#abuse of autistic minors

[blacktooth-the-comic]

"Andrew, you hussy!" -- and other alternate timeline delusions.

Pictured: an MS Paint JPEG of a simplified human figure carefully slapping red car paint on the gnarly horrorclaws of a huge fuckoff lusus. The lusus is styled after the freshwater alligator snapping turtle, a reptile and known child-biter native to Pottowatomi territories. Content Warnings for discussions of racism, hate crimes, assault, sexual abuse, harm to minors, and animal death. May or may not mention the gun we stole from that bodyguard.

♦

Your name is AMME, as of writing you are NEARLY FORTY GODDAMN YEARS OLD, and when you were a kid you were bit on the head by a snapping turtle.

You were bit on the head by a snapping turtle that you had grabbed to pull you to shore, after your sister's rapists decided against the 'homo' act of assaulting a four-year old boy and threw you into the deep pond to drown.

You had used empty beer bottles and cans to float as far as you could, before those slipped from your cold fingers and you sank, and sank, right to the murky bottom of the turtle's conservation pond, happening upon the hill of his shell in your crawling quest for higher ground.

The people responsible for trashing the pond considered themselves pure of blood and native to these lands, and spoke amongst themselves about the destruction the white man brings, unaware that your sister, aged six, and you shared a halfnative father. Your sister was lily white, blonde with blue eyes; and her teenaged attackers weren't much darker but considered themselves righteously beleaguered (and were also smoking a lot of meth).

This is a true story. Unfortunately, this is a true story. This story, which is true, had to be rewritten by journalists and popular culture in order to avoid riling North America's white supremacy terrorists; my sister rewritten to be a black girl, our attackers rewritten to be white.

"That's the plotline to 'A River Runs Through It'," your friend BILL argues mildly one night, while you are regaling this very real and true thing that goddamn happened to your family.

"I KNOW, SHUTUP," you sputter. Allegedly, your dad went to school with the idiot who would hire himself out to Hollywood by the stage name Matthew McConahaugey, or however the fuck that's spelt. There's a popculture through-line haunting the heels of your reality, outstanding tragedies and escalated ironies the likes of which could make any other Hapsburg cousin blush with jealousy.

When you were four, and your baby brother was not yet born, you and your sister were walking a familiar nightly trek, back from a party to the shack in the woods that your poor mother could barely afford to house you all in. Because of the blood ties your father could claim to an indigenous nation, you and your sister qualified for north america's shittiest healthcare and weakest nutrition, besides being housed in a mouse-infested shack with open dirt cellars shoveling mold toxins through your tiny nostrils every night.

Not even counting the extra vulnerability to stalking, kidnap and rape; known dangers to Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (but a vulnerability anyone below a certain tax bracket would share).

Your mom, see, was a polish-catholic whitey; a sparkling blue-eyed autistic fortunate enough to have grown up in the bounty of the valley farms and woodland resourcing culture. She knew how to hunt and butcher and cure hides, how to fish and garden and ferment, a high bohemian prize in the smalltown wash of second-wave feministique and burgeoning 1980s materialism.

Your father was a golden child to his family and tribe, a football star and upright soldier, vaulted either despite of, or because of, his thick blonde hair and pale green eyes, and the dimples he would pass on to you.

Your uncles through your father were as dark as you, black hair that browned in the fields and snowpelt complexions that darkened and waned with the seasonal labor's exposure to northern continental sunlight.

The teenaged boys who attacked you and your sister the night of the turtlebite were close friends of your youngest uncle; but only knew you and your sister as the children of your white mother -- the fact that it was your dad, the town golden boy, who married a daughter from the untouchable polish clan of quiet academics and violently catholic snobbery, the fact was never absorbed by the brains of these reservation sons, brains soaked in weed, amphetamines, and liquor.

Brains bruised by poverty, generational trauma, and colonialist rape culture.

These teenaged child-rapists only knew that your mother was white, her family owned land, and your uncle, their friend, would not miss either of you for spoiling his free time with unpaid child-minding. That uncle, see, was dating and would later marry your mother's sister, your aunt, and of that union these teenaged boys assumed you and your sister's presence at the reserve; that you were the both of you "white trash", castoffs from a catholic community that was only mad at your mother over her recent divorce, rending you both parasites to your uncle's dating life, resource-greedy clingers-on there to appropriate native culture and displace native children from academia.

These teenaged child-rapists did not, or could not, understand the town golden boy was your father; because your father was on military contract and like, couldn't fucking leave to chase his battered runaway wife? Probably something like that.

"This is where Danny Glover comes in," Bill tells his wife, who is listening to you with an expression of extreme autistic discomfort.

"I still don't fucking know if any of this is real or true," you disclaim, reasonably. "Lotta head injury, all my life. Lots of bad Wipipo medsin." You wiggle your fingers at your roomy, who lifts her eyebrows in her best attempt not to look terrified.

So when your mom was still married to your dad, your dad was stationed at an army base several borders away from the hometown that they shared. As her growing family needed the money, and her ravenous brains needed the enrichment, your mom took up a job as secretary to one of your dad's superior officers.

This dude looked exactly like Danny Glover, or was Danny Glover or just sounded like Danny Glover, or you made the connection between this guy and Danny Glover for his involvement in the movie 'a river runs through it', which your mom had bade you and your sister watch when you were eleven or so (and you don't know much now, as an adult, except that delusions of fame and connection can be inheritable).

"I want to hear about the Harry Potter connection," Bill's mean wife insists, several tax brackets more fortunate than you and somehow leagues unhappier for't.

"And the time I cried snot all over Lily Gladstone," you agree, waving that she shut the fuck up. "There is no ethical storytelling under capitalism, and I still don't even think any of this is true, so let's just stay chronological m'kay?"

The night your sister was raped was recounted too many times in the tones of your victory over the snapping turtle; the night your sister was raped was rewritten before her very witness, over and over, as your turtlefight took precedence for family pride. Your sister would grow up suffering extreme paranoia of brown and mestizo people, her connection to tribal support severed, her connection to catholic support non-existent but for her victimhood pricking at the wells of roman grandparent pity.

Your sister's rape was inescapable in the family lorekeeping, and ruined connections to both sides of your entire family with guilt, shame, fear, rage. Disgust.

Your sister would suffer from impulse control disorders and violent outbursts; she would grow insanely jealous of you and for you, would obsess over imaginary wrongs and plot grand criminal schemes of theft and murder, and would eventually grow to be a child-rapist herself after her failure to murder you, shaded under the harrowing impression that nobody cared, really, when kids got raped.

Especially nobody cared when a white kid got raped, because harmony between the skincolors mattered more to the adults in our life than did the actual truth of extremist rhetorics and which communities were vulnerable to nationalist recruitment tactics. Nobody cared when a boy got raped, either, because the homosexual community was not to be besmirched by over-achieving vigilantes. And especially nobody cared when a mixed race child got raped, either side of the family reluctant to confide in the other, suspicions and blame worsened between clans, adults blind to the actual foundation of acts of sadism like sexual violence against kids; adults blind to what, exactly, narratives of power were going to convince the powerless about.

Kids were just supposed to live past their rapes, shrug and move on, sell their labor to capitalism and maybe squeeze a few more worker bees out of a vagina (theirs or someone else's, and this was marketed to us as the standard for happiness, highest proof of recovery).

The natives invoked Bikilimbas and lost a rapist or two to gunfire; but the Catholics only badgered that your sister and you forgive her attackers, a monstrous burden to place on a child and an act that was more than a little responsible for your mother's turn to 'Alternative Medicine' for your counseling and recovery.

In the eighties and nineties, see, it was vogue to heinously abuse autistic and traumatized children in the name of curing their behaviors, nevermind their actual peace of mind or feelings of security. Your sister was a chronic masturbator, her brain starved for dopamine and her violated little body in need of reclamation over its parts, and she was also a fantastical liar, spiritual fanatic, pagan posterchild pupiled to poisonous potionbrewing.

Perhaps inevitably, your sister would turn to physical and sexual violence as an avenue of reassurance; acts of sadism to dispel her existential despair, power trips to regain power by. Her situation wasn't helped by the cowardice and vanity of the father you shared, his constant angling for financial compensation from your existence (kids are expensive), nor his brush with labor trafficking and consequent convictions for things like embezzlement, intimidation, slumlordery and homeopathic grifting.

Well before the tribe didn't want your father, though, your father didn't want his tribe.

"We aren't pottowatomi," you tangent, quoting a demented old auntie who could have been lying through her blackened teeth. "We're from one of the 'uncivilized' tribes, so-named for their willingness to sully white bloodlines with brown, or curse brown bloodlines with white, or whatever." Every whitey in the room looks like they want to question that, but it's Your Fucking Turn To Speak. "Like, it was considered chill for natives to marry black slaves, but tribal leaders and colonialists both agreed that mixing marriage with ze jermins or whomever else european peasant there to do a landgrab; like, they thought that was gross? Terribly, there was an entire, specifically german, movement that considered indigenous races as pure as the white race (or aryan or however that shit went) and, much like some movements in asiatic immigrants the same, thought the mixing of two pure races was, like, fine? So whatever; Maiyami didn't get federal recognition but the reason was mostly because we hella goddamn integrated. Mostly with the jewish, and the french."

To Bill's wife, you clarify, "Been here the whole time, bitch!"

She frowns so hard you think her jaw is going to fall off.

Before or maybe after the turtle bite (you broke a beer bottle open on a rock, head still lodged firmly in that huge fuckoff turtle's maw, and stabbed at the eyes of the thing before shoving your flotation-branch down its spiny throat. The feds would find the turtle dead on your crime scene walkthrough, and lie to you that it was gunfire to end the thing's life, to ease your tiny baby environmentalist guilt.) -- but BEFORE or maybe AFTER the turtle, there was THE OWL.

You met the owl well before your sister's rape, a melanistic horned beast swooping through the station wagon's broad open windows to snatch at your mother's mouseback coinpurse, a brush of feathers across the summer night's driving sweat, your sister asleep in your lap and upset she missed the encounter (your mother hysterical and cussing god).

Probably after the rape, when you forgot many things from the scare of it all and nevermind the pondscum encephalitis (and nevermind the harry potter scar, or the concussive bite force of an alligator snapper vs soft little toddler head), was when you met Blackie the Owl in proper, when you were playing with the field mice your mother warned you not to feed.

From the mouse traps, your mother's chore was often to toss the dead mice to the swamp cats to sustain their company, feeding sometimes the kinds of birds to favor mouseflesh too, though Blackie preferred hers still living and was confident enough to snatch anything from the kids that played in her woods, fuzzy hair accessories and barbie doll heads all fair game to line her nest with.

The story is told that you were holding a gerbil, not a field mouse, aloft the day Blackie cursed you with skinwalking talents. The gerbil had been a gift to foster your love of field mice toward something less prone to rabies, and you were holding him up to get some sunlight, you lying on your back in the cool clover and protecting your fingers from angery gerbilbites by carrying him around on a bedpillow instead of in your grasp.

Pillow held above your face to shade you from the noontide sun, suddenly the pillow was shoved down atop you, elbows collapsing with a laugh because your sister would sometimes do this, start pillowfights and attempt to smother you. When you manage to bench-press the pillow off your face, though, you see naught but a pair of dragon talons balled up in the fabric, a head with the ears of a black cat with one long, fucked-up tooth stabbing down at your poor gerbil sacrifice.

They caught the footage on your landlord's security camera, you strong-arming the pillow carefully over your face so you could wiggle out from under the cat-dragon and buckflip yourself upright ninja-style, recognizing Blackie's wings but having no four-year-old's idea of just what the fuck an owl is supposed to look like up close.

"Cat dragon," you insist to your mother at the kitchen sink, ashen. You don't have a lot of words for a lot of things, and your favorite reading material is the chinese zodiac on the restaurant placemats.

"The what-scar?" Bill's mean wife interrupts, hungry to see her fandom represented at last.

"Oh, yeah," you say, laughing. "You know how JK Rowling was in amnesty international? Yeah, so was an aunt of mine. I knew Rowling as 'JoAnne Fabrics', the name of a local textile outlet, but THAT's another story."

"The original Harry Potter is also the original Dave Strider, and no I will not elaborate," your roommate quotes, looking ill now. A YouTube personality said that, once, and you aspirated your drink right there in front of her, and she didn't understand why at the time.

You nod. This story, this very true and actual real thing you're pretty sure actually happened --

This story is about Homestuck.

Specifically, this story is about Andrew Hussie's struggle with racism, his connection to your sister('s group therapy of similarly traumatised children striving to appease the normalcy-starved adults in their lives).

You say, "I knew Andrew Hussie as Drew Hussar, to distinguish him from Andy [redacted], my cousin. But then again -- a common name, Andrew Hussie, and we might have only been reading Homestuck and clowning on the forums, not necessarily in an active friendship with him or his."

Your buddy Bill nods, looking relieved to hear your measured acknowledgement of probably realities. You agree, this is all just too fantastic to be any kind of true, at least forgiving that you are hilariously faceblind and struggle with associative pattern-finding.

Maybe you're just from another timeline, displaced by all the beatings, stabbings, and poisonings your sister raised against you, her high functioning intelligence and eventual academic and financial stability won at the cost of your safety, your ability to make connections with other people, your confidence. In preteen and teenaged years your sister would set you up to get raped, repeatedly, and the both of you understanding this as just a facet of reality, a Spy vs Spy game risking nothing but catholic ideals on virginity.

Of course you just wanted your sister to make friends with other people, so she could leave you the hell alone. Of course your sister always wanted to share you with her friends, until the jealousy kicked in to get you murdered; so you learned to swerve these social connections early, and often.

'Anti-social' your family would joke of your reluctance to party.

You were very social, actually, and suffering extreme depression from the isolation, but okay. Family could joke, it wasn't them that got raped by indigenous supremacists. And you did party with your sister on her invites, which sometimes ended in serious injury to others bordering second-degree murder. Accidentally. Allegedly.

But you're pretty sure you were in the company of the origins of the homestuck character beats, you and one of your fellow rape survivors (from your sister's therapy group, and from a few hometown incidents you yourself had the privilege to survive). You remember your sister violently upset by the name "Dick Strider", and you remember explaining that your handwriting had not yet recovered from your most recent hospitalization, that the name was "Dirk', that it meant sword.

You chose Dave Strider after Dave-the-army-buddy you used to tail around the base, mistaking his mustache for your dad's. And Strider after the dude in the Hobbit cartoon, and Dirk because you, Amme, and your sister and your newly born brother all had four-letter names, a delicious joke about cussing you didn't yet have the words to define.

You are way beyond age four when this all goes down, of course, it's just that the head injuries... Nothing doesn't ever stop keep happening, time is a flat circle, and you warned him about the fucking stairs, bro.

Being a taurus to the colonial zodiac, and being in a wheelchair at the time, you somewhat fancy yourself the original tavros, your personality just as malleable and digimon-obsessed, even if you also ranted like karkat (carket, actually, like the demand to Cork It, and named after your love of cars and ketamine).

Perhaps somewhere in this hazy recollection of camaraderie amongst defectives is a lost cousin or two, a monied benefactor to fund you all, some happiness and intelligence and helpful distraction. You remember feeding your friend's ant farm something from the back yard, a moth or dead bee or such, accidentally infecting the colony with cordyceps fungi, and scrambling to turn the tragedy into story fuel because hey, at least the ants weren't raped by their uncle's friends (and let that be a lesson about closed ecosystems and building immunities anyway; no sense in living life as an ant if they're going to live and die behind featureless, sterile glass).

You remember confessing to your aspirations to have twelve children exactly; not for any heteronormative aspiration for large family or tradition or whatever, but because you wanted one of each zodiac, to run tests on and see if the personality traits, strengths and flaws really were all that accurate if you simply never taught those kids about western zodiac. There was an entire other half of the world, after all, who based personality shortcuts on a completely different calendar, and most days you felt way more tiger-ish than bull.

You remember a lot, just not if any of it is real. The way everyone around you behaved, you're scared to know which. If these delusions and connections were true, then it was also true that your sister was routinely drugging you to treat your 'social anxiety', and eventually was routinely pimping you out to friends and contacts in ever-worse grabs for connection to fame and success.

If any of this is true, then maybe all of it could be true; Danny Glover sexually harassing your mom, terrorising your entire family for the sake of his own bruised pride over your mom's rejection of his advances; a skit that Dave Chappelle would one day freeze your entire stomach with, the punchline being that your mom wore a squirrel-fur coat and was a money-chaser, and that Chappelle's character was only merely 'petty', and gleeful in his bloat of wealth and fame while the hometown beauty despaired of her humble life.

In reality, your mother chose honesty and peace before she ever chose money or fame; and the only n-word you ever dropped was landed at the loafers of your mother's abuser, and the only reason you ever dropped it was specific to the understanding that the word was harmful; because you legit had and have black family, and would have in your early life known the vagaries of casual racism.

In reality, your mother was harangued by this black dude several leagues wealthier and more powerful than she; and he was a conservative christian too, an admission that would cement your judgement against all who would claim similar, if conservative christianity meant grownass COs physically cornering your mother, right in front of you, to sexually intimidate her and curse her for a racist when she preferred to stay faithful to her marriage.

The divorce with your dad, see, was because your dad did not stick up for your mom when she was being sexually harassed on that army base way back when. Your dad even suggested that your mom simply sleep around with whomever asked, a longstanding workingclass trope and expectation of new mothers trying to secure gainful employment.

And Drew the Hussar (corsair, like a pirate, yeah hussie doesn't mean sexually avid so much as it's like, idk, some european shit? like how gary is actually the name of a type of gardening tool or primitive farming tech or some damn thing).

You are maybe eight or nine years old when you David yourself a Goliath, and land yourself in the hospital with a spinal injury about it all; and you have no regrets about the attack nor the n-bomb, except for the attention that your bravery draws from the town. White supremacy attentions, like. And second-gen Welsh and Irish catholics very easily racist, themselves, having little enough heritage to slave ownership and more than enough historical victimhood under the same colonialist royalty to plague american shores!

So like, your family's pain was always under pressure by the recruitment tactics of extremists looking for a righteous cause to do violence over. Your mother was never racist, never a liar, and never crazy -- not until her abusers found it more useful that she be thus, that the judicial system continue to favor the comfort of the higher tax brackets, and that malignant narcissists stay unchallenged by a world that also expected its children to remain civil in the face of extreme injustice.

And the fact that you dropped the n-word mattered more to your father than did the assault and harassment metered out against your mother, by the Danny Glover lookalike.

But you're not an idiot, and you know the uselessness of prejudice as just like a pattern-finding pitfall. It was bad logic, was racism, and it was bad logic to blame your pursuit of justice on the sin of Wrath, so neither the natives nor the catholics had solved the problem of the wealthy preying on the vulnerable poor.

Your mother bonded with JoAnne Rowling over their shared victimisation, and told the british interloper your entire history. JK Rowling, see, ... well, that story is on Twitter, under the name Professor Blacktooth, probably.

This story is about being homestuck, and probably also a child soldier, and probably also a vengeful Owl Spirit defending its ha'nativ babies through the calculated violence of a terrorised child.

You are maybe eleven, or twelve, or thirteen for the halloween party where you crack the joke "Andrew, you hussie!", because your best friend who-was-a-girl had a crush on the tallest cousin at the house, and he wasn't even your cousin but only shared a name with him, and that cousin had to move to Argentina besides, which sounds fake as hell, so either way you don't want to date the only Drew at that party, and not just because your friend who-was-a-girl liked him but also because You Are A Dude.

You were a dude with a documented circulation problem, even, and was stoned enough to cuddle with anything that sat still long enough to lend you their body heat, and Drew was cousin-shaped and thirteen wasn't too old to stop cuddling your cousins, and really only white people had that bad habit of sexualising kids and teens cuddling anyway, while the rest of the poors chose to live with the practical realities of heating costs, and halloween costumes with no fukken layers.

And yeah, okay, so you were cuddling The Tallest Girl At The Party and it was in the top bunk bed, because Drew was wearing a wig and you thought it was funny to hit on him, and you had a bad back from your storied history of stabbing evil chumps, plural, and you almost always wanted to just Go Lay Down Somewhere Quiet, and you the both of you shared migraines and social anxiety, and you might have wished out loud that Drew was a girl or at least shorter than you right before your friend-who-was-a-girl came into the room to try and make out with her crush, only to be crushed to discover you yourself canoodling in a bed making the tallest girl at the party turn several shades of red.

And here's what you remember, of the time you nearly lost your eyeball (it was dangling down your cheek, the world in cockeyed split screen); or maybe this was the injury set from the time that paparazzo hit you with his car princess-diana style, or that other time the town pedophile hit you with his car in an attempted excuse to 'drive you to the hospital' (to somewhere secluded, more likely), or maybe this was the injury where your sister clubbed you over the head with a decorative old wrench, and you played possum in that driveway so long that your blood glued your long warrior's hair to the gravel in the settling frost.

You remember either Drew or some cousin, or one of your wealthier guests, was colorblind, and so your bloodshot eyeball looked not red, but black to them, and the green eyes of your fishbelly maiyami heritage looked only to this person as a very pale grey, nearly white the whole way through, though they could still register the flecks of gold and gosh, didn't you just have the prettiest eyes in the joint?

And wasn't it true, that the only cousins in that house were merely your cousins through your mother's second marriage, and your babies likely unflippered?

And you remember your sister constantly trying to set you up with one paramour or another, despite your highly autistic asexuality and preference toward intellectual and creative pursuits (and god bluss lady gaga, anyway, for explaining to a magazine how sexual relationships usurp creativity).

At that Halloween party, you remember this entire cultural mountain of pressure to 'be normal', to recover from your several encounters with horrorshow monsters in full, which meant an average interest in sex; and you remember not being afraid, at all, to do as your sister encouraged, knowing full well that being young was for making mistakes, and that none of these relationships were supposed to matter by the time you were an adult.

♦

"So that's it?" Bill's mean wife says, sitting back with crossed arms and a jaw set against compassion.

"This is, like, a mysteriously numbered repeat attempt to communicate all of this," you answer, hurt. "I keep forgetting shit. Remembering shit. Drinking to forget shit. I accidentally joined the army, completely unawares I had an entire medical file, psych record, AND TRAIL OF JUDICIAL PAPERWORK behind my entire twenty six years of life to disqualify me, not to mention a cadre of completely alarming health upsets whose origins are sometimes a mystery to me, which comes off as I'm either a hypochondriac and malingerer, or stubborn idiot refusing to acknowledge his limits."

You flap your arms penguin-style. "I do know that I am... pathologically honest, though, and not at all lying or exaggerating about the concussions and memory losses and whatnot, and if it suits your comfort to toss delusion or schizophrenia atop all of that then I ain't gonna squawk. I just wanted to share with my friends that, well, yeah I Had Opportunities and still chose to leave them behind with my sister's social circles, because of all the --"

"All the rapes, yeah," Bill helps, helpfully, nodding and sorry in the eyes.

It matters that Bill is white and has black family, too. It matters that Andrew Hussie's early comics were kinda hella raycist.

"All the associative memories," I explain. "And from experience, my sister was never going to change, around me. I'm her trigger. I'm her reminder of the unfairness of the world, her treasure and her curse, her supporting witness and her amnesiatic disbeliever. And she's my Bro Strider, hypersexual and violent, jealously hoarding me inside of a shitty apartment under the guise of safety but really just to monopolize my loyalty, and sell footage of me to creeps online, if we had things like webcams and internet growing up. Which we didn't. On account of the poverty."

"Kinda feel like poverty isn't what made your sister ... do. Everything that she did." Your roomy adds, still on your side despite the stress of uncertainty hovering around all these fantastic claims and possibly misremembered spikes of trauma.

This is your conclusion for this post on tumblr dot com, in the hopes that you aren't fruitlessly scaring the bejeezus out of an innocent webcomic author;

"Generational poverty stole our family early to their graves, left many of us languishing in monotony and pain, starved us and saw our babies born dead. Poisoned us when our economic superiors polluted our lands, denied us access to critical infrastructure, stole our children away, *legally* displaced these kids to white schools and churches that murdered them. My grandma was sterilised by an evil ladyparts doctor, my uncle born with disabilites from a syphillitic infection that the army had given to my grandpa with reused blood-draw needles.

"And," you continue, cold with nausea. "And any possible brown or black ally I could ever have in this country, is going to see my vitiligo and cast judgement."

"YOU DO NOT HAVE VITILIGO, YOU JUST HEARD THAT FROM MICHEAL JACKSON," Bill's shitty wife explodes, repeating an old elementary school taunt.

You argue in a drawl, "Auto-immune disorders triggered by heinous amounts of childhood stress, hey, those existed way long before the celebrities were around to 'raise awareness', but thanks for participating. Mypipo called it the moon's curse, and nicknamed me Pony for the palomino spotting, but y'all going to stay sexist and assume the moon curse is about menstruation and the pony nickname was a sexual innuendo, cos white people fucking suck." This examples the rapid-fire lacony that inspired dave strider's deadpan delivery, his 'cool' in actuality an irrefutable depression, his brother dead through most of the webcomic because truths came to light about your sister's psychopathy and she got roundly excluded from many of the projects she had roped you into.

But the conclusion is thus, as you finger-guns at your roomy and moonwalk out of the small kitchen you're all hotboxing to save on product, "No war but class war, babes."

[mew-aka-mimichan]

Shout out to the photos I took during my abusive household era lol

The neighborhood was actually really nice and I thought I had a chance to actually go to school there but that man just had to fcuk it up

Also rip to his dog, he treated him like shiet which should have been a red flag for my mom but idk why she didn’t pick that up

[perenlop]

thinking abt how eve and i (technically eve both times while i was the vessel i guess) have been accused of falling for "fanmade edits" when trying to explain the pmd lore despite literally pulling from official sources (like... the literal games) you can easily verify for yourself. what is this curse we've been dealt.

[electric-dreams-blog]

🌸About Me🌸:

General:

I’m a 23 year old married genderqueer person, my pronouns are he/she. I have experienced multiple severe forms of trauma throughout my life, I have C-PTSD and Autism and I experience psychotic symptoms. I am a gay goth that experiences hybristophilia and autassassinophilia.

What I’ll Be Posting:

(most will be reblogs)

Aesthetic I enjoy

NSFW photography, potentially gifs but not usually

Vents: the vents can range from my trauma all the way to my rants, some might include things about my own paraphilias

Special Interests:

Fashion from the 50s-80s

Music from the 80s, specifically New Wave, Post Punk, Punk, and Synthwave

Sex, I have very extensive knowledge about sexual psychology. I’m very interested in paraphilias and general extremes.

Human Psychology

Emergency Alert Systems

Warning Signs

Public Service Announcements

Animals, especially dogs, I have interest in showing dogs in the future.

Commercials, specifically weird, uncomfortable, and vintage

Disturbing History

True Crime

Waist Training

Shock Media

Weird Internet, I very much adore Shaye Saint John and many others, I have since a young age.

Deformities

Body Modifications

‼️DNI‼️

Racist

Transphobic

Homophobic

P3doph!le

Z00ph!le

Minor (17 and under)

Anyone interested in anything but being friends, I am married and he will find out about you as soon as you message me because I have a big mouth and I tell him everything, I am not interested in you.

Favorite Bands & Artists:

Revolting Cocks

KMFDM

Nick Cave

Devo

Sisters Of Mercy

David Bowie

The Cramps

JG Thirlwhell

Virgin Prunes

Depeche Mode

General Note:

I do not condone the things I post on this account unless it is with adults who entirely consent. I do not support the acts of violence and rape.

(Blinkies from: @hyprmobile , @radiotrophicfungi , @lolitafawnie)

[maddestmewmew]

"folkpunk is so #goblincore #trashcore its all grimy grody men with slimy guitars" cool. actually i think this genre mostly populated by poor, poc, and/or queer people shouldnt be associated with. grossness. actually.

[galariangengar]

💭

[menlove]

you can't ship these two characters they're "sibling coded" bc they banter :/ you can't ship these two characters they grew up together which is basically the same thing as incest :/ you can't enjoy this character because they did bad things and if you enjoy them you're condoning that and you are evil :/ you can't ship this character with anyone because they're minor coded bc they're short/autistic :/ you can't ship these two because they're enemies so it's abuse :/

you have to watch this show/read this book bc it has queer representation! what's it about? uuuuuuh..... ....... it has queer characters!!!!

why isn't fandom fun anymore what happened we will never know

[kitsune-pop]

I love how much of warhammer 40k is clearly a bunch of white dudes sitting around, thinking up the worst shit imaginable and going "thank god that could never happen to me, the cishet white guy"

angron is a one for one depiction of slavery, yet is painted as the bad guy for wanting to stand against oppression

mortarion is disabled and constantly has his decisions taken away from him by able bodied people only to be seen as moody and uncooperative

magnus is gay or trans or both. literally a guy blamed for something he was born with that he cannot control and told you're bad if you explore this part of yourself. also you're illegal now

fulgrim was actively encouraged to pursue perfection, despite never being good enough for others. he pushed any personal pleasure aside for an uncaring crusade and then is demonized for saying "fuck it, I'll have fun"

lorgar. also known as "this is why you don't abuse your kids"

horus is the golden child who's sent out into the world by himself only to find out Gee, Maybe I'm Not Ready because good ol dad did everything for him then told him "figure it out lol"

alpharius omegon are the autistic kids who don't understand why pops is doing this, maybe we should do things a little different than "blood soaked crusade"

perturabo is the burnout middle kid who did everything to impress his father only to be told "that's what's expected of you" who then got mad since acting out was the only way he got attention

konrad curze has a mental disorder. and is abused because of it

all of these characters were so close to being some of the best representation for minorities we could get in media only for gw to eat shit right at the finish line because they can't commit to an actual story. and it's amazing just how little these writers understand that the things they depict are all real things that people suffer through every day, and are demonized for every single day, especially when we are told these characters are irredeemable and should be destroyed, no questions asked

[coldwind-shiningstars]

Dungeon Meshi is obviously primarily about food, eating, and crucially survival through eating, but it's also focused on other aspects of survival. Sleep, rest, social ties and social exclusion. There's even extensive commentary on things like personal grooming (Marcille’s hair, Toshiro becoming depressed and no longer shaving), clean bathrooms, and other things. When it comes to disability these things are referred to as instrumental activities of daily life (IADLs), which are more complex things like shopping, housework, and cooking, which people need to do to survive, and activities of daily life (ADLs) which are the basic bare bones needs: eating, toileting, etc. Dungeon Meshi is concerned with the logistics of living and finding joy in those logistics.

This is super related to disability! Yes, Laios is autistic, this has been apparent from the beginning. But what does being autistic mean for him and the story? Mostly, it means his desires, goals, and the ways he goes about achieving them are strange, foreign, or baffling. He has different priorities than other people and the way he expresses those priorities are strange. They affect how he socializes, how he eats…

So, it absolutely makes sense that there would be a minor sideplot about activities of daily living and what it's like to be out of sync with everyone else when it comes to prioritizing things. It's Mithrun Time (he's gonna mith all over the place) and I'm so SO interested in the interplay of disability, caregiving and the logistics thereof, and intersectionality & privilege. Who needs care? How do other people feel about them needing care? How do they receive that care? And who do we think is worthy of receiving care and how does that interact with all these other factors?

Bunch of manga and extras spoilers past the cut:

“So, what's wrong with you?”

I see a lot of people talking about Mithrun's non-eye disability as a depression allegory, which I think is true, but I think it's also metaphorically/symbolically both a traumatic brain injury and a trauma response to sexual assault. The sexual assault aspect is pretty clear if you look at any of the symbolism of the actual disabling event: just look at it.

Mithrun is lying in bed and the goat comes to him, lifts him up and puts its mouth on his abdomen and lower pelvis. The eating is sexually charged, as is the particular way he struggles and protests. It's intensely violating, and things that were once desirable are lost. And the dungeon lord group therapy session involves a lot of people talking about the demons like an abusive lover; Mithrun, even though he wanted to kill the demon so badly, still says that they're gentle.

As for the brain injury, chronic TBIs can cause a wide variety of symptoms. Some immediately relevant ones are anhedonia (lack of enjoyment), executive function issues, poor interoception (trouble understanding what's going on in your body), cognitive impairment affecting ability to reason/multitask/plan/solve problems, changes in behavior and personality, depression, agitation, and restlessness. We see… basically all of these, in Mithrun, as downstream effects of the loss of desires. He can't tell when he's hungry, tired, or out of mana; he can't perform ADLs consistently even if he knows he'll die without doing them and dying without doing them will interfere with his long-term goal, he had drastic personality changes, he oscillates between impatient and totally withdrawn.

Brain injuries can also affect more complex tasks and ability to sustain lengthy periods of complex cognitive work. A common example is losing the ability to read and process longer passages; maybe you can read the words but you can't read a paragraph, or maybe you can read paragraphs but now you get a migraine after 15 minutes. Mithrun's skill loss is not related to reading but the effect is similar – he is and was extremely skilled in a particular area of magic, but also disabled in ways that specifically hinder his skill in this area – to teleport things properly you need depth perception and a sense of direction, and he lacks both of these! And while he's still an incredibly effective fighter it seems like he pretty frequently makes those sorts of mistakes.

This is treated often as a gag and it is genuinely funny but it’s also very real, to no longer be as good at the thing you were good at before you became disabled. Kui takes several throwaway gags seriously later on, not just this one. Another ~gag that's not really elaborated on is the bathroom thing, but I appreciate its inclusion anyway, since even if it's presented humorously it doesn't feel meanspirited in a way a lot of “diaper jokes” do. I think people need to talk a lot more about bathroom issues in a wide variety of disabilities, and I think it's nice that a guy I can already picture the “poor little meow meow” posts about also has this issue, you know?

Preferences vs Desire

Even referencing PTSD and TBIs it's hard to really grasp what having no desires means, and the characters don't generally ask, while Mithrun explains it in vague terms. “Desires” is a very broad term and indeed he has lost access to a wide but related variety of things. Unfortunately this lead to him often being treated as nonagentic.

Mithrun does still have preferences, even if he doesn't express them and has no desire which would drive him to seek out pleasant things and avoid unpleasant ones. He'll comment on the taste and texture of foods, for example – sure seems like he has an opinion!

People treat it like his preferences don't matter since he doesn't usually bring them up unprompted, and he's often in situations where there aren't other options.

Kabru seems best at not doing this (and, noncoincidentally, also seems to be the best at actually caring for him; the Canaries have a lot more Resources theoretically than Kabru And Mithrun Eating Monsters And Kabru's A Bad Cook, but although they are loudly distressed by the two of them disappearing it seems to have positively affected Mithrun's general health)

But, uh, acknowledgement that someone has preferences at all is a really low bar to clear and Kabru also doesn't seem to fully understand how Mithrun's brain works. Mithrun’s caregivers want him to eat when they want him to eat. They want him to rest and drink when they want him to.

He lacks the desire for a number of mundane things but also seems to lack the ability to tell when he needs them. He can't explain why he faints; is “I am out of mana” considered a desire for more mana, one that can be eaten? He can't sleep on his own; it's not only that he lacks “the desire to go to bed” but he can't do anything with his own exhaustion, even if he notices it. He comments on the unpleasant taste and texture of several meals; he may be unable to want to not eat it, but he definitely can tell when he dislikes something. But he also seems to be unable to tell when he's hungry.

Kabru will acknowledge these preferences but there's not really other food options, and Everyone Must Eat. Kabru doesn't know the details of Mithrun's condition yet but you can see the immediate frustration here and the way he offers food to him like Mithrun's a child.

Sure, he won't directly communicate preferences, so that makes it extra hard, but you can always just ask, and if he tells you he tells you.

The pathway between opinion and taking actions about it may be lost in Mithrun but the dungeon forces other people into a similar position – it forces them to eat food they don't want to eat so that they can survive or accomplish other goals. We've seen this with Marcille from the beginning. It's difficult with Mithrun because it seems like there is always going to have to be some sort of someone else overriding his autonomy – yeah, he's not hungry but he still needs to eat or he'll faint. Yeah, he's lying about whether or not he's clean but he still needs to wash or he'll die. Yeah, he needs to take a rest instead of keeping moving or he'll faint. But he's not unique in being in a situation where he has to do nonpreferred things. The difference is more that he lacks the ability to independently do anything when it comes to ADLs, preferred or not, which makes it into someone else’s choice and responsibility.

There's also a theme in Dungeon Meshi that comes up a bit of people being pushy about ADLs but from a slightly different perspective, and they're usually right. You see this in Senshi most commonly; he pushes the residents of the Golden City to actually eat even if they don't need to and can't taste it, and while he's correct in that Yaad does get enjoyment from the food even without taste he's still not quite listening to Yaad. Similarly, Kabru is correct in that he can get Mithrun to sleep without a sleeping spell, but he also ignores the way Mithrun says several times that he doesn't expect massage to work. There's a few aspects to this – wild but expected that the elves would choose the “just knock him out with a spell” route, the “easy way” Senshi always talks about when it comes to magic, instead of actually paying attention to other solutions. But also, generally, people know their bodies best, and sometimes even if you're really sure you have the trick to help them you have to listen to what they tell you.

tvtropes dot org frontslash DisabilityTropes

This is going to be a harder section just because it's so subjective; it's nearly impossible to think about the ways in which disabled people are viewed by the people around them/wider society with any degree of objectivity just because there are so many factors that go into it. But I do think Mithrun is consistently treated as relatively nonagentic and there are several ways this can manifest: being treated as a doll/pet/child, being treated as a weapon, and being a surface for people to project onto.

He's framed or treated as childlike intermittently through the manga; scattered about, just a little vibe in the way he's drawn, like the "say aah" above and Pattadol and Cithis through the teleportation scroll :

That's a middle aged man! And he's framed like a toddler getting picked up or misbehaving.

Which doesn't mean they care about him any less; his squad is really fond of him for someone who's technically like their parole officer. How dare you do this to our captain! They love him dearly; this is obvious and he comments on it! They respect him, too, as the leader and as a strong fighter. But loving someone and thinking they're a skilled fighter doesn't mean you respect their autonomy fully.

There's also an element of everyone projecting their own issues onto him; Kabru with their shared Dungeon Trauma. The canaries all suggesting wacky, midlife-crisis desires. He doesn't ever express that he minds any of this, except when they try to stop him from making particular decisions. They also don't often understand why he'd be motivated to do a particular thing, and in fact some of these projections may actually be correct! But while noodles and pottery may be good later-on goals for him, I think it's striking that a) Kabru was the closest to correctly guessing what desire Mithrun might acquire now and he was still guessing the exact opposite (suggesting a desire to not eat Falin but to help Laios, vs Mithrun's actual desire, which was to eat Falin with no thought given to the promise he made at all) and b) it's a desire that actually makes perfect sense with what we know about him, not something totally new.

And, finally, he's a weapon: people are willing to caretake him because he's good at killing things dead. If his only desire is to kill demons dead, it's easy to start seeing that as who he is. I don't think he'd argue that “trying to kill demons” takes up the majority of his life (it's his only goal and he's obsessed with it) but even if there's only one thing that matters to him he has autonomy (in the sense that he can make his own choices about what to prioritize and formulate his own plans) and personhood.

Politics and privilege – who gets to access care?

One of the things we're first presented with when it comes to Mithrun is that he is intensely capable at handling dungeons. Yeah, there's the immediately visible prosthetic eye and the navigation issues, but the Canaries are built up as being incredibly dangerous and skilled, and he's their captain; they all immediately defer to him. He's intense, he curbstomps an entire room of guards, he's efficient, he's brutal, he's strong physically and magically.

In short: yeah, he's very disabled. He's also still very useful.

At the risk of oversimplification, even within his particular disability, he's much more disabled than Marcille is (she lost something relatively simple and easy to miss, she has no catatonia-moment) but less disabled than Thistle, who seems to still have at least one desire related to the king but is still primarily catatonic. It seems like Thistle is not unusual among ex-dungeon lords, even if there's enough noncatatonic dungeon lords to form a support group later. When Milsiril finds Mithrun, she immediately intends to mercy-kill him – this seems to be a condition the elves are familiar with but consider terminal, at least to the degree Mithrun is affected, and people seem unfamiliar what it means to keep living in this state because Mithrun is unusual in that he survives at all. And he's “allowed” to survive initially because he's not as disabled as he could have been (still has a desire) and that desire is useful. They aim him at the dungeons and off he goes. It takes twenty years for him to recover enough to do it, sure, but they're elves. They can wait. He can still be useful.

Relatedly, when he loses the ability to pursue his desire he's immediately much worse off than he was previously.

The no-desire catatonia is something that can recur and the elves continue to not know how to handle it. If Kabru wasn't there to problemsolve I think he'd have just… stayed there with his increasingly distressed squad.

Speaking of his squad, there's also a fascinating power dynamic going on with just the inherent structure of the Canaries; criminals are assigned as his caregivers. There's the inherent unfairness to the criminal Canaries about them being given extra duties, this strange rich noble guy who's now their Responsibility. There's so much possibility for resentment in normal caregiving relationships, much less being forced by your jailor into caregiving someone. But there's also an element of the power the prisoner Canaries now have over him and his most basic ADLs and needs. Assigning Cithis to his care is such a can of worms! The dynamics of the situation are frankly awful for both of them; of course she resents him initially. It would be strange for her not to. When Pattadol catches her making Mithrun do embarrassing things, she instantly reminds Cithis of her lower-status – she's forced to care for this nobleman and then forcibly reminded that she's beneath him.

She's responding to having menial, low-status tasks forced on her by trying to humiliate him, and although he doesn't have the ability to care enough to stop her it's still a deliberate removal of dignity. He's the instrument with which she is punished and she punishes him in return (until it's not fun anymore and she understands him a bit more.)

Mithrun is a long-lived race, who has structural power over the shorter lived races simply because of how long they live. The dwarves and elves try to actively keep certain knowledge from other races, restricting their access to technology, and other expressions of distance. Senshi spends nearly the whole first season not listening to Chilchuck trying to explain that he's an adult and treating him like a child, and Kabru repeatedly says that the elves do the same thing (and tbh we see them doing it). There's even the fact that it took him twenty years to recover enough to join the Canaries again; a shorter-lived race might have died from old age in this time, or become too old to work in this capacity, and then wasted away without the drive to return to the dungeons. But they're elves; the other elves can afford to wait, and he's not going to age out of dungeoneering any time soon. Being an elf probably contributes to his wealth in the same way skin color contributes to wealth inequality in the real world.

Dungeon Meshi doesn't really go into race in the sense of skin color much, and Kui is writing from a different cultural standpoint than I am. While tallmen are quite accurate when it comes to skin/hair color (yes, even Kabru and his blue eyes; it's rare but possible) and cultural references, the elves, uh, absolutely are not, both in the sense of “dark skin & pale hair and eyes trope” and sense of the royals having jet black skin.

Still, I feel like race is so connected to care and caregiving in the real-world west that I would be profoundly remiss not to mention it. Skin color might not matter to elves in the racism sense, but it matters to humans and humans are the ones writing and analyzing this story. (And I fully expect as the fandom grows with anime-onlies people will like Mithrun more because he's white (has white features) than they would if he had darker skin, because fandom is also baseline racist.)

I don't think we can just not mention that Mithrun is pale-skinned and both Cithis and Kabru, his primary caregivers over the story, both have dark skin.

Racism means white people are more likely to get good medical care, the type you need to get diagnosed and prescribed caregiving. Racism means wealth distribution is uneven, favoring white people. Race affects immigrants taking on undesirable jobs like caregiving for low pay. Racism is a profound stressor which means it contributes to who becomes disabled in the first place in that it can worsen health outcomes.

Similarly to race, gender may not be very obvious when it comes to this subplot within the story but the gendered dynamics of caregiving in the real world are something I do want to touch on. There's an oft-cited statistic about how men are much more likely than women to divorce their partners when their partners are diagnosed with a serious condition; I don't like relying too much on those sorts of statistics because they can be so misleading but it does gesture at something very real, culturally. Even if men aren't supposed to be caretaken, women are supposed to be the caretakers. Certainly, it's not Mithrun's fault that he can't cook and can't do laundry and probably can't do most housework, but I do also think about all the posts passed around about “my boyfriend who won't do housework.”

Again, none of these privileges make him less disabled and less in need of and deserving of care, they're just worth talking about when we talk about caregiving in general.

It's Rotten Work, Even If It's You

People expect disabled people receiving care to be grateful, to accept anything, and to try and make it easier for the caregiver if they're able. Requiring care is an incredibly disadvantaged position, even as actually receiving it can be so tangled up in privilege. Caregiving is tremendously difficult work, it's true, but there's a particular vibe people want from disabled people – all those movies about not wanting to be seen as a burden. Never complaining. Being grateful.

And, uh, well…

Mithrun basically accepts anything his caregivers do, but he's not grateful at all! I appreciate that in a disability portrayal. He'll also lie to and ignore his caregivers, which is Annoying but is definitely an expression of autonomy even if he's probably not doing it specifically to express his autonomy. He's not going to thank you. He's not going to make it easy. He'll accept a lot of things considered “undignified,” and he's not mean or unpleasant in the sense that he's taking advantage or anything, but he's certainly not a model patient.

He's running off back into the dungeons just when you think you've finally gotten him somewhere safe.

There's always a strange tension in caregiving, I've found. It is incredibly intimate but a lot of it is done by total strangers. A number of caregiving tasks are viewed by the wider world as entitled but placing those tasks in the hands of strangers is a remarkably tough place to be in. As a disabled person, I've had to accept my bowel movements being discussed with my parents’ friends, all sorts of being physically moved places not against my will but without my permission, even my pubic hair being shaved off by a stranger (nurse) while I was unable to speak or move. When people are feeding you, making sure you use the toilet, rubbing your feet to make you sleep, helping you with hygiene – people are working so hard to help you. Are you supposed to just accept them doing whatever they want to you?

There's also a dynamic where people will say they don't mind caring for you, they're happy to do it, and then as the years go by and you continue to need care the resentment just builds up. Caregiving is hard work. It's often thankless. The goodness of people’s hearts can run dry, when it's been twenty years and you still can't bathe yourself.

Aaand I need to continue in reblogs, because I'm out of space for images. Please hold. edit: you can find part 2 here

[scientia-rex]

I will say, I have really enjoyed hearing all the stories about intergenerational friendships on my post. People being like "yep that's Old Man Bob at the corner store, he's ancient (26) but he helped me survive middle school!" or "I share this highly specific special interest with people in their 70s and we love talking about it and this gives me joy," like, this is why I side-eye so hard when people pull that "there's no good reason for minors and adults to talk" like sir have you seen steam engines? I just watched a documentary about a steam engine restoration where the very intense man who loves steam engines was clearly deeply personally proud of the steam engine obsessed 12 year old who showed up and begged to help restore the steam engine, and that little autistic kid is going to be so much better off having a probably autistic adult friend who also passionately loves steam engines and will not only talk steam engines but teach him everything about them. I have had 4th graders engage me in conversation about my shirts (generally ones with cats on them).

We live in a society. We have interests beyond sex. Most of us spend actually a very small amount of our lives on sex, compared to all our other interests. We have so much to share and learn from each other about, and recognizing and calling out creep behavior is infinitely more useful than thinking there's some kind of creep-proof way we can divvy up humans, because the whole point of abusers is that they pretend that's not what they are, often well enough that their abusive behavior is invisible to most people. So we need kids to know what abusive behavior looks like, and we need them to have people in their lives they can talk to about that, and ideally we need to inoculate them ahead of time so they know when the creep behavior starts happening that that's what it is and tell adults who believe them and respond appropriately so they don't come to harm.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Small Surprises

Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: Some mentions of past childhood abuse, cheating partner, mostly fluff

A/N: Like the Symbrock one I did, this one will be one whole fic with a few times skips here and there! This fic will also explore a bit more into the autistic side of Steven as a character, based off my own experiences with my autism, tics, habits etc! Also, once again, featuring snippets of the hobby headcanons done by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction! (I love those headcanons so much they are canon as far as I'm concerned asdfghjkl)

Taglist: @chrishy973 @katitakenway @queerponcho

EDIT: Part 2 is out now!!! Read it here!

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Another droll day at the museum, the same disinterested customers and more nagging from Donna. Honestly, Steven was lucky he got his job back at the museum--though he only surmised it was due to the fact nobody else wanted to work for Donna--but he was grateful for the extra income.

And it definitely helped provide a distraction from Jake's night activities for Khonshu, as well as Marc's from time to time.

But of course, even though it provided a distraction, it wasn't much of one.

That is... until the day a poofy mop of curls bounced into the gift shop, eagerly looking at the wares within with big sparkling eyes. The child couldn't have been older than four--maybe five--as she happily looked at the myriad of items available.

Contrasting to most of the little girls he's seen come in (which, were admittedly few) she didn't immediately run over to the cheap horse figures with the chariots or even the cat plushies.

She went right for things like the plushie scarabs, the statues...

This of course had Donna proverbially chewing her nails as she watched the unaccompanied minor scamper about the gift shop.

"I'm going back to do inventory," She warned Steven. "If she breaks anything, it's coming out of your pay, Stevie."

Steven ground his teeth when she called him that, and waited for her to walk away before muttering. "What little you do pay me, you bloody old biddy."

Steven fixed his name tag and walked up to the little girl, crouching next to her as her chubby little face scrunched in what appeared to be distaste.

"Hey there, poppet. What's got you upset, eh?" He asked, his big brown eyes meeting hers as she crossed her arms with a huff.

"They don't look right!" She complained.

"Oh? What doesn't look right?" Steven asked patiently, a warm smile on his face.

The child pointed to the small canvases and posters of the various Egyptian gods. Namely the ones of Bastet and Anubis, and in particular of the two, one of the canvases depicting Anubis surrounded by shrieking souls and flames.

He himself had raised a complaint with that depiction, as after his own time in the Egyptian afterlife (alongside Marc, and unbeknownst to them at the time, Jake) he knew the afterlife was not like that. While they hadn't met Anubis himself, they were guided and weighed by Taweret.

But he wholeheartedly agreed that the artwork of Anubis was entirely wrong, and frankly, offensive.

"'Nubis isn't like that." She said, stomping her little foot. "He's nice!"

Steven raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as some stray curls fell over his face. "Oh?" He asked. "Then tell me little one, how is Anubis?"

"He's--!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the typical fashion a child does when they feel like they're explaining something painfully obvious to an oblivious adult.

"He's a good dog-man." She says to him. "He doesn't mess with skulls n' stuffs! He's nice, he helps people who might get lost when they die."

'That's a hefty subject for a kid.' Marc's voice spoke.

"No kidding." Jake remarked. "Where are her parents?"

Steven meanwhile, was positively thrilled that one so young understood that Anubis, while being the god of death, was not evil. And... naturally this sent him into info-dump mode.

"Why, yes! Anubis is good." He held up a finger as the little girl looked at him, awe on her face that he understood what she was saying and was willing to actually talk about it.

"He guided souls once they left their earthly bodies." He explained, grabbing a small replica of an Egyptian temple front. "Once their hearts were weighed, if they were good, he would help guide them to the afterlife. If they were bad..."

"They got ate by the crocko-lion!" The girl finished with a gasp.

Steven suppressed the urge to laugh at how she described Ammit. Jake and Marc meanwhile, held no such compunction and were laughing their asses off.

"I like this kid." Jake said as his laughter died down.

"Yes! They did. But did you know they also had to be judged? Not just with the scales?" Steven grinned at her as she bounced on her heels, the palms of her hands rubbing on her coveralls as she listened.

"Now that subject is very lengthy...." Steven leaned over on the flats of his shoes and plucked a small book about the Egyptian afterlife and mythos and showed it to the little girl. The cover was emblazoned with raised gold print; with images of sarcophagi, and motifs scattered on the front and back.

"But it's always worth a good read." Steven continued. "Now, if you want to know someone else who sometimes assists those who've passed on?"

The little girl plucked the book out of Steven's arms, nodding, her eyes tracking the way his mouth and hair moved. Not once did she make eye contact, instead settling for staring at other features instead.

Steven could understand, sometimes looking into people's eyes was... oof. It was difficult and frankly sometimes it made him uncomfortable, made his palms itch and the hair on the back of his neck tickle.

He stood up, and walked to another shelf, the little girl trailing behind him, the book looking three sizes too large for her tiny body as her little light up sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum.

Steven reached down, then, and grabbed a plaster statuette of a familiar feminine shape sporting a hippo head and kneeled back down, showing it to her.

"This is Taweret." He beamed proudly.

"She's the nice hippo lady." The child peeped, staring at the statue with rapt attention.

"Yes! Yes, she is! Very nice." Steven chuckled. "But she's also the goddess of motherhood and children, did you know? She protects women when they have their babies, and helps them."

The little girl nodded, "Yeah, I read a thingy 'bout her! She's--"

"Victoria! Oh my god." A breathless voice called from the front of the shop.

The moment Steven lifted his gaze, he could feel his heart catch on his throat when he saw you. Even Marc and Jake went quiet as you approached.

You were wearing some faded-out jeans and a t-shirt with a faded band logo that hugged your figure very nicely. You had a backpack slung over your shoulders and the keychains dangling from it tinkled and clacked as you moved, rushing to scoop up your child.

Steven could easily see that Victoria got her looks from you, those gorgeous inquisitive eyes, her nose, hair texture...

Jake had to give him the mental equivalent of a slap to stop his gawking as he stood up awkwardly, wiping the hand not holding the statue on his jeans as he gave you what he hoped was a charming smile, but judging by your wariness, you obviously weren't thrilled at the sight of your daughter talking to a strange man.

Steven was about to speak up, but Victoria did so instead for him, not reading the tenseness in the situation.

"Steven's my friend!" She beamed, holding the book in her pudgy little fingers, showing you. "He knows about 'Gyptian stuff, too!"

Steven blinked, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks as you looked at him, raised eyebrows. It took him a moment of awkward glancing away to realize Victoria knew his name because she read his name tag. He hadn't once said it to her. Hell, he only knew her name because you said it when you ran in!

"Ah... Yes. I work here, in the gift shop. Egyptology is a major... um." He struggled to find a word.

"Hyperfixation?" You sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders as you smile tiredly.

"Oh! Yes. I s'pose!" He said, blinking his big doe eyes at you.

"Yeah, Victoria is... well." You chuckle, propping the young child on your hip with practiced ease. "She's obsessed with the stuff! I swear, the stuff she can shove into her noggin with how much she knows of ancient Egypt, it feels like she was born in the wrong era, I'm telling you!"

Victoria smiled happily and snuggled into you, rubbing her cheek on the soft fabric of your shirt with a content hum, almost like a happy little cat.

You didn't pay any mind to her as she rubbed her face on you, instead conversing with the man in front of you.

"Ah... A little scholar to be, eh?" Steven laughed awkwardly.

"Hah, more like she already is one. With everything she knows, I swear she outpaces me in the IQ department." You sigh fondly, brushing a stray curl from your daughter's face.

Steven's eyes anxiously tracked your movements, how your fingers curled, the way your eyelashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the way your foot tapped on the floor...

"I'm surprised she talked to you. She's normally very introverted." You hum softly, raising those drop dead gorgeous eyes to lock with his before he awkwardly dropped his eyes to your lips whilst you spoke.

"But then again, if you started talking about this stuff with her, it's no surprise. I'm the only person she talks to about it because nobody else understands."

You noticed his Steven was looking anywhere but your eyes, and how he nervously licked at his lips, his fingers wrapped around the statuette in his hands tapping idly.

"Oh! She's a lovely little conversationalist. Rather well-knowledged as well!" Steven replied, looking at Victoria again, who grinned as she once again rubbed her face on your shirt.

"Honestly, she's more learned than half the adults who try to talk to me about Egypt." He huffed out a chuckle.

His eyes dropped to the picture of Anubis that initially offended the child. "We got into a little debate about how inaccurate those pieces of Anubis are."

"Oh, don't get her started on those inaccurate artworks... She despises them!" You laugh softly.

"Oh, I fully understand why! It's so offensive!" Steven gasped. "Especially to a culture! Anubis is not an evil god by any means!"

"Oh yeah, believe me... we watched a movie the other day and she had a meltdown because they made Anubis the bad guy. She was so distraught it took thirty minutes to calm her down." You smile with infinite patience at your little girl.

"Oh, poor little dear! But I can totally understand that." Steven smiled, finally locking eyes with you as he reached some level of professional comfort with you.

"Mommy, can I get em?" Victoria peeped, interrupting you before you could get another word out.

"Hm?" You hummed at her, raising an eyebrow.

"The book and hippo lady!" She replied, holding up the book.

"Hippo Lady?"

"Yeah!" She said, sounding a little exasperated, pointing to the statue Steven clutched in his hands. "Her! Tawar!"

"Taweret." Steven chuckled softly at her mispronunciation.

"Tawww--" Victoria frowned as she tried to get the word out. "Tawweret."

"Close 'nough. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Steven smiled warmly, holding up the statuette.

"All right, all right." You laughed, following Steven to the counter so you could check out, having another nice chat about what he and Victoria discussed. He even tossed in a little keychain that held a preserved scarab beetle in epoxy, much to Victoria's delight!

What you didn't know as you left the shop, was how positively smitten he was with you already.

That was your first meeting with Steven Grant.

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A few weeks crawled by, and every other day you were at the museum, letting Victoria lead you by the hand as she animatedly discussed what every object or picture meant, and you struggled to keep up, making mental (and a few digital) notes on what she was talking about. Of course, she insisted that after every tour, you stopped to say hi to her new "bestest friend" Steven.

You were thrilled that you found someone who operated on the same wavelength as your daughter, knowing that it was hard for her to make connections with other children, let alone adults. But Steven and Victoria took to each other like ducks to water.

And hey, he seemed harmless enough. Cute, too, beneath that mop of curls. You even started researching more just to be able to tag into the conversations between your daughter and her unlikely friend.

Today, you were at the local grocer and Victoria decided that she wanted to walk with you instead of riding in the trolley on her tablet like she normally did. You were happy, but ensured she kept her noise cancelling headphones over her tiny ears to make sure she stayed comfortable.

You had picked up a pack of steaks to examine the cuts when Victoria slipped your hand free of hers and darted off, squealing, "Steven!"

You almost dropped the steaks when Victoria darted down the aisle and wrapped her arms around the legs of the man she ran towards.

One minute Marc was looking at a box of matzahs, the next, he had a child clinging to his legs.

His whole body froze as he looked down, immediately going rigid as the little girl looked up at him, babbling something he didn't quite understand because of how quickly she was speaking.

He did make out the name "Steven".

"Uh--" He said awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry!" You say, hastily bringing the trolley up to the two. "She just got excited to see you, and..."

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. He looked like Steven Grant, but he didn't feel like Steven Grant. His normally messy curls were combed back neatly, his flannel hanging open with the sleeves rolled up and T-shirt untucked from his pants. His big brown eyes were wide, looking at you with a face that simply pleaded "Help me".

"Uh..."

"I'm... Marc." He said in an unmistakably American accent.

"Oh. Oh!" You lean down and scoop up Victoria, hastily plopping her in the trolley, willing yourself to ignore her little wobbling lip as you messily search up her favorite video to watch on her tablet to prevent the simmering meltdown you could see just beneath her surface.

"I'm... I'm sorry. You just look like someone we know from the museum, and..." You sigh, rubbing your hands together as you cringed.

"Steven, yeah..." Marc said, giving a stiff smile in return as he dropped the box of what looked like crackers into his basket looped over his elbow.

"You..."

'Play it cool, Marc...' Jake's voice softly warned.

"We're, uh, brothers. Triplets. All identical." He spat out with haste.

"Oh! Well... That's... That explains the looks, huh." You smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. His explanation didn't sit well with you for some reason, as to why he suddenly blurted it all out. But you chocked it up to him trying to explain to avoid upsetting Victoria.

"But, yeah. Um... Your brother, Steven? He and Victoria are like, best friends now. She looks forward to seeing him whenever we're at the museum." You chuckle softly.

Marc's eyes soften as he smiles, giving Victoria a gentle look. "Yeah, uh, Steven's told me about her. She's a smart kid, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. A real genius." You smile at her as she starts tapping away at her tablet, selecting one of her drawing apps and beginning to scribble.

"Sometimes I can't keep up with her."

"Hey, that's good. She'll go places." Marc replied.

Your smile falters a bit. "Yeah, if people will give her a chance..." You mutter.

Marc was about to ask what she meant, but he kept his mouth shut, watching as Victoria was engrossed with her tablet, her little feet wiggling and tapping on the sides of the trolley as she moved her mouth silently, mouthing words to herself.

"She's... Eh." You rub the back of your neck. "She normally doesn't come to the store with me. She says she can hear the lights buzzing and it upsets her, which is why she has to wear her headphones. I mean I can't hear the lights or anything, but all I need to know is that she can..."

"Yeah, Steven is the same way sometimes. It makes him twitch so he has to wear headphones when we go shopping..." Marc said, frowning.

"Yeah. That's something I'm kind of amazed about. Victoria doesn't really have any friends outside of well, me... and your brother? Steven and her are just... man, they're like two peas in a pod!"

Marc stays quiet as you smile fondly at your child, and he notes the relief in your expression as you recount that your child was able to finally connect with someone. It warmed his heart to know that Steven was able to socialize with someone who shared the same mannerisms, even if she was just a kid.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as you put your hands on your hips, and noted the lack of wedding ring and a ring tan line.

'Focus, cabrón.' Jake snickered.

"She's autistic. It was a pain to get her diagnosed, but we managed. I could tell she was different. Namely how she would act with fabrics." You sigh.

Now that grabbed both Marc and Jake's attention. If Steven were aware and co-fronting, he was sure he would be rapt as well. Steven explained the fabric thing to hime a few times, but being in the same body it was still hard at times to understand that Marc or Jake could feel one thing but Steven could feel another.

"Uh... Fabrics? You'll have to forgive me, but..."

"Oh! It's a sensory thing." You explain, rolling your hand. "With her, it's fleece, or satin-like textures. They irritate her and make her fussy. As a baby I never understood why she flipped out when I would put her little socks on her until the doctor explained it when she was older. But for some people it's cotton, or microfiber... The way Victoria describes it is that it's, uh..."

"Scratchy." Marc murmurs.

"Exactly!" You snap your fingers.

"Yeah, Steven is the same way. Though he's not like that with satin, he usually prefers cotton--the super soft kind? Or silk." Marc nods, shoving one hand in his pocket.

"Yeah... It's thankfully easy to shop for her, she prefers cotton and soft microfiber. It's why she rubs her cheek on my shirts or pants. Some people mistake it for being affectionate--and don't get me wrong sometimes it is--but usually it's a grounding thing." You sigh softly. "It helps her calm down."

"Ah... Sounds hard. What about her dad? He know how to handle it?" Marc asked curiously.

He immediately felt bad when he saw how your expression fell, and you glared at the ground.

"He skipped out on us while I was pregnant. I caught him in our bed with someone I thought was my best friend the day I found out she was a girl." You spit, angry and full of venom.

Marc cringed. "God, your best friend? In your bed? That's a whole extra level of degeneracy..."

"I know! Ugh! I swear, if he wasn't stronger than me I would have stabbed him that day!" You groan.

Marc rocks his head back in shock at the admission. "You were gonna stab him?"

"When you're five months pregnant, hormonal, tired, and sore and walk in on your fiancee doing the deed in your own bed? Yeah, emotions get high." You run a hand through your hair, smirking as you looked back at him.

"Grabbed the knife right outta the block and lunged at him. Chased em both half naked out of my flat."

'Shit, I'd be in love. That sounds sexy as hell.' Marc could just imagine the grin that would be spread across Jake's face at that.

Marc laughed, unable to contain himself, both at the retelling of your story and Jake's remark.

'You got problems, Jake.' Marc shot back mentally.

'Pot, meet kettle...'

'Touché...'

"So it's safe to say, he's out of the picture, huh?" Marc says, his laughter dying down into a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah. Had his parental rights severed, and kicked his sorry.... well. I tossed him out and told him that my "best friend" could deal with him and his lazy antics, considering I pay for the flat."

"Yikes. Sounds like a real dirt bag."

"Oh yeah, he was. I have no idea what I saw in him, to be honest... And knowing that Victoria isn't "normal" like other kids, I feel like he would treat her badly, or... hurt her." You say, shaking your head.

"Hey, if he shows up and does that just call me." Marc grunted. "I hate it when people do that crap to kids. I'll knock his teeth down his throat."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the weight of them almost made them feel oppressive as glimpses of his abusive childhood shone through. The memories of his mother swinging her arm down, the crack of the leather belt, the red, bloody welts in his skin...

'Ay, hermano. Come back, don't think about that.' Jake's voice said gently, urging that door in his mind shut. 'That's not your life, anymore.'

Marc blinked and looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours. And the concern on your face... he felt so undeserving of it. He wasn't sure why, but...

"Ah... I mean... Let's just say I have experience with that sort of thing. So I'm..." He struggled.

"No, no, I get it. My dad was a piece of shhh..." You cringed as the word almost slipped from you, casting a short glance to Victoria, making sure she couldn't hear you. "Er. He was bad. So yeah, I totally get you."

"Oh... Sorry, people get weirded out when I..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Disassociate." You finish for him. "I used to do the same thing when it came to my dad. It gets easier once you're free of it, I promise."

The soft, sweet smile you give him was strong enough to make his heart jump into his throat.

'Wow...'

'Ask. Her. Out. Steven won't do it, so you do it!' Jake urged him.

Marc choked suddenly, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat at Jake's further commentary.

"You okay?" You ask him.

"Y-Yeah, I just... Uh..." He cringed again. "It's... allergies! I've been dealing with them since we dusted the flat, and... Yep. Allergies."

You chuckle softly at him as Victoria tugs on your sleeve and whispers in your ear.

"Oop, mama duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Marc." You grin, giving him a short handshake.

"Yeah... You too." Marc replied as you walked off, giving Victoria a wave as she peeked over your shoulder as you push the trolley away.

'Allergies? Smooth, Marc. Really smooth. How the hell did you ever bag Layla with romantic skills like that?' Jake sighed sarcastically.

'I swear Layla probably only married you for your dick, man. You're so BAD at romance.'

Marc knew Layla did love him, at one point but with all the drama of being Moon Knight, it quickly snuffed that relationship... They were still close of course, but they'd never open up to another intimate relationship again. Which was fine, none of them minded particularly.

Especially not now. Not now that there's a cute single mom with and adorably--scarily--smart little girl on her hip to occupy those thoughts.

And that... was your first time meeting Marc Spector.

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Now, meeting Jake was different. Completely different. You technically "met" Jake weeks after you met Marc and built a rapport with him.

One night, Jake was sitting in the window, munching on some saltines he'd spread with sunflower butter as he read some old knitting patterns in a book he'd picked up at a resale shop.

He thought he could knit something for both you and Victoria and have Steven give it to you, it would be a good way to start actually flirting, to hopefully open up that door for all of you.

But of course... well. He knew Steven was way too shy to ask you out on a date, and Marc was too chicken shit and awkward about the subject to bring it up himself.

And so, it fell upon Jake Lockley to find a way to get closer to you, two. He understood that many single mothers found it tricky to date, especially with a child like Victoria. It would require immense levels of trust to get past those walls you would have put up to protect both you and Victoria, especially after you'd told Marc about Victoria's biological father fucking your best friend the day of your ultrasound.

He could just imagine how your poor face fell when you closed your front door, hearing the ridiculously high-pitched, false moans and the squeaking of the mattress as that miserable excuse of a man was having his way with your supposed "best friend"...

All while your hands would have clutched the pictures of your unborn baby girl, tears bubbling up in your eyes as you screamed at them while they scrambled to cover their shame.

And then.... as you told Marc, you would have grabbed the knife and the rest was history; bidding goodbye to that cheating bastard and woman you once trusted.

You were strong, loving and oh so patient with your daughter and her needs. Jake found your whole being attractive, honestly. He hadn't seen you angry, but he just knew you were a badass if you wanted to be.

He chuckled as he picked up his knitting needles, and began to loop the soft, thick yarn through each line. He was sure to pick yarn that wouldn't upset Victoria and her sensory issues, so he picked the softest yarn he possibly could, selecting enough to make the both of you matching jumpers.

Victoria's would be a little big, to allow for comfort and her to grow into it as she wore it. He could just imagine how adorable she'd look with the sleeves hanging over her little hands, squirming and giggling as you two played together--

Jake's hands stopped knitting.

Shit. He had it down bad for you, too.

When he looked down, that's when he noticed the green laser pointed right at him...

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You were there, simply cleaning up the mess from dinner as Victoria happily colored on her dry erase board, drawing the shapes and hieroglyphs she saw in the book Steven selected for her.

She had been quiet and engrossed in her little art project for so long that you jumped and almost dropped a plate on the floor when she squealed loudly.

"Mommy, it's Steven! Or Mister Marc?"

"Huh? What?" You looked around your flat, for some reason your brain told you to look inside instead our our the window where her little finger tapped the glass excitedly.

"No, there!" She insisted. "Over there!"

You walk over to her and lean down, looking out the window.

And sure enough, across the street, in the building across from yours, an apartment had the curtains open with the lights on.

In one of the windows, at a desk, sat a man. The streets were close enough together that you could make out some details. The shadow of a mustache being the first thing you zeroed in on, and then the immaculately slicked-back hair.

He looked like he was... knitting? This man, who looked like Steven and Marc. Marc and Steven both mentioned on different occasions that they had a brother named Jake, maybe this was him?

And wow! So close by, too!

Victoria waved her arms, trying to get her attention, but the man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice her try to get his attention. When her little disappointed sniffles could be heard, you snap your fingers.

"I got an idea!" You say, dashing to the end table by the front door and rummaging through the various keychains you'd accumulated. It was a guilty habit of yours, you found.

But then you pluck up the laser toy and run back to the window. It takes shaking it once or twice for the green light to illuminate, but when it does, you shine it directly through the window and at the man's chest.

Then, he looked up.

You break out into a happy grin when he spots the two of you, and Victoria giggles with unabated glee as she waves some more, her whole tiny body moving with every shake of her overly excited hand.

You see the man smile back and he waves at the both of you.

"Hey, baby, why don't we use your board to say hi?" You suggest, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah!" She giggles, grabbing the board and erasing her painstakingly re-created drawings from the book, and messily scrawled the word:

Hi :)

The man laughed and looked around until he grabbed a notebook, scribbled something with a marker, and held it up for you two to see.

Hello

You chuckle as Victoria hands you the board, knowing that your writing is neater than hers is, and with how excited she is, she was bound to mess up.

You quickly and clearly write something down and turn the board to face the window.

Steven or Marc?

He smiled at you and scribbled back.

Jake

Marc n Steven told us about you. Hi!

They've told me a lot about you, too.

"That's Jake, honey. Remember what I said? How Steven and Mister Marc look alike? He's the same way." You explain to Victoria.

"Oh." She sighs. Poor little thing seemed dejected that once again, she misidentified someone as her "bestest friend".

You lift your eyes as Jake showed what he put on the notepad next. It was a badly drawn cat with a happy face on it.

You can't help but laugh and grin, nudging Victoria to look at what he drew for her.

"It's a kitty!" She gasps, snatching the board from your hands to draw pictures for him.

You spent much of the evening that night with Victoria and Jake drawing pictures back and forth, writing messages until he ran out of paper.

That's when you put down your phone number and told him to text, to make it easier on Victoria.

Victoria, upon realizing this, dropped her board and snatched your phone, starting a video call with Jake and chattering his ear off. He seemed to take it in stride, engaging with her. Not on the same level as Steven, but something about how he handled it gave you the impression he had experience with kids, or even worked with kids.

He didn't talk down or dumb anything down for her, he spoke to her calmly and clearly like he would anyone else, and the fact he was so sweet was endearing to you.

He was even teaching her little words in Spanish. For some reason, she liked to repeat the word "cat" because she liked how it sounded, and it was "funny".

That was how you met Jake Lockley.

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It was now half a year since you'd indirectly met all three "brothers" and quickly, the pressure was beginning to mount on them to reveal the truth to you as their crush developed more and more into full infatuation with you and your darling girl.

But they still hadn't asked you out, yet. They'd come close a few times, but it was never when Jake was in control so Marc and Steven backed down at the last possible moment. Every time Jake was in control it wasn't a "good moment" for them to propose a date with you. But now?

It was late in the year, the harvest festival being over with and the holidays around the corner with Christmas, as usual, dominating all others. Snow and ice encased everything. It came early this year, and Victoria couldn't be more thrilled. (She could build snowmen with her friends, Steven, Mister Marc and Mister Jake!)

You and Jake would text, and he gave in and told you that he, Marc, and Steven all actually lived together and he would "let" Steven or Marc use his phone so he could video chat with Victoria and you.

You didn't know the boys all shared the same phone regardless.

It was nice having a social life again, even if it was small. Outside work and ensuring a comfortable upbringing for your little girl, you'd forgotten how nice it was to have friends. Even if those friends consisted of three identical, quirky brothers who lived in the flat across the way.

The day was coming soon, for when they would have to confess to you about the true nature of their identities. And the three unanimously agreed that they would tell you about Moon Knight.

For your safety, and Victoria's. They didn't want you to agree to date them (if you ever would) only to find out they snuck out in the dead of night to do the bidding of some creepy ancient bird god who could frankly do with a wardrobe update...

They just didn't anticipate that day to be today. Of course, Steven would rather have broken the news to you over a nice dinner in the corner booth of a quiet restaurant. Or even on a nice walk through the park...

But no. No, it had to come out when you decided to pull out your phone and go through your texts or the day as Victoria sat in Steven's lap on the couch of your living room.

Jake had sent a meme earlier in the day, of a little cat wearing a sombrero and you chuckled. You sent a meme back in reply, of a snail holding some maracas on some drawn-on arms.

That's when Steven twitched when the phone in his back pocket vibrated and chimed with a silly little ringtone.

You blinked at him as he fished it out of his pocket, careful not to knock Victoria off balance as he checked it. He awkwardly cleared his throat and gave you a strained smile as he set it on the coffee table in front of you.

"You okay..." You say, eyeing the very familiar phone. They could just have the same model and case...

"Oh, yes, just an email alert, luv. Don't worry 'bout it!" Steven chirped, quickly shifting his attention back to Victoria as she practiced her reading from the book in her hands.

You squint at him suspiciously. Your finger hovered over the send button when you selected another silly little image...

But you decided to call instead.

That's when a song began to chime. One you recognized very well as Steven's favorite song...

♫"Lonely is a man,

Without looove~"♫

'God damn it, Steven! You forgot to put it on silent again!' Marc's panicked voice shouted inside their headspace.

'Ay, hermanito, not now!' Jake groaned.

Steven began to sweat profusely as Victoria handed the phone innocently to him, urging him to answer it, not making the correlation with the song, or your phone number...

Steven shakily held the phone to his ear and answered.

"H-Hello..."

"Steven." You deadpan, raising an eyebrow and tapping your finger on your arm.

'Shit shit shit shit.' Marc hissed.

'Busted.' Jake almost sang.

You look at Victoria, hesitant to interrupt her time with Steven, but you wanted answers. Why is it that none of the men ever agreed to all meet up in person to hang out? Why did you only ever see one at a time? Yes, work was a convenient excuse, but every single day?

And then there's the phone!

Yeah, you weren't letting Steven wiggle free from this talk, even as Victoria pouted and trudged back into her room to play with her toys.

You almost feel like a cop in a bad movie, the way you lean back with your arms crossed, almost like you were an interrogator in a police precinct.

Would this make you both the bad and good cop?

You felt so bad, knowing that this kind of behavior would only freak Steven out, so you relaxed your jaw and posture, leaning away from him and giving him breathing room as his sweaty hands began to pat nervously in the memorized tune of that specific song that was just playing.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not dumb... So start from the beginning." You sigh. "I don't want anything to come out and upset Victoria, but I have to know who I'm letting around my little girl."

Steven licked at his slightly chapped lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.

"Okay..." He peeped.

'Just take it slow, Steven.' Marc urged him gently.

'I can take control, if you want.' Jake offered.

"No, that's too much right now." Steven muttered aloud, without thinking.

You tipped your head to the side. "What's too much?"

Steven jumped and covered his mouth, his big doe eyes wide as can be, like he's a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He despised awkward situations like this. He could never tell what to say to keep someone happy and to avoid them getting angry with him...

"Steven, I'm not mad. I'm honestly confused. Please... Just... Tell me everything, okay? I just wanna know some things." You say, leaning forward to put your hand on his knee, your ever so patient eyes sweet and understanding.

Yeah, those eyes were his undoing.

"Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?"

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Whatever you had originally expected to hear from Steven, finding out that he, Marc and Jake all shared the same body was a lot to absorb. Especially after Steven blurted out about their superhero alter ego that apparently did bidding for an Egyptian god?

Steven expected you to be mad, braced himself for it, but instead, he and his two headmates were knocked entirely off center when you made the remark that if Khonshu ever got to be too much for the boys, they should lock him in a room with Victoria and her never-ending questions.

That would shut him up for a little while, surely.

Another thing you weren't expecting was the date proposal from Steven (and of course Marc and Jake).

You hesitated, at first... But...

They were so kind and sweet. They already have shown so much care for you and your daughter... And you were honestly happy to realize that you weren't crushing on different guys, that your feelings were no longer awkward and conflicted.

Or wait, were you crushing on different men? Yes they were completely different identities, but they shared a body, and... oh, this was gonna take time to learn more about.

Your first date was for later that week. Steven informed you it would be Jake, taking you out, as he felt like a "bloody awkward fool" and was afraid of messing it up, and Marc was just as bad at those social situations.

But you agreed, and when the date rolled around, you and Victoria were bundled up, all ready to go to the charming little Italian restaurant somewhere in town where apparently Jake was friendly with the employees there.

Victoria skipped in the snow, struggling to match her pace with yours, making sure her footsteps were measured so her prints mirrored yours exactly as she walked on her little tippy toes.

As you approached where Jake had his car parked, he smiled, his mustache quirking up as he scooped Victoria in his large gloved hands, laughing when she dragged her fingers over his hairy upper lip, comparing the stache to a caterpillar.

You stifled a snort and covered your mouth as you watched Jake buckle Victoria into a booster seat in the back of his car.

"Where did you..." You blinked. You fully intended to run back to your flat and grab the booster seat you owned, but you were surprised to see Jake already had one. A rather expensive-looking one, at that.

"Ay, cariño, you didn't think I'd let the little chiquita ride unprotected, did you?" He smirked at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

"But, I have one. You didn't have to..."

"Hey, if it makes it easier, I'll be happy to foot the bill." Jake hummed, leaning in to check Victoria's buckles as she played on her tablet, snow-caked shoes kicking lazily as she did.

Normally, Jake was insane about his car. He always made sure his fares cleaned their damn feet off before getting inside. But for you two he willingly made the exception.

"Now, c'mon mamacita." Jake grinned at you once more as he enabled the child lock and closed the door on Victoria's side. "We got lunch to get to, right?"

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You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date. Actually wait, you could. The night you got pregnant. One of the only times Victoria's sperm donor was ever romantic with you, and he proposed the next morning after.

Yeah, you knew how that story ended.

But now it looked like a whole new book was being written right in front of you, as cliché as it all sounded.

Jake had treated you both well, engaging happily and drawing with Victoria on the activity mat the restaurant provided as you sipped your glass of red wine, watching; your heart was fluttering in your chest as you watched how happy she was interacting with them.

After a while, he went back out to his car and returned with a sparkly red gift bag for the two of you and you immediately felt your heart lurch up from your chest and into your throat.

He knitted the two of you matching jumpers. A mama cat and her kitten, of course, he managed to do it in an Egyptian style, much to Victoria's glee as she ripped off her regular jumper in favor of the one Jake made, immediately rubbing her face on the sleeve with a happy giggle.

You couldn't help but smile warmly as Jake helped her pop her head through the top, and you decided to slip yours on, yourself.

God, it was almost surreal how Hallmark it all seemed. Not one, but three men interested in you, a lonely single mother. All three men who adored your daughter and treated you both with respect. All three men, who shared the same body and nighttime secret.

And you found yourself falling just as hard, and somewhere in the back of your mind wondered if--if--you had met them first... would they have been Victoria's father(s)? Would they have rejoiced in your pregnancy? Gone to your appointments, held your hand in the delivery room? Would they have helped the doctors weigh and print Victoria for the very first time?

Your mind was knocked out of the what-ifs when your phone jingled, catching Jake's attention.

"Oh, it's Victoria's pediatrician. I have to take this." You sigh sadly, not wanting to step away from the cozy atmosphere in your booth.

Jake smiled at you and winked, "Go ahead and take it. I got her handled."

You smiled back, hoping the flush to your face wasn't as obvious as you feared as you got up and answered the call.

Jake continued to play and draw with Victoria, letting her explain how some of her learning games worked, what apps were her favorite, and who her favorite cartoon characters were.

Honestly, if anyone thought Steven was great with Victoria thanks to their same autistic traits? Jake was good simply because he was a natural with kids. Marc was, too, but he was a bit stiff and nervous. He needed to be eased into it just a bit more.

"Hey.... Psst. Mister Jake." Victoria whispered to him, blinking her big, bright, gorgeous eyes up at him.

"Yeah? What is it, gatita?" Jake hummed at her, grinning.

She waved her hand, urging him closer as she whispered conspiratorially, cupping her hand over his ear, "Look where Mommy's standing."

Jake lifts his gaze to find you among the crowd of people, where you stood on your phone, talking to the doctor about Victoria's upcoming appointment. He tracked where Victoria was pointing, and that's when he saw it: the mistletoe.

He knew immediately what Victoria was hinting at.

"That means you gotta kiss my Mommy." She whispered to him again.

"Oh, I do, huh?" Jake teased, poking her in the side. "And what if I don't?"

"Then Imma make you!" She squeaked and giggled.

"Oh, dear, then in that case I definitely have to do it, eh?" He chuckled.

"C'mon." Jake said, scooping Victoria up and holding her on his hip. "Let's go give another present to your wonderful mamá."

As they got closer to you, he caught the tail-end of your conversation.

"...yeah. Next Wednesday at 3pm. See you, then, Doctor Wilson. ...Of course! Happy holidays." You say cheerily, ending the call.

When you turned around, you saw Jake holding Victoria against him as he walked closer to you.

The sight really shouldn't have taken your breath away the way that it did...

But if you thought your breath was taken before? It was entirely robbed from you as Jake leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tipped his head down to kiss you, his mustache tickling your nose and upper lip.

You were so taken aback that you didn't hear the whooping and laughing from the workers of the restaurant as the scene unfolded in front of them, congratulating Jake.

Victoria squirmed and squealed and laughed and laughed, rubbing her face on Jake's leather jacket as your lips finally parted and your jaw dropped.

"What's the matter, mamacita? Cat got your tongue?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

God, dating those men was the best decision you ever made. Even with them being Moon Knight.

They were kind enough to always say goodnight to Victoria before they went about their business, giving you a soft kiss before whichever one was in control of the body departed.

You had only been dating a short while, it was now entering February and you were all spending more and more time together. Marc, Jake, and Steven had all spent the night once or twice in their own time.

Nothing sexual happened, but it was so nice to fall asleep with someone wrapping their arms around you. It was even better to wake up and see Victoria snuggled onto his chest, his arms caged around her protectively, flexing when she made any movements as his unconscious body ensured she wouldn't roll off of him and--god forbid--onto the floor.

It was a few days before Valentine's, and Marc had spent the day with you and Victoria. He had gotten much more comfortable around her, falling into a natural and gentle routine unique to them. Just like she had with Steven, and Jake. And above all, they handled her autism well.

Steven was exceptionally good at helping distract her during her meltdowns, whereas Jake could cradle her, singing little songs in Spanish as he rubbed her back. Marc would start by talking to her in a low, gentle tone, urging her to just breathe, and talk, explaining what was upsetting her and what would work best to help her calm down from it.

But right now, Victoria was in the midst of a battle against sleep.

"Don' wanna sleep." Victoria sniffled into Marc's jumper.

"I know, babydoll, but you'll feel loads better once you do, mkay?" He murmured quietly to her as he padded, barefoot into Victoria's almost obnoxiously canary-yellow bedroom.

"I can make some apple pancakes for you in the morning, hm? How's that sound?"

He dodged the minefield of toys scattered about and chuckled softly at the shelf where her little ancient Egypt memorabilia sat meticulously organized alongside her books and drawings on the subject. A half-finished paper sarcophagus lay on the desk in the corner, a project Steven had started with her two days ago that they intended to finish together.

Marc laid her down and she nodded, rubbing her eye. "Okay..." She mumbled in agreement.

Marc picked up the plushy scarab that Steven bought from the gift shop and handed it to her, tucking her in all nice and warm.

"There you go." He said softly to her, kneeling next to the bed. "Snug as a bug in... well. Blankets, right now, huh?"

He grinned when Victoria giggled groggily at his pun, squeezing the beetle plush she named "Digger" and snuggled under the blankets, her feather lashes brushed her cheeks as she began to drift off.

"See you in the morning, babydoll." Marc said softly, giving her a kiss to her forehead before standing.

His finger had just flipped the switch to turn off the lights in her room, so only the salt lamp dimly illuminated her bedside, when he heard her peep as she rolled over.

"G'night daddy."

He felt like his heart stopped beating as he shakily closed the door, dragging his suddenly very heavy feet through your flat as he made his way to your couch, the weight of that word landing on his shoulders.

He felt like Atlas, carrying the world on his back as he dropped down onto the chocolate brown cushions.

You walk over, having finished dishes from dinner, wiping your hands on a tea towel. Upon seeing his shell-shocked expression, you sit next to him in concern as he covered his face with his hands, his arms shaking and skin pale.

"Marc, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"I..." He said, his voice breaking.

You lean in, reaching out to brush a hand through his mop of curls, letting him take his time. Maybe Steven or Jake was trying to front? You've seen how taxing it could be on them when it happened so suddenly. One time Steven had seized control in the kitchen from Jake and he fell and cracked his head open on the counter! Poor Victoria cried when she saw how much he was bleeding, scared that he was dying.

It took a lot of hugs and kisses to convince her otherwise...

"She... God. Fuck." Marc swore softly, sniffing. "She--she called me daddy."

Your jaw dropped and you gawked at him. Was Victoria already so attached to him? To them? But then again, she's never had a father figure, before, either, and suddenly having not one, but technically three men in her life doing all the things a dad should do? You can understand why she would--hell, why you would...

He dropped his arms and you could see the beginnings of tears clump in his beautiful eyelashes, heavy weights of emotion settling deep in his chest.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. God, he didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve this... this domesticity. Guys like him just didn't get to have a life like that. Not with everything he's had to do as a soldier, a mercenary... in Khonshu's name.

He didn't deserve such a beautiful woman, or the idolized gaze of her sweet and innocent baby girl.

'You're too hard on yourself, Marc.' Steven said to him in their headspace.

'Yeah, hermano...' Jake murmured.

"Marc, honey..." You say, leaning in and adjusting your position, so your head lay on his chest. You spread your hand over his heart, feeling how it hammered in the muscle of his chest.

"I just... What the hell did I do to get this?" He asked softly, bringing his arms around you to bury his nose in your hair.

"Well, I think it all started the day a certain little girl wiggled free of me and ran into a gift shop..."

Marc chuckled, squeezing you tight.

"Would you want us to?" He whispered. "Would you want us to stay? Would you be okay with that? I know it's soon, and--and I'm not saying we move in or anything like that, but..."

"I think it would crush Victoria if I ever shoo'd you boys away, honey." You assured him, tipping your head up to give him a sweet kiss.

You feel the tension slowly bleed from his body and his expression softens into a heartbreakingly sweet smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that you haven't seen before as your lips parted.

"Then we'll stay. As long as you both will put up with us." He said to you, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.

"How do Steven and Jake feel about her calling you daddy?" You smile slyly.

Marc grins and drops his head back with a laugh, listening to the bickering of his headmates as his anxiety ebbed away.

"Oh... They're arguing over who Vicky is gonna call daddy next."

"We need to think of nicknames for you guys so she doesn't confuse you." You laughed with him.

Your laughter was cut short when you heard Victoria's door click open, and out she waddled, blanket clutched in one arm, Digger firmly squeezed into the crook of her elbow and her thumb was in her mouth. She only sucked her thumb when she was frightened, or severely anxious.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Marc asked, shooting to his feet even before you could, at her side in a split second.

You joined him and put your hands on her shoulders, looking into her drowsy and not-entirely-awake eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head, mumbling something around her thumb.

"What is it, kiddo?" Marc inquired next.

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop.

"There's a bird-man in my room."

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Sep 18th

~*~

1. Hi! I don't know if this has been asked before but I'm looking for a fic. It had multiple chapters and might have been mostly from LWJ POV. (spoilers for the fic basically) I only remember clearly that in one of the later chapters it is revealed that WWX took the fall for JC who had set off a cigar fire. Thank you!

FOUND! Nursery Rhymes by manaika (M, 96k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Inexperienced WWX, Experienced LWJ, Reconciliation, Budding Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Unreliable Narrator, Medical Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Past Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Found Family, Past Injury, Nurse! WWX, Doctor! LXC, Teacher! LWJ, Character With A Heart Condition (Major), Past Incarceration (Major Character), Underage Character With Leukemia (Minor))

NOT FOUND! Insert Coin Now for Extra Life by TriviasFolly (E, 201k, wangxian, modern, ABO, Intersex Omegas, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Marriage contract au, Twitch Streamer WWX, fluff and smut, caring for other while sick, Possessive LWJ, Rare Male Omegas, Pack Dynamics, Sugar Baby vibes, Eventual Smut, Brief mention of lwj/others)

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2. hi - apologies if you have answered this and i missed it, or please ignore if i haven't waited long enough! i really appreciate all you guys do! I'm looking for a longish fic - cloud recesses classes WY gets whipped after JZ/JY engagement broken, recovers in CR while creating talismans. Wens attack and WY explodes heads. ACE JZ, badass Madame Jin, NH sets up JY/NM, WY grabbed by WR, LZ comes to save him and they kill WR. I've tried searching hashtags, but just can't find it -can you help? @oldoni

FOUND? 🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

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3. Hello Mojo!! I've always used your blog to find missing fics, but this'll be the first time I send in a an ask!!

I read this fic a long time ago and forgot to bookmark it, the premise was Jiang Yanli was engaged to Lan Zhan but she was in love with Jin Zixuan. So Wei Ying, doing what he does best and offers to take her place.

He's invented a talisman that changes his body to look like Yanlis, the catch is that it affects his health everything he uses the talisman until it eventually hurts him to the point of near death. And he falls in love with Lan Zhan along the way.

Can you help me find this fic?

FOUND? 🔒 You Free Your Mind In Your Androgyny by retired (misbehavingvigilante) (E, 368k, WangXian, JC & JYL & WWX, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Family, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Transphobia, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans WWX)

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4. Hiii there was a fic where wei ying was chased by a dog and took shelter in lan zhans house. i remember wy having a panic attack and lz calming him, and ig he had a cat called bunny?? idk this was on the first chp. and it was a long fic ig?? Anyways hope you can find it!! @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

FOUND? leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

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5. Hii I am desperately looking for a fic. It is around cloud recess time and wwx is a genuis and gets recognized by the Lans and they treat him well. I remember super specific stuff like there was an elder who blew something up to reroute a river because he needed the water for fire savety and he is kind of mentoring wwx. And some of the elders imply to lwj to court wwx. And there is a kind of scholar equivalent to a discussion converence and the Jiang scholars get so much shit from the Lans for not supporting wwx talent because he is like a once in a generation genius and they usually have systems in place to support people like that but the Jiangs were afraid of madam yu i guess. Thats most of what I remember. I really hope it still exists somewhere... @frankensteins-gendercrisis

FOUND?🔒in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, Cloud Recesses, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the Madam Yu warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric)

FOUND? 🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 859k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

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6. Hi! I'm looking for a f/f wangxian fic, I don't remember much about the plot but I do know in it wwx bullies young lwj and calls her a lesbian. They later meet as adults and wwx is really trying to atone for her actions. Thank you!! @blessrainydays

FOUND? Out of your system by mimilamp (E, 20k, Female WangXian, Modern AU, Rule 63, Sexual Content, Strap-Ons, jealous wwx, lan zhan FUCKS, mention of LWJ/others straight girl WWX, Y E A R N I N G, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

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7. Hello! Here for the fic finder, please. It starts with Wangxian hunting a monster that eats dreams. At some point it catches lwj and puts him into a dream and wwx goes into the dream and sees that in it they are married? Does that ring any bells?

FOUND? Dream of Me by KingdomFlameVIII (E, 11k, WangXian, Mild Horror, Dreams, Dream Sex, Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Light Bondage, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering)

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8. Hi! I'm looking for a modern au where WWX was a fox that had gotten taken to a sanctuary and he had a faded red ribbon around his neck, it fell off and he got sad about it. It possibly had his name written on the inside of it? Wen Ning either ran the santuary or worked there. WWX might've been cursed to be in a fox form? I can't remember for sure. I thought I'd bookmarked it but can't find it and there's a gazillion fox!wwx fics and I'm not finding it. I can't remember more than that but hopefully someone will know. TIA!

NOT FOUND! in the arms of the angel by ScarlettStorm (E, 37k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Fox WWX, animal rescuer LWJ, Minor pining, major shenanigans, Comedy, Smut, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Adhd WWX, the mortifying ordeal of getting your head stuck in a peanut butter jar, and getting subsequently rescued by your crush, there were in fact two beds, but LWJ knows what he's about, Blowjobs, Frottage, switch rights, Scent Kink, mildly telepathic sex, courtship via kittens)

FOUND! Found: Extremely Friendly Fox by wanderingflame (T, 22k, ZhuiLing, WangXian, Modern AU, mild animal injury, Curses, Fluff, Reunions, Fox WWX, Foxxian being a lovable terror, POV Alternating, Modern With Cultivation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ wears reading glasses because it's sexy)

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9. Hi can I ask you if you could find me a fanfiction where Wei wuxian keeps doing different ghost games and Lan Zhan keeps interrupting them, the other thing I can remember is that they're both university students and Lan Zhan is responsible for the dormitory.

FOUND?🔒Grandmaster of Demonic Party Games by Trickster_Angel (M, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, College AU, Crack, Light Angst, Humor, Paranormal, horror, Slow Burn)

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10. Hello! Submitting a request to find a fic, cause i'm honestly at my wit's end.

It was multichapter fic and I'm pretty much sure it was finished. It's basically story, where Wei Wuxian transmigrates from modern times into cultivator setting, summoned by mistake, by his counter-part here and basically hijacked their body? And was then promptly attacked by Lan Wangji, who thought it was original

In cultivator setting, Wei Wuxian was also known as a Yilling Laozu - ancient and mad with grief over Lans killing his husband few hundreds years ago. The present Lan Wangji is reincarnation of said husband, but due Yilling Laozu Wei Wuxian not letting him go, he couldn't properly reincarnate or something? Like - he is still man's husband, Lan Wangji, but a little bit different and that stops him from falling in love with YL WWX?

(There was also something about how this Wei Ying was summoned, because Lan Wangji from that universe probably died, before they had a chance to meet.)

Anyway, after getting (i think?) stabbed by Lan Wangji he got taken to Cloud Recess, then he somehow winded up in Lotus Pier, growing close with Jiang siblings. Also, Wei Wuxian from the modern times was some kind of doctor or inventor (?) and he tried bringing some modern solutions there.

I think this think may be quite known, but i tried all the tags i thought that will work and found nothing ://

Thank you very much in advance

FOUND? Old Foreshadows by protos_metazu_ison (M, 15k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, War, Universe Alteration, Sunshot Campaign, Rated For Violence, Timeline What Timeline, Mojo’s post)

FOUND? 🔒 Transverse by Kytrin, Mslead (E, 192k, WangXian, ChengSang, ZhuiLing, ZhenYi, Dimension Travel, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Enemies to Lovers, Transmigration, Past Lives, Canon-Typical Death, Don’t worry - he gets better)

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11. for fic finder, i've read this a few times and suddenly i can't find it- wwx gets taken by a caiyi merchant while he's on his way to dinner with lwj. the merchant is someone wwx had previously gotten along with, so it's a bit of a depressing realization that even this guy hates him.

queue a sinister array, a timely rescue by lwj, and the sobering realization that wwx can't fully escape what he's done in his past life, and it can crop up where he least expects it @stgroversfire

FOUND! Before we get started, does anyone wanna get out? by Iggysassou (E, 13k, WangXian, Married Couple, Post-Canon, mdzs canon rather than cql, 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Protective wwx, protective lwj)

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12. Hi! This is for fic finder. I'm looking for a fic where sect leader JC returns to Lotus Pier after a trip/night hunt and the junior disciples all clamour towards him. JC then picks one of the youngest disciples who gives a short report and sends them off for training. I think it might be from the pov of someone who accompanied him (LWJ? LXC?) and then I think there's a bit of commentary about the kind of sect leader JC is. I think it's likely some sort of canon divergence or time travel fic, but not sure. Thanks!

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13. hi, i’m looking for a fanfic in which jzx’s death was faked, he was found in the lake (?) by wwx, i remember people thought wwx was dead but lwj managed to find him alive in some village. lwj told jiang yanli to find wwx and after he found jzx, he was told not to sleep in the same room with jyl as she was married woman and it was inappropriate. this fic wasn’t finished

FOUND? Discarded by teawater (E, 178k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it's not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

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14. Hi! I’ve been looking for a fic I read a while ago in which WWX designs a talisman (or something) to test blood relationships and finds out he really is JFM’s son. If I remember correctly he’s already left Lotus Pier, I think he finds out with JYL and JC at Cloud Recesses? “This body yet survives” by RoseThorne comes very close but doesn’t have him as JFM’s son. Help please!

I’m pretty sure 14 is a modern era AU and they take a DNA test which reveals the siblings as wwx’s half siblings - can I locate it? Ehhh, of course not unless I get lucky with my history search

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15. I’m looking for a fic that is a modern au, no cultivation, where wwx leaves home or is driven out of his home and loses contact with his sibling and lwj. Fast forward to the future, he’s living somewhere and is with the Wen siblings? I don’t remember how, but somehow lwj finds wwx first, maybe over text? And slowly wwx starts sharing his life again? I feel like maybe wwx had been abused or threatened to never talk to his siblings again. He’s very afraid. I remember Wen Qing was very suspicious of LWJ and protective of wwx. Thanks for your help!

NOT FOUND! clean from the war (your heart fits like a key) by sysrae (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reunions, past xy/wwx, xy is fucked up but not evil because it's a modern AU and I said so, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, past wwx/jfm, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Rape Recovery, transphobic violence, Victim Blaming, Past wwx/others, allusions to past self-harm)

FOUND! Love Don't Belong To Me by airinshaw (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern, Getting Together, Kissing, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Happy Ending, PTSD, Panic Attack, WWX's canonical self-esteem issues, Canonical Child Abuse, not as dark as the tags imply, Past Relationships mention)

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16. Hello! Thanks in advance for this. I read ff earlier this year, it was post-canon I guess, Wei Wuxian is staying in cloud recesses and Lan wangji is chief cultivator (I guess). once wwx took juniors to night hunt and he kminda knew that someone will come for him, a walking corpse was searching for him specifically. after empathy wwx got to know that the walking corpse is his father. I dont remember anything other than this scene. Please help! @vbhardwaj-reads

FOUND! An Aftermath More Devastating Than The Storm by UneducatedAuthor (Not Rated, 111k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Everyone Loves WWX, The Junior Ensemble Love WWX, Hurt WWX, Protective LWJ, Protective LSZ, WWX Deserves Better, Genius WWX, WWX Protection Squad, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, JC & WWX Reconciliation) Has Wei Changze as a fierce corpse searching for his son

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17. For fic finder, I remember it was a multichap canon dovergent wangxian fic with inventor wwx. Tho I am not sure if that tag was used. The most notable part of it was Madam Jin bringing evidence of jgs putting his lot in with wrh complete with bills, transactions, correspondences etc. Jgs tries to discredit her by being a misogynist. That's when madam Jin uses a wwx custom binding spell on him and then says "I am a quick study when I want to be" to wwx and then she says "thank you for your instruction" because she learned the spell from jzx who saw wwx teach it to jc in cloud recesses lectures. After that she tells jzx to take the sect leader's seat and there was resistance from jin elders in the same scene and also in other later chapters. It was complete and happy ending I believe for wangxian too @yiling-laozu-is-loml

FOUND? Cultivating immortality by KizuKatana (E, 231k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Mutual Pining, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, unreliable narrator, Found Family, First Time, novel canon relationship dynamics)

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18. Hey its my first ask so i don't know if I'm doing it right... I've been trying to find two specific fics really hard but no luck yet. I hope you'd be able to help

A) It was a post-sunshot campaign au..I think someone basically heard wwx getting yelled at by jc and flinching away from his touch. That gives rise to rumours that jc is sexually abusing wwx. Everyone starts pitying wwx and it comes to a head at some sort of banquet..?

B) A post-canon wangxian fluff fic. I think it might've been a 5+1 sort of fic but im not sure. There was one particular scene where wwx is just hanging out with other lan spouses and they are all complaining about their husband but wwx is silent cause lwj treats him really well..After he says so one of the women say "how long will it take your husband to realise if I kill you and take your place?" To which wwx replies "like right away"

I really hope you'll be able to find them

18A)

FOUND? Short Prompts by Vrishchika (M, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Not JC Friendly, Separate Tags for Each Chapter) chapter 15 I'm sure of it

18B)

FOUND? Life before you was tragic by covalentbonds (Not rated, 4k, wangxian, Fluff and Humor)

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19. Hello! I am trying to find a fix where Wei ying get thrown to burial mound by wen Chao as a child, and then he become the protector of Yiling! He is always covered in shadows when he meet the sects! Can anyone remember the title! It is in AoW but I cannot find it! Help please!🙏 Thanks 😊 Have a wonderful day! @fallingstar77

I don't remember the name of #19 fic, but what I do remember is that it's listed on the amazing Warprize compilation you guys did.

FOUND? 💖 what price is duty, what cost is love by thunderwear (G, 18k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, WWX was never adopted by the Jiang Sect, War Prize, YLLZ WWX, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Falling In Love, eventual dramatic confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending)

FOUND? Sanctuary by Alineko (T, 45k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiangs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Cultivation Sect Politics, Sunshot Campaign, Overpowered WWX, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei Sect, Sect Leader WWX, Unreliable Narrator LWJ, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Self-Indulgent, Touch-Starved WWX, Different First Meeting, POV Alternating, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags)

~*~

20. Hi, Im looking for a fic that may have been deleted but i'll try here. In it LWJ takes a'yuan away from cloud recesses to raise outside of the sect after WWXs death. He builds a garden with various monuments one of which is a boulder tied down with ropes to represent the Xuanwu. Eventually he senses something and goes to the burial mounds where he drags a reborn WWX from the blood pool. He takes him home to rehabilitate. On the way he stops at an inn to bathe him. Thats all I remember<3

~*~

[adventuringblind]

Stash

Oscar Piastri x Autistic Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: Oscar confronts his lovers' weird habits for food storing.

Warnings: talks of eating disorders and past abuse

Notes: based on personal experience. My therapist says she's glad that I have an outlet. Apparently, writing myself into scenarios like this is healing. Who would've ever thunk it??

Masterlist

Oscar was prepared for a great many things when his girlfriend moved in with him. Things they had already talked about extensively. Like how she has her own routine that she follows, even if it doesn't feel like it. Or how she has sleeps on top of the duvet instead of under it.

Things that seem very minor to him. Apparently, other people have said it's weird, and she felt the need to warn him about her habits before moving in. She likes to communicate like that. Another thing he loves about her.

What he was not expecting was to find food stashed away in the most random places.

He didn't confront her about it at first. Maybe this is just a way she feels safe or a reminder to herself to eat something when she sees it. But then he started getting concerned when he wasn't seeing her eat at home.

She followed him around to races and could eat at restaurants, given she was with safe people who didn't tease her for being so plain. She ate snacks when she felt the need.

While she was out one day, he asked Lando over. The Brit was mildly confused as to why he was helping search the depths of the flat for food.

"You litterally have stocked cupboards."

"It's not for me! My girlfriend is stashing food around the house, and I'm trying to see if there is a pattern and maybe figure out why."

"Have you considered asking?"

"Not after she joked about her relationship with food."

Lando, who knows very well how hard eating can be sometimes, comes to the realization that there may be more to this then just sensory issues. Insecurity and scrutiny are hard things to deal with. He wouldn't be shocked if that's the reason she has foods she loves in places Oscar wouldn't find them.

Eventually they do find a pattern. It's not about where they are hidden, it's about what is hidden. It feels as if a child thought they were going to get in trouble for not asking to eat first. It's saddening to Oscar that his lover doesn't feel she can just eat normally around him.

"Do you know if she grew up doing this?"

"No clue."

~~~~~

When she got home that night, she found Oscar setting the table for dinner. Which is already odd considering they don't eat at the table. She hates eating at the table. It feels like she's being judged while she eats and makes her unable to think clearly.

But she would suffer through it. Why? because Oscar has made her comfort food, and it would be a crime not to eat with him after he did such a thing.

"What's all this for?" She asks while setting her things down.

"Well, I know you hate the dinner table, but we need to talk about something, and I thought comfort food and dim lighting might help the anxiety."

She takes her seat and thanks him for the gesture. The pit in her stomach aching with the thought of what he may want to talk about.

"So, your food stashing habits...."

Oh. Oh no. She'd been found out. She is going to get lectured just like she did at home. The one thing she was trying to desperately to avoid.

She drops her head in shame. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong, alright?" I just need to know why and if I can help. You're not eating full meals when we're home and the food your hiding makes me think your self-conscious. I just want you to feel safe here, with me."

She sighs. The female knew she would have to confront this eventually. It's not that she doesn't feel safe eating here, it's that these are learned habits that she has yet to unlearn.

"My parents would often get upset when I didn't eat what they made. It's not that I was being ungrateful, I just couldn't keep it in my mouth without gagging. Textures and things."

Oscar hums as he listens. He knows textures are hard for her. Food, clothing, even certain blankets are hard for her to feel.

"My parents were also always talking about my eating habits. So, to avoid being scrutinized, I would hide food in my room to eat when nobody was around."

Oscar is a soft person. Easygoing, quiet, and according to Lando, boring. In this moment he is none of those things. He feels for his lover that she doesn't feel safe eating at home because of her parents.

Thus enters a time of Oscar warming her up to eating in the house. Not just small things, real meals and snacks and simply whenever she's hungry.

It's definitely a slow process. Oscar still finds food in strange places occasionally, but he leaves it and reminds her that it's okay to put her food in the cabinet.

He never makes a mention of what she's eating. Even if he's just curious. He never talks about it.

Eventually, she starts putting her food in the cupboard. conversations about food become a little easier and doesn't send her into a flurry of insecurity.

Every little step counts, and Oscar is proud of her for every single one she takes.

[yellowballoondogs]

Giving the x-men disabilities so they can suffer like me

I just think it’s cool how much people can relate to the x-men in marginalized groups no matter the group. Just like how they’re all gay, POC, religious minorities, etc.

Cyclops- Scott Summers

C’mon this is the most autistic man to ever autism

He’s got model plane sets and shit around his otherwise empty and perfectly cleaned room with the sheet corners tucked in and everything

He stopped stimming because of O’Diamonds and Sinisters abuse but started again when he got more comfortable with the o5 team. He definitely does flappy hands

He probably hyper fixated on an obscure engineering subject

photophobia- light sensitivity

Idk if it’s cannon or not but it would make sense with his brain damage and all (plus I have it and I’m projecting) it’s also an autism symptom so double whammy- his glasses will help

Migrainous stroke- basically stroke with migraines. It ties into brain damage and photophobia with migraines which would make so much sense. Frequent strokes too? Fuck yeah let’s highlight how his childhood trauma and overwhelming power effect him- how mutant powers aren’t always good.

He should have really shitty vision- canonically colorblind- wears glasses all the time so low light, his eyes basically fucking glow. This man cannot see for shit

“cut the red wire cyclops!” “They’re all red!”

Storm- Ororo Monroe

She’s canonically claustrophobic but it’s really only used as a once in awhile plot device

I think it should tie into anxiety a lot more

Ororo is the kind of person who uses a planner to manage every aspect of her day so she’s never caught of guard

She’s got only one timer set up to take her meds instead of 10 like the rest of us (she’s simply better)

She would have actual panic attacks that don’t end the second she’s out of a confined space. Full run-

For her a panic attack would cause a lot of derealization. She doesn’t feel like she’s in her body, she feels out of control, like she can’t breathe, dizzy, both hot and cold at the same time.

Nightcrawler-Kurt Wagner

syndactyly- fusion of fingers or toes. This is basically cannon. He’s got 2 big fingers and toes so like no explanation really needed. He’s got it even if it’s for different reasons.

This greatly effects his ability to do certain things- our boy can’t use a controller can he? How’s he meant to play Mario cart with the rest of the team ):

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome- bendy bones and stretchy skin that causes lots of joint pain

He canonical has bendy bones so like this is also half canon. Plus I’m giving my blorbo chronic pain to project.

Pretty sure there’s a Spider-Man with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome too so that’s very slay.

Rouge- Anne-Marie

Hear me out- HPV It’s the whole- “I can’t touch anyone” thing

She was born with it

It causes a lot of pain for her but she hides it around people she’s not comfortable with (so really just unmasking in front of remy and her family)

Also stds just need to be a lot more normalized. And her having to be so weird about people with it fits so much with the whole “ew mutants” thing

Xavier

Yeah yeah he’s a paraplegic

They should be better about it though. No more of this curing him so often he’s like the one famous character wheelchair bound people get

Stop making him so weak, he runs a school to learn how to kick ass, man can probably box, who needs legs. They always just make him useless once someone kicks over his chair or something

Chronic migraines again

Listen hearing all those thoughts all the time can’t be all sunshine’s and rainbows. Make him suffer (this goes for all telepaths)

Gambit- Remy Lebeau

He canonically has brain damage (via lebeatomy) (haha get it)

He’s getting hit with migraines too. Making all these losers suffer

He probably also has very bad vision because of his eyes- probably not very good with light just like cyclops (likely worse)

I’m going to give him the worlds worst period cramps via dysmenorrhea. Yeah he’s trans to me I’m a romy t4t Reuther

Rapid fire listings let’s go!

Jubilee canonically has Dyscalculia- like dyslexia for numbers

Wolverine canonically has memory issues and ptsd

Magneto canonically has ptsd

Legion canonically has multiple personality disorder or DID- dissociative identity disorder. It’s not always portrayed the best but rep is rep

Angel canonically has hollow bones- I’m gonna gc him with osteoporosis

Headcanoning Madelyn Pryor with post partum depression

Scarlet witch gets head cannoned half of all the mental disorders- depression, psychosis, ptsd, and anything you wanna give her. Girl needs a staff of therapists, psychologists, and a cocktail of pills

Quicksilver gets headcannoned with ADHD. Boring I know but I’ve got it and it fits him so projection time

Let marrow have ptsd. Girl witnessed a genocide of her people and her moms death as a child. Why do they skim over that? Girl is suffering

Pyro canonically had the legacy virus which was like a big euphemism for AIDs so he gets that. Plus he also gets hit with the autism beam

Toad is autistic. No further questions

Jean grey gets the psychic migraines but I’m also giving her autism cause her relationship with Scott is nowhere near neurotypical. The biggest disability marvel gave her was liking wolverine though. He canonically smells like shit and is an asshole. I love him.

Kitty pryde gets type 1 diabetes- I cannot explain why it fits her it just does

Cable gets lupus cause he canonically had a fantasy space tech autoimmune disease so let’s just make it more realistic

Daken gets lactose intolerance (he’s fine because he doesn’t really actually eat dairy)

Iceman gets lactose intolerance (he’s not fine because he loves all things dairy)

Dust gets celiac disease

[regregregulusblack]

My official intro post . ⋆✮ ˚ . ✩°｡⋆｡

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘. My name is Regulus Black, and no, you are NOT allowed to call me Reg or Reggie.

A photo my friend Evan took of me without my permission. I will never forgive you, @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr !!!

I am intersex and I go by he/they pronouns. I don’t like to label myself, but at least I am not straight. I am single and not looking for anyone at all at the moment. I am also autistic and have ADHD. NOT the wild sort. The fucking-tired-bitch-stfu-sort.

My interests:

• Art

• Quidditch (I’m a seeker)

• Poetry (both reading and writing)

• Reading books

• Defence of the Dark Arts

• Analysing every single lyric in every single Taylor Swift song and crying about it

• Makeup

On this blog I will be posting quotes, poetry, art, photographs and selfies and just silly little things that I feel like sharing. If I see any posts about me, I will read them and BEWARE, I will be critical. So you might see me around :) You have been warned.

You will also probably see me having chats with my friends, @remus-lupin-offical is one of them but I’m still waiting for my other idiot friends to finish making their bloody accounts. I will add them here as soon as I can! Update: Took as them long enough, but now they’re also on Tumblr! People you will see me interacting with:

• @sirius-thesstar (Ew)

• @remus-lupin-offical (Why’d you choose my idiot brother as your boyfriend? You’re better than this.)

• @the-real-marls-mckinnon

• @xxcassiexx Dorcas Meadows, a Slytherin I have deep respect for. Say hi to Dorcas!

• @barty-not-barry (My batshit crazy friend)

• @pandora-notyetalovegood (Fellow Slytherin, say hi!)

• @lily-evans-for-ya (In a world of annoying people you are a nice person. Take it as a compliment or don’t. It’s up to you.)

• @captainjamespotter (Annoying Gryffindor)

• @stolemyheelsfromlegolas (DO NOT CALL ME REGIANO FFS) (MARY YOU HEAR ME?!)

• @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr (Another lovely Slytherin asshole, he and Barty should just shut up and kiss by the way)

• @ur-local-peter-pettigrew (Gryffindor)

• @itty-bitty-bella (Cousin)

• @therealcissyblack (Cousin who loves me :))

• @andro-black (Cousin AS WELL)

• @the-best-slytherin (Luna, a fellow Slytherin)

• @yourfavouritehufflepuffgirl (Ew Hufflepuffs) (Ooc: I love Hufflepuffs)

You will see me arguing with my brother, @sirius-thesstar. Like, a lot. Don’t mind Sirius, he’s an idiot. If we’re arguing in French, do NOT translate if you’re a scaredy cat…

Do not interact if:

• You’re Sirius and you’re mad at me

• You’re a Gryffindor (yeah that goes for you too Sirius) (Slytherin is the best Hogwarts house)

• You’re transphobic

• You’re homophobic

• You don’t like me for some other reason

• You’re a Taylor Swift hater

I love Taylor. Don’t you ever disrespect her. Her new album only further proves that she’s a true poet. Even @sirius-thesstar agrees with me on that.

Other things I love are:

• Cats (I dream of having two black cats and naming them Phoebe and Ruby)

• The sea (It’s so calming to watch, but I HATE swimming. It’s too cold. And wet. Yuck.)

• The rain

• Conan Gray (No one can take his album “Superache” from me. Don’t ever try or I’ll bite you.)

Hope I’ll see you around! (Or not. Depending on my mood)

My tags: #regregregulusreg, #thetorturedpoetofthecave, #regussy, #regulussy

Random edit: Ooc: Eh so I’m a minor and I’m a victim of actual physical and mental abuse and I’m still going through stuff, so eh, “Reggie” might be talking jokingly about abusive parents and a tough upbringing on here and stuff like that… just know that that is my fucked up coping mechanism okay, and I don’t mean any harm, and please if you’re joking around with me about abuse don’t take it too far since it might be triggering for me. Thank you.

[defire]

Masterpost

Very active whump blog containing mature themes. Whump, survivors fiction, hurt/comfort, is a genre that focuses on suffering and the aftermath of suffering.

Favorite whump tropes!

Defiant/stoic whumpee

Living weapon!

Child abuse whump and minor and young adult whumpees

Gang whump/multiple whumpers

Captivity/pet/slave/conditioning

Punishment/humiliation

Beating/whipping

Restraints and threats

Nsfwhump--Rape, noncon, nudity

Tiny story details like, highway rumbling on the floor of a truck under whumpee's ear

Humor

Realistic caretaking with friction and PTSD

Back to the Dregs <Used-as-bait novella>

A young detective thought he'd left his problems in his past, but when he's kidnapped as bait for his gangster brother, he has to find a way to escape. Before they figure out his brother hates him.

Masterpost ao3 Amazon

The Ghost of Seattle <Living Weapon Book>

In post-apocalyptic Seattle, a boy becomes a living weapon for his abusive father. When he takes his life into his own hands and joins another gang, he believes he's now fighting for people that won't use him. But he is wrong.

Masterpost kindle book/paperback Ghost's theme song

Dance of Death <fantasy riches-to-rags book>

When a young noble finds out that her friends are being legally abused, she sees no choice but to take a political stand against it, using humorous comments that cleverly discredit her opposition. But she has no idea how far her enemies will go to crush her spirit.

Masterpost ao3 (nsfw version) Amazon (nsfw version)

Information on The Kill-Touch <novella coming soon>

My music (it's not whumpy it's just kind of autistic)

My favorite Tumblr whump stories (post)