy batshit for opera, which my grandmother actually used to hate opera but then a friend of hers who liked opera killed herself and then she decided to listen and went ‘nah this is actually kinda a bop’, which again a whole nother story, so they immediately tell her that i know about opera. which i DIDN’T i just knew about PURRPALS on the DS. so now my grandmother decides “aight i’m taking the grandkid to carmen at the LYRIC OPERA HOUSE”. 

i was seven and i didn’t know what ANY of those words MEANT. but my parents made me wear a dress and a purse so i figured it was an Occasion. (i filled the purse with nothing but goldfish crackers. they weren’t even in a ziploc baggie inside the bag i just dumped like half a carton of them directly into the purse.) 

so anyway i liked watching carmen but it wasn;t like it was anything special to me at the time. like you could have replaced it with Madagascar 2: Escape 2 Africa and it would have the same effect. 

UNTIL ACT FOUR. 

my grandmother was never exactly aware of my reading abilities until i was maybe like, 13. she didn’t think i was actually understanding anything in the little program thing they give you. but i realized, right as act 3 finished, that carmen was going to be stabbed in the next act

ON STAGE

and i lost my shit.

“that doesn’t even make sense!” i told my grandmother as we left the building. (i thankfully didn’t make a scene but i was shaking like an abused grayhound, or some shit.) “don jose is a bad guy carmen would have stabbed him first.” (thankfully there’s a production where that actually happens. so some day i will sue them because they plagiarized from my filibuster in the lyric ladies’ bathroom about carmen when i was seven.)

“there are operas with happy endings!” she said. i wasn’t sure i believed her because i watched that one bugs bunny episode where they do wagner. 

so anyway, like 7 months later my grandmother tells my parents she’ll take me to see the magic flute, also at the lyric, because it’s a child friendly opera, which, it’s

AN OPERA ABOUT FREEMASONRY CULTS AND RACISM AND SEXISM WITH TWO OR MORE ATTEMPTED SUICIDES AND A HITMAN PLOT

but by this point nobody really cared and this time i was sure i wouldn’t freak because i had trained myself into not crying at movies, because my parents didn’t allow me to watch movies that made me cry so i exploited a loophole, which again, another story. i knew about the magic flute vaguely because it was in Purrpals on the DS. 

now that i knew what the magic flute was- vaguely, my grandmother told me nothing about it except that it was an opera- i asked my grandmother what rigoletto was. “oh it’s the same thing as the hunchback of notre dame!”

i still don’t know what the fuck she meant by this.

anyway i loved the magic flute- which had the same music as that baby einstein tape all those years ago so it immediately felt familiar- and as soon as i got home i went and decided that i was going to know everything to know about it. 

and that’s how i got into opera.

[plasmabluefire]

What using the word ‘Retarded’ or ‘Autistic’ as an insult is really doing to people.

If one more person uses the word ‘Autistic’ or ‘Retarded’ to call someone stupid I DARE them to give me their fucking address. I’VE MET AUTISTIC PEOPLE WHO ARE SMARTER THAN ANY OF YOUR DUMB ASSES WILL EVER BE, AND THERE IS NOTHING IN THE BOOKS THAT SAY ‘RETARDED’ MEANS STUPID!

So get off your fucking high horses, stop being stupid idiots, and STOP making people believe Autistic and Mentally Retarded people are toxic to our community by using us as examples when calling someone stupid. I’ll bet I-an Autistic WITH a brain growth disorder-have a higher IQ than any of you idiots who try to spit insults without even knowing what the fuck Autism or Mental Retardation is. I’M SICK OF YOU!

Like, tell me this, if someone was a slow runner and you wanted to make fun of them, would you say ‘hey, you got cancer or something?’ as an insult because ONE SYMPTOM of people on Chemo tends to be that they can’t move around as freely as before? Yet, because SOME BOOKS say people with Autism or Mental Retardation tend to need special education teachers to help them, you believe that automatically means you should assume all Autistic people are stupid and you should call people ‘Autistic’ or ‘Retarded’ as an insult. I had a special education teacher, but that wasn’t because I was stupid. As a matter of fact, I could answer math questions in 4th grade faster than anyone in my class. I just needed someone to read the questions out loud to me so I could do them mentally, which I couldn’t do if I read it off the paper myself. MOST KIDS I KNEW couldn’t do mental math that quickly at my age.

If anyone assumes this piece of information about kids like me should be used as an idol to look at when calling someone a synonym for ‘stupid’, SHAME ON YOU. 

You’re all just idiots who don’t even know what the definition of the words you use in sentences are. You just spit the first word that comes to your mind like a bunch of walnuts who don’t know how many letters are between ‘A’ and ‘D’. How would you like it if I asked you ‘Hey, you got scoliosis or something?’ because you weren’t very active, and it turned out you had a family member or friend who had scoliosis? You’d be mad wouldn’t you? THEN WHY THE FUCK DO YOU GIVE AUTISTIC PEOPLE SUCH A BAD FUCKING NAME. I am SICK of you IDIOTS who do this without even thinking. Autistic children are put down by their classmates everyday because of the bad names you have given us. We commit suicide on the daily, many of us, because you have taught people who are ‘normal’ to treat ‘special’ kids badly. You are murderers for the suicides you have caused, and that’s all I’ll ever see you as. If you’re going to use the word ‘Retarded’ or ‘Autistic’ to insult someone from this point forward after reading this and knowing how bad you really make our already shitty lives, then unfollow me and go to hell where you belong.

To those of you who may have used these words as insults before but have decided to stop doing so after reading this and knowing how bad what you are doing really is, I thank you from the bottom of my heart because you are taking one more step forward in stopping the bullying that happens to kids like me and causes depression along with suicides every day. If you see an Autistic or ‘Retarded’ person being bullied, please, stop what is happening because by doing so you may be saving a life.