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my-darling-boy · 4 years ago

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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say #but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long #no clowns in my inbox pls #long post #ableism #autism #actually autistic #ok to rb

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barricadebops · 3 years ago

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Miserables Month Day 3: "Language"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth

Her Marius Pontmercy could easily be labeled sometimes as being somewhat an odd fellow.

Do not misunderstand her; for all his oddities, Cosette was still very much in love with him, but it could be quite confusing trying to parce through his rapid speeches and lines, many times only just being able to catch phrases such as "I love you" as Marius Pontmercy rushed on an on about his speech.

At the present, however, she believed her Marius was being unbearably rude. The last night they had seen each other in the garden, he had been coughing a great deal, which certainly would not do. How dare he worry her like so?

That annoyance at his rudeness, however, turned to fear as she awaited his presence in the garden, her Papa and Toussaint having already fallen deep into their sleep on account of the late hours of the night.

Why hadn't he shown up yet? She huffed and adjusted her bonnet, annoyance quickly growing once more. How very inconsiderate to keep her waiting like this! She would be having words with him later on, remind him of how important it was to be on time to receive a lady.

A snap of a twig outside the garden gates caught her attention, and already having recognized the familiar weight of the footsteps, she rushed forwards towards the great gates, and whispered out, "Monsieur, is that you?" When no response came, she crossed her arms and raised her voice just the slightest bit, "Look, monsieur, I am already cross with you, do not aggravate me any further. Honestly, is this any to treat a lady? Making her wait so long?" She turned around and refused to look at him; when no answer came, she turned back, confused. In the gleaming moonlight she could make out the lovely coiffed curls so prominent on Marius, but when she moved forward, the rest of the figure enshrouded by the night's dark jolted, slipping something between the grilled gates, and rushing away.

Curse her foolish lover and the late hour in which they meet. She could not even call out for him, lest she wake her Papa and Toussaint. Instead, she had to huff and watch as Marius Pontmercy hurried away, having avoided her on this night.

Just as she was about to head back into the manor, already planning out exactly what she would be writing in her notebook, the clouds around the moon shifted and spilled a sliver of light over what Cosette could now see was a folded slip of paper. A note.

She remembered, now, her Marius' penchant for sending notes and love letters, and as she unfolded the paper and caught sight of the scrawled lines, she could see that it was indeed the latter:

My dearest Cosette,

Oh that it is my woe that I should be separated from you on this night! I never wish to be parted from you, and yet it seems destiny seems to have other plans for my fate.

As has been the source of your consternation over these last few days, I have taken ill. The cough I had been so hoping would fade to nothing has unfortunately only grown harsher and worse. My friend, Courfeyrac—you don't know him—has taken notice to this, and has expressly forbid that I should journey outside our flat.

He is aware I have been seeing you, and yet he was still unrelenting in nt allowing me come meet when we usually do. He doesn't quite understand the workings of the heart—the most he's had have been quick flings. I beg you do not think of him poorly, however. At heart he is truly a good man.

The only way I was able to sneak out and give you this letter you now hold in your hands was when Courfeyrac had not yet returned from his meeting at the Musain—you won't know of those either. You know, he almost didn't go, was quite willing to stay by my side, but I forced him to go. He musn't miss out on his politics because of me.

My heart aches to be with you, my dearest. It is as they say—love is the best kind of medicine. I beg you hold me in your heart so that your Marius may return to you sooner than what may be too late.

Your beloved,

Marius Pontmercy

Sick? Oh how fretful! So she was justified, then, in her worry about that cough! If only she could have brough him into the manor, she would have had him in bed, at his side, ready should he need anything, and gently scolding his sleeping form for causing her such worry.

She made to fold up the letter and trudge gloomily back to her room, when a few more lines after the signature at the bottom appeared:

Je t'aime.

I love you.

Ich liebe dich

Je t'aime was all fine, and warmed her heart as she still stood, remaining in the garden. But these last two lines confused her—what on earth was this gibberish? Why did Marius believe she would know what it meant?

She hummed to herself as she stole back into the manor quietly so as not to wake Toussaint.

Perhaps her Marius had written it in a state of delirium. It was quite possible. Still, she kept the note safe on her little table.

_________________________________________

The next night was much the same. Cosette waited once more in the garden, a mix of anticipation and worry ebbing within her. If he did not return today, she thought she might faint of devastation—it was quite improper to worry a lady like this!

Again, as she spotted what she thought was Marius' curls, she hurried towards the gates, disappointed as that familiar figure rushed away once more.

She unfolded the note he had dropped with fear.

My dearest Cosette,

It seems as if this illness is a stubborn one. Courfeyrac, the friend I mentioned in my previous letter, brought over one of his friends today; he's training to become a doctor. He declared that it was nothing too serious and that I should be fine, however he was a little concerned with the way I had gone pale and started trembling. I purposefully neglected to inform him the reason for such a thing occurring was likely due more to his visit. I have not had many joyful memories of him from the first time we met.

I shall hope and pray sincerely that we meet tomorrow. I am sure God will grant me this one request. He does have much to make up for to me, anyways.

I beg you continue to think of me as I know you were doing yesterday. I could hear your whispers in the wind, calling for my name.

Your beloved,

Marius Pontmercy

And again, those three lines at the bottom, the last two still remaining a sequence of gibberish:

Je t'aime

I love you

Ich liebe dich

Her heart sunk. Her love was still ill, and so she would have to worry even more. She knew she shouldn't be concerned over whether her Marius was being well taken care of in his sick bed—the way he had spoken of this Courfeyrac made it seek as if he truly was in good hands—but she simply could not help it. She worried for her Marius. Oh curse this rainy season!

_________________________________________

That next night, Marius finally appeared back in her full sight.

The moon cast a glow over his face. His curls seemed a bit greasier, his face perhaps paler, and there were shadows that were rimmed beneath his eyes; all in all, however, Cosette still saw the handsome man who had caught her attention at the Luxembourg Gardens.

"Oh monsieur!" she cried, though in a quiet whisper as best as she could. She ran up to him, stopping short of embracing him and instead cupping her hands to his cheks. "How pale you've turned!" She drew back to glare at him. "It was very rude, you know, to have caught an illness like so; have you any idea the worry you caused me?"

It seemed as if Marius Pontmercy who was in the seventh heaven, could not muster words, only call out "Cosette!" in joy.

She crossed her arms and sat back down on her bench. "No, monsieur, I will not be having this at all! First with your illness worrying me and then your gibberish letters confusing me.".

At this, Marius Pontmercychimself turned confused. "Gibberish?" he repeated. "But I thought they were rather clear?"

Cosette waved a hand in dismissal. "Yes, yes, it was all fine and good, but then you wrote these three lines underneath, and I only know what the first one means." She drew out both the letters she had made sure to bring this time around. "See!"

She pointed to where he had written these lines, I love you and Ich liebe dich. "This is gibberish."

Marius Pontmercy glanced at the paper before softly chuckling. Cosette frowned.

"You only continue your rudeness," she said, annoyed. "I call out this serious problem, and you laugh."

When her Marius finally stops laughing and catches his breath, he further softens his eyes and said, "Cosette, I was telling you I love you."

Cosette raised an eyebrow. Yes, I know what that sounds like, but neither of them match je t'aime.

Marius knelt in front of her and took her hands in his own. A bold move. "That might be because they're in two different languages."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Different languages?"

"Yes—you remember me telling you I'm a translator? I know English and German, those are the languages on the letters."

Cosette huffed once more and shifted her eyes to just to the right and far off from where Marius Pontmercy would sit. "Well how was I supposed to know this? And why write 'I love you' in three different languages when one is enough?"

Marius Pontmercy rubbed his thumbs on the soft skin of her palm. He tugged gently to bring her attention back to him. "It's because," he whispered softly, "I wanted you to know that in whatever language—French, English, or German—nothing will ever change this constant: that I love you."

Well, alright. Okay. So maybe Marius Pontmercy's thought of gibberish then wasn't so bad.

She smiled to herself. She would be keeping these letters safe. Especially as her Marius said, "In case it wasn't clear enough, however, let me express this in a language you understand," and he lifted the tip of her foot encased within its shoe and pressed his lips gently to it.

#I would like to thank my amazing friend Kali for teaching me how to say 'I love you' in German #les miserables #cosette #cosette fauchelevent #marius #marius pontmercy #marisette #mariusette #TheMiserablesMonth #The Miserables Month #les mis fic #annie writes stories

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floatinginwords · 3 years ago

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Saved by the Devil (15/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: More stuff after Epsom and a bit of of Tommy pov. (im sorry about these summaries im terrible)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (Romantic)

Warning: Mention of death and blood.

A/N: Not my best but yea. im getting the hang back i think? i dont know...feedback would be great. thanks for reading and hope you all have a good day and are treating yourselves well.

The drive was quiet. Neither of you two spoke and honesty you were glad for the silence. Your thoughts were loud enough as it is. Polly didn’t drive you far until she spoke or more like laughed. It sounded like a mad women’s laugh. Your stomach did flips as you could recall the laugh at your stay in the asylums from time to time. You don’t dare look at polly hoping her eyes stayed glued to the road. You didn’t want to see any glint of madness that was in her eyes. You didn’t want to ask any questions that might just pop out of your mouth. You had enough running through your mind. You had your own shit to go through.

Once you entered the city part you could see that the path polly was taking was to Adas. You didn’t want to go there.

“Polly, you can let me off here.” You say, looking at some random street corner.

She scoffs “Its getting dark and you wanna walk the rest of the way? I thought you were smarter than that.”

You don’t say anything. She continues speaking, “Just tell me where you wanna go.”

“just pull over Here, Polly.” You say.

She doesn’t say anything as she listens to your orders. She looks a bit annoyed but you don’t have to explain yourself. You leave the car and take one last look at Polly.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You say.

She nods. “You should call Tommy when you get home. Im sure he’ll want to hear from you.”

She starts the car and leaves you by yourself. You watch the car fade in the distance. You think of Thomas wondering if he’s dead or nt. You shake your head at the thought. You cant afford to think of that right now.

You walk the route that you’ve memorized that is Trinities place. Your there in no time. As you go through alleyways, hiding in the shadows, not wanting to take any chances. You know now that your paranoia was not just something to torture you.

You run up the stairs. Ready to pound on your best friends door, take what you needed and say a quick goodbye. But her door is ajar. You take the knife off your thigh holster, kicking your shoes off incase of a getaway and walk in slowly.

The apartment is a mess. Books and glass litter the floor. Furniture is upside down. Curtain torn down. Blood stained on the walls. You gulp as the blood stains lead you to the bathroom. You follow. And your heart breaks as you see Trinity her face toward the ceiling. She looked dead with all the blood that covered her neck but her shallow breaths told you she was still holding on. You drop the knife, fall to your knees, struggling to hold the tears that you thought had already ran out today.

“…(y/n)..”trinity struggles to speak, blood splats out of her mouth.

“don’t speak. Don’t worry its gonna be alright. Its gonna be-be okay.” You looked around the bathroom, it was in such dissary you didn’t know what supplies you could use to help her. Though you knew that the amount of blood lost was too much. It would not be okay.

Trinity grabs your shirt and brings you close. You can smell the copper in her breath. “Leave. Its- its under the-the painting.” She whispers. Her grip loosens and her stare loses focus. You sob into your friends chest.

You look under the only painting that Trinity had in her apartment Its of a little ship sailing in the sea. You never understood why she liked it. You take it off its hook and find a moderate sized hole that holds the bag of contents that you had asked her to hide for you. You finally had everything. It was time to finally leave. You took one last look at your friends apartment feeling bad you couldn’t give her a proper burial. You know she didn’t have a religion. You grow resentment that no one in this apartment building helped her. You find a match in her drawer and some alcohol. You make a trail through the apartment down the stairs of the building. Not before leaving with some of her jewelry and dress. Needing something to remember trinity by. You light the match and throw it with ease. Th building lights up in flames. You could hear the screams pleasing for help. But you walk away heading toward the train station with a heavy heart.

Tommy’s P.O.V

Thomas was taken to a field. His face a mixture of boredom and anger, his soon to be killer don’t care what he feels. Hes been on the other end of this and he didn’t are what his victims felt. He thinks of your face. The way you called his name. He wonders what your doing, if you got home safe. Surely you did. His brothers, Polly, one of his many loyal employee would have sought to it. That’s all that mattered. That you weren’t here facing the type of death that he was about to.

He asks for a last cigarette. The captors allow it watching him descend into an anger that he can no longer hold in. He was about to have everything.

‘Well not everything’ he thinks of the night where he almost got to kissed you and what a missed opportunity that was. He should have gone after you told you how he felt then. But it seemed to be to late as the man pressed the gun to his temple. He will make his piece with death. I mean how could he not when for so many years, he has been the reaper for so many.

But instead of the bullet going through his skull, marking the end of Thomas Shelby’s life, he’s pushed into a grave and two shots ring off. One assassin stand while two bodies drop. He lays in the grave, confused and very alive.

The standing assassin simply says, “At some point in the near future, Mr.Churchhill will want to speak to you in person. Mr. Shelby. He has a job for you.”

For a moment he is stunned. He was so content with the thought of death merely moments ago and here he was alive in a grave meant for him. The man tells him to go. And Thomas wastes no time walking away toward a life he fully intends on enriching and keeping for a long time. Hopefully you get to be apart of it too.

Read pt.16

tags

@babylooneytoonz @captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034 @ms-dont-care @owenniasstars @shikin83 @lauren-raines-x @cactisjuice

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic

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kirksfattitties · 4 years ago

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asks you can smell the privilege and internalized ableism radiate from

(tw for ableism and other bigoted implications)

i’m bad at reading tone but even i understand that this is 100% you being condescending and trying to cover it up with smiley faces and false sincerity. and i don’t appreciate that.

before i get into deconstructing your shitty ableist argument, i want to explain the reasons i believe in self diagnosis (self-dx):

even professional diagnosis doesn’t start with a doctor diagnosing you. there has to be a reason for seeing the doctor. some people see a doctor in their adult life because they’re struggling, some people are taken by their parents, some people are referred or suggested that they see a specialist. whatever it is, you don’t just see a doctor and they magically give you a neurodivergency. people have neurodivergencies before they see doctors and even if they NEVER see a doctor.

the psychiatry system is flawed in MANY ways and to say that it isn’t means you’re denying the experiences of people with less privledge than yourself. also like psychiatry isn’t gonna suck your dick. you don’t have to be a bootlicker lol

in many places (hi hello i’m from america where our government tries to indirectly kill us by not providing us with adequate healthcare! i and many other people have many issues we can’t get fixed because simply our government cares more about the economy than us), seeing a psychiatrist or a therapist or going to a mental hospital or WHATEVER is INCREDIBLY expensive. and to assume that everyone has access and enough time/money/energy/transportation/whatever to do all of that is classist and elitist.

ANYTHING medical (including mental health) is biased towards white cis men. most studies are done on white cis men/boys. because of this, people who aren’t white cis men (or people who aren’t perceived as white cis men) are often not diagnosed. the system is racist. the system is sexist. the system is transphobic. people don’t know how to diagnose autism or adhd or personality disorders or other neurodivergencies or even mental illnesses in black people and other people of color, in women, in trans people, etc. and GOD FORBID someone be in multiple (or all) of those categories. saying “just go get diagnosed :)” is a privileged statement to make.

shocker! the psychiatry system is also ableist. if you’re already diasabled (whether it be mental or physical) and you see a doctor about ANOTHER disability? the doctor is most likely going to shoot you down. or at least be weary about someone having mutliple disabilities.

also most people who diagnose are neurotypical. they have never and will probably never experience neurodivergency so they can never fully understand it. they operate off of stereotypes of neurodivergent people and usually only stereotypical behavior of neurodivergent white cis men (which, as i mentioned before, is problematic for anyone who isn’t a white cis man). neurotypical diagnosers don’t know the neurodivergent culture and aren’t trained to recognize very common things (like masking for example).

a professional diagnosis can also be weaponized. not everyone can get a professional diagnosis because there are some neurodivergencies (such as autism and personality disorders) and mental illnesses (like depression) that can have legal and medical respercussions to have in your record. trans people can be denied medical and legal transition for being professionally diagnosed. people can lose custody battles for being professionally diagnosed. a professional diagnosis can be used as justification for taking away someone’s body autonomy (especially if that person is also physically disabled).

a LOT of neurodivergencies also have some type of symptom (or symptoms) that make it difficult to interact with people. troubles recognizing facial expressions, troubles understanding certain phrases and types of speech, paranoid about people, audio processing issues, being nonverbal in an environment that doesn’t accommodate for it, overstimulation, extreme social anxiety, discomfort in new situations, problems with eye contact, and a lot more. because like. for many nd people, interacting with people is very difficult and stressful. and hey. if you want to get a professional diagnosis? take a WILD guess what you have to do? FUCKING INTERACT with people! LIKE?? JEHDJJDKEKKDKDKDS. do you know how many professionally diagnosed nd people i know who made their appointment COMPLETELY on their own without help from a parent or family member or friend? LITERALLY ZERO! and i know A FEW nd people who have professional diagnoses! so if someone has social issues that prevent them from doing tasks like calling and making an appointment, showing up for an appointment, talking during the appointment, etc and ALSO doesn’t have familial or friend support (because newsflash! people who are friends/family of disabled people can still be ableist)? almost impossible to get a diagnosis! plus, the diagnosis process is TIME CONSUMING. not everyone can focus on a task for that long and not everyone can miss work/school for that long.

so those are the reasons i support self-dx. (although there’s probably more that i’m forgetting but i have adhd and it’s hard for me to remember things!)

so hopefully you now understand my reasons for believing in self-dx, and perhaps even you’re pro-self-dx now because before you were just uneducated on these issues and how they impact people who aren’t you.

but in case you’re still anti-self-dx and probably hate already-marginalized neurodivergent people, let’s talk about this horrendous ask (series of asks, actually) that i got sent. i feel like i can feel the self hatred and internalized ableism OOZING from this ask and into my inbox, so thanks for that i guess /s

“Sometimes people who self diagnose can take away from those who are actually nd, even sometimes from themselves.”

starting out strong with the ableism on this one by separating people into “self diagnosed” and “actually nd” people. self diagnosed people ARE actually nd

there’s not a limited number of nd resources. this isn’t a math equation of only x amount of people can be nd because there’s only y amount of resources. more people realizing they’re nd will actually MAKE more resources for nd people and will bring more awareness to being nd

even IF someone self diagnosed, and they go back on it later, what harm was done? they learned some coping mechanisms? they made some nd friends? neither of those are problematic and i think they’re both actually very helpful. i think nt people SHOULD learn more about nd people and stuff because i think that will lead to WAYYY less misunderstandings and WAYYYY less ableism

“There are many people who fake nds for attention,”

hey anon, what fucking world do you live in that nd’s are cool enough to fake having? because i would LOVE to live there. like, i literally had a post about my personality disorder (which i will not be specifying) i had to delete because people were sending my anons about how i was “scary” and “threatening” now that they knew i had the personality disorder i have. last year i left a discord server because the ableism i was recieving from not only the members of the server, but the mods as well. there are very few people i know irl who i tell about my personality disorder, but when i tell people about my adhd, they start treating me different. they infantalize me and make fun of me and use “jokes” about stereotypical adhd behaviors to alienate me and they even TELL OTHER PEOPLE without my permission. i was SEVERELY bullied throughout elementary and middle school for being nd. i have been refused job and educational opportunities as well as literal medical attention for being nd. people aren’t “faking” being nd, and if they were they probably wouldn’t be doing it for long because it’s not something that’s EASY to deal with.

kinda ironic that you’re saying people can’t diagnose themselves but that YOU can tell when someone is faking their diagnosis. that’s both hypocritical and a double standard.

masking exists. if you think someone isn’t “acting nd enough” they’re probably masking because they’ve been fucking bullied and harrassed. also you’re probably basing whatever you think nd is on stereotypes. not every nd person is sheldon cooper lol.

this is a side note but can we talk about how you’re literally just taking transmed rhetoric and molding it to fit nd people? like. you really come onto MY NONBINARY NEURODIVERGENT blog and expect me to validate your recycled “but what about the REAL [insert group] people?” ??? like grow up, elitist. you’re not better than anyone else just because you lick some boots 🥾 👅

“and claiming that self diagnosis (and this is just what I interpreted) is just as valid as professional diagnosis”

it is 😌

the only difference between self diagnosis and professional diagnosis is that a professional diagnosis can also get you medicine. not every neurodivergency needs meds and not every neurodivergency can be treated (at this time or even ever). for example, my pd (self diagnosed) doesn’t have a specific treatment but multiple symptoms of the pd (all professionally diagnosed) have specific treatments and medicines that work, so patients are given/diagnosed with/prescribed those instead. also, medicine doesn’t work for everyone! and sometimes people are allergic to or take medicines that will conflict with any new medicine.

“can really devalue the account of someone who actually has a disorder”

here we go again with that “self diagnosed” vs “actually nd” bullshit. literally just say you hate poor people n minorities and leave lol

someone having a different experience than you isn’t devaluing you, but if you’re the one who always has the spotlight maybe you should use your privledge uplift other marginalized people instead of feeling angry when everything isn’t all about you 100% of the time

“I have a second ask”

i don’t want it

“Plus it can be damaging for a person if they self diagnose wrong.”

how? what if they learn information that they wouldn’t’ve otherwise known like coping mechanisms that help them with their own neurodivergencies? that’s definitely not a bad thing

i think it’s funny that you bring up that people can self diagnose wrong and don’t even MENTION that doctors can diagnose wrong. like. you know. the people who GIVE OUT MEDICINE to people. i think it’s MUCH more dangerous when a PROFESSIONAL diagnosis is wrong. what are self-dx people with wrong diagnoses gonna do? read up on nd tips? maybe smoke some weed? drink some coffee? that’s about all they can do with a self-dx. but if a MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL gives you an INCORRECT diagnosis, they can ACTUALLY fuck you up.

“I was recently diagnosed with PTSD, a disorder which I would have never considered I’d have.”

that’s great about your professional diagnosis! i don’t know you but i’m glad you’re finding out about yourself and getting the help you want and/or need /srs

sorry if this sounds blunt, but honestly i’m not surprised you never considered you could have PTSD. based on your asks, you sound like you have a lot of internalized ableism you need to work through and a lot more research about neurodiversity you need to do. being anti-self diagnosis is a common belief among a lot of people with internalized ableism and a lot of these same people are the ones who have no issue with and even SUPPORT auti$m $peaks. many nd organizations that are run BY nd people (like asan) actually support self-dx.

“If I had of diagnosed my own symptoms and then started treating myself or taking precautions based on my self diagnosed "condition", it could of really hurt me.”

how? taking precautions to preserve your mental health is NEVER a bad idea. i’m not ptsd, but someone i care deeply about DOES have ptsd and has shared a lot of the precautions and coping mechanisms for ptsd with me and honestly they’ve been incredibly helpful. it’s almost as if different neurodivergencies and/or mental illnesses have overlap and that’s why there’s a whole community for us to be able to share these resources and information with each other!

the same person was rejected a formal autism diagnosis because of their ptsd, plus the fact that they’re transgender and the fact they have symptoms of adhd. it’s not really my place to talk about their experience with professional diagnosis, but i’ll send this post to them and allow them to add on their experience in a rb if they’re comfortable with that. but it’s almost as if their experience with the professional diagnosis process was unhelpful, harmful, ableist, and transphobic 🧐 and unfortunately this is a pretty common experience

“Also, by self diagnosing, I devalue the account of a person with the disorder l assumed I had.”

how? if someone thinks they’re nd, they have a legitimate reason for thinking so. either they have another neurodivergency than the one they thought they had, or they’re neurotypical and need to figure themself out and have a need for support. either way, they learned more about the specific neurodivergency, more about the nd community, and more about themself. i don’t see how that’s a bad thing.

if you think self-diagnosed people’s experiences inherently have less value, that is straight up ableism. especially considering that other marginalized identities and minorities have trouble getting professional diagnoses, you might also be bigoted in some other way. or at the very least, refusing to acknowledge your privilege.

“only one more I promise”

i don’t want it

“I understand that doctors are expensive and professionals can get it wrong,”

okay. if you understand this, then dm me your information so i can bill you for the cost of my professional diagnoses, the cost for my therapy sessions, the cost for my medicine, and the cost for transportation to and from all these places. PLUS the cost of the work and school i’ll be missing for these sessions. 🤲

“but self diagnosis can be really harmful to yourself or others.”

nah, you’re just ableist and a gatekeeper lol

“If you feel like you have a disorder, go see a psychiatrist, you may have it.”

[remembers when i went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with two major symptoms of a personality disorder and said i had other symptoms of the pd as well but refused to diagnose me with the actual personality disorder because i was a minor at the time and he told me “kids don’t have personalities so they can’t have personality disorders”. i understand being weary about diagnosing children with personality disorders because they aren’t fully developed but this dude straight up told me that i didn’t have a personality. this man literally only worked with children so that means he literally never diagnosed personality disorders. this man was literally just lazy and didn’t care about his patients. this man also refused to believe me when i told him the medicine he prescribed me made my symptoms worse and even made me hallucinate. he ignored me and refused to change my medicine so eventually i just changed psychiatrists and they put me on a new medicine that DIDNT make my symptoms worse and DIDNT make me hallucinate. also i looked it up after our session and apparently ONLY people with my pd and related ones experience hallucinations on that certain medication. it’s almost like his refusal to diagnose me and ignoring my symptoms/concerns harmed me. this man also constantly misgendered me and told me that homosexuality and transgenderism should’ve still been in the dsm. like golly, it’s almost as if being queer and neurodivergent in an extremely conservative state is harmful and dangerous. and that psychiatrists aren’t immune from being homophobic and transphobic and ableist.] but yes :) perhaps i should see another psychiatrist in this conservative state :)

“I don't want to undermine anyone's actual experiences, but it can be dangerous.”

then stop undermining people’s actual experiences :)

no ❤️

“If you feel like something's wrong, go see a professional.”

the whole point of the neurodiversity movement is that there IS no such thing as a “normal” brain, so saying that neurodivergent people have something “wrong” with them is ableist.

💰 🤲 hand it over

“I don't want to offend, I just don't want anyone to get mislead or hurt. :)”

you absolutely meant to offend. you literally said that self-diagnosed people’s experiences aren’t valid and have less value than people who have professional diagnoses

i know more people who have been (and personally have been) mislead and hurt by professionals than by simply existing as a self-diagnosed person

also i want to say that being pro-self dx is NOT being anti-professional/formal diagnosis. i think that people should absolutely get a professional diagnosis (if they are able to without negative repercussions)! being pro-self dx is more inclusive of marginalized people (like people of color, women, lgbtq+ people, people with multiple disabilities, etc). pro-self dx is simply just saying that professional diagnosis isn’t the only option

(neurotypical people and anti-self dx people don’t add anything; pro-self dx neurodivergent people are allowed to add with their experiences if they want)

#asks #long post #nd adventures #ableism tw #sexism tw #racism tw #transphobia tw #misgendering mention #medical abuse mention #not star trek #homophobia tw

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solange-lol · 4 years ago

Text

truly, madly, deeply

(alternate title: william andrew solace, sponsored by kitkat)

words: 1,072

AUctober day 31: halloween

read on ao3

—

Nico thought that spending Halloween with his boyfriend would mean parties, couples costumes, and cheesy photoshoot galore. Unfortunately, when said boyfriend is currently applying to colleges, it changes your plans a bit.

Not that he’s really complaining. Nico was actually sort of dreading the typical “Halloween party” that comes around this time where every teen gets shitfaced and eats way too many Skittles, which makes the next morning a fun colorful surprise when your head is in the toilet. He loves his friends, but not enough to go through that for the third year in a row.

They’re at Will’s house instead, having been put on candy duty by Naomi, who left about an hour before Trick or Treating started to go set up for a gig. So far they’ve had a limited number of kids coming to the house, even with the friendly little neighborhood Will lives in near the school. Apparently, kids had begun to learn that going to neighborhoods like Nico’s, where mansions lined the street, they had a better chance of getting the king-sized candy bars.

Instead of waiting at the door for kids who may never come, the two have elected to sit on the couch together in Will’s living room instead, raiding the candy bowl that Naomi had put together.

They are in costume, of course. Will is wearing a bright orange sweater with a Jack-o-Lantern face (much to his delight, and to Nico’s disgust.) At one point he had a green plant-top headband on, but it had since been knocked on the floor after a quick makeout. It was now serving as a chew toy for Will’s dog, a golden retriever appropriately named Sunny.

As for Nico, it was now his fifth year strong as a vampire. And yes, the costume he bought back in seventh grade still fit him. Although, his cape was now draped around Will, turning his boyfriend into a pumpkin-demon of sorts like a villain from the world’s worst Halloween movie.

Will is lying against one of the arms of the couch with his legs up, groaning as he fills out question after question for his college application. Early applications are due next weekend, and like most high school seniors, he had overestimated the amount of time he had and was now doing it last minute.

Nico leans cross-legged against Will’s knees, his PreCalc midterm study guide in his lap. (It was their school’s idea to put all of their midterms the week after Halloween, assuming that kids wouldn’t get too drunk and actually show up for school. PreCalc was also the only class he and Will have together because of their grade difference, which means Nico doesn’t exactly get the most done during class.)

Will sighs heavily at yet another Common App question, and Nico reaches to pat his knee supportively without looking up.

“‘What did I enjoy most about last Monday?’ I don’t even remember last Monday!” he drops his head back on the armrest, making Nico crack a smile.

“Well, you were with me last Monday. We went out for pizza to celebrate the last week of our sanity before midterm hell,” he recalls, poking his boyfriend’s calf with the back of his pen.

Will gasps, before furiously typing. “You’re right! And now they’ll have to accept me if I mention I have a boyfriend because if they don’t it’ll be a hate crime!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works—”

“It’s a hate crime,” he deadpans.

A second later, they both crack up.

Even in this moment of pure bliss, though, the question Nico has been wondering ever since the start of school in September has been lurking in the back of his mind.

The doorbell rings interrupting their moment and only pushing the question closer to the front of Nico’s mind. Will has to regain composure before picking up the bowl and walking to the door. He looks back at Nico, silently asking if he’s going to join him, to which Nico just shakes his head with a soft smile.

When Will returns, Nico can’t help it when he blurts it out.

“What is going to happen to us when you go to college?”

The blonde furrows his eyebrows. “It’s only October, babe,” he says, unwrapping a KitKat and settling back down on the couch next to him.

“I know, but it’s Halloween, which means tomorrow is November, and November turns into December. Once we get through break it’s practically March and then after that school is like, basically over. Then you leave in August, and- I’m sorry did you just take a bite of that KitKat without breaking apart the pieces?”

Will glances at Nico, then down at the KitKat. There was, in fact, a bite taken out of it with the two pieces somehow still connected.

“Um,” he looks back up at Nico. “Yes?”

What kind of heathen was he dating?

“I- okay,” Nico sighs, leaning back into Will. Just because his boyfriend is a disgrace doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to be around him. Plus, it’s 40 degrees outside and he’s practically a space heater. “What was I saying?”

“You were spiraling,” Will says, poking Nico’s cheek. He swats Will’s hand away, electing to lace their fingers together instead.

“Don’t laugh at me, I was being serious!” he protests. “If we only have the next ten months together, like this-” he holds up their joined hands- “then I need to prepare myself mentally.”

“If you could stand another ten months of me I’ll be impressed,” Will says, then lets go of their hands so he can pull Nico closer until he’s practically in Will’s lap. “But until then, we’ll just take it day by day, okay?”

Nico silently nods. After a moment, he speaks again. “I’m pretty sure I could stand you for a lifetime.”

He feels Will smile against his shoulder. “That was cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I love you.”

Nico grins. “Yeah, I know.”

“Rude,” Will pulls back, pouting. “Say it back.”

“I love you, too.”

“Good,” Will nods, and there’s a tiny smudge of chocolate just on top of his lip. Nico reaches out to rub it off with his thumb, before pulling Will’s face closer to his so he can kiss him.

However much longer they have together, whatever college or the rest of this year means, to hell if he’s not gonna enjoy every minute of it.

—

solangelo tag list (message to be added/removed)

@unicornsgomooo @anxiouswinter @soulangelou @number-of-fucks-i-give-0 @underworldystuff @theeloquentsnake @solangelover@thefandomsaretakingover @internallyexplodingrainbows @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon @motivatedcryptidtamer @emilyfairchild @wherethewildthingsare-nt @hetapeep41 @blavk-dahlia

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #auctober 2020 #auctober #solangelo week #my writing #liz writes.com

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alittleemo · 4 years ago

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I wanted to leave valentine asks in all of your inboxes but it’s late and im tired so im making an appreciation type post instead!!!! long post under the cut bc i dont want to subject yall to that lol

@shades-of-blue- faith you add so much positivity to my day and you show so much love for me and all of your other mutuals and i hope you know how lovely you are <3 i love your art series and how positively u interact w your mutuals and followers, and seeing u in my notifications reminds me that other people are interested in what im saying and it really means a lot to me so thank u, sending u all of my love <3

@lunawedlers- audrey you bring so many new movies and shows to my dash and i adore it. you are so kind and supportive of others and your talent is out of this world and it brightens my day to interact w you or even see u on my dash and u deserve the world and all of its beauty. I may have no idea still what the plot of succession is but i thought i saw Tom when i was watching Star Wars the other day and thought of u and i think thats what love is yk? (it wasnt actually him but its the thought that counts <3). i love u sm bestie, im rlly glad we’re friends <3

@12monthoctober- grace you have always been one of my fav mutuals, you show so much consideration for others and your enthusiasm for the AO3 remakes brings me so much joy and u are such a friendly, supportive, and caring force on my dash and i love u and miss u. you were one of my first mutuals and quite honestly in the early months i was on tumblr and we were mutuals were able to ground me and bring me so much joy and ive stolen so much of my music taste from skam nt and the fact we already had similar tastes rlly enhances the vibe. I love seeing u on my dash and on my Spotify bar and i hope u are doing well, i love u sm <3

@lesbeanfatou- clara you provide such a chaotic and kind whirlwind force on my dash everyday, and your boundless love for all of your friends and followers is so wonderful to behold. literally the joy i had in u immediately following me back and interacting w me in the beginning meant the world to me and i hope u know im here for u always. your love for 1d passed on to me and now i actually follow the convo when ppl talk abt them and my sister and bestie love me for it and ive saved too many of ur reaction images to use myself so ty for that too <3 love u queen u deserve the sun and all of her stars

@coffee-and-moo- grace i literally cannot describe how much joy i get from seeing your Star Wars and marvel posts on my dash, u share and encapsulate so many of my fav interests that i feel like we were destined to be mutuals. your enthusiasm inspires me and i love seeing u on my dash and in my notes—i feel like at this point we are equally spam liking each other’s posts and i love u sm for it bc i see posts to rn specifically for u now lol. you are so lovely and sweet and i hope the world is treating u well and i love u <3

@pianoandcookiedoughlover- you’re such a lovely presence on my dash, and it means so much to me that u took time to check on me after some of my rant posts, j the feeling of knowing other people care enough to check in and your calm, rational way of looking at situations was so important to me. im so excited for skam colorado s2 and i hope you’re doing well and ily <3 (also ive taken to calling u honey in my head bc of ur profile pic color/bc u have no name displayed lol but if u would prefer smth else lmk!!)

@maade-of-stardust- val you were my first mutual and literally the rush i got from a person following me for the first time fueled me for weeks. we don’t talk a lot but i love seeing u on my dash and your fics are incredible and deserve so much love and attention considering all of the love you’re put into them. I hope you are doing well, there are so many people who love and care for u and i love u <3

@paint-dreamscapes-on-the-wall- iris you are such a sweet person, and i still havent forgotten how u took time to give me phoebe bridgers recommendations when i didnt expect to get any—your thoughtfulness and excellent music choices really brightened my life a lot. i happened to find skam boston in the middle of quarantine (may or June i think??), and waiting for your updates everyday grounded me and added a sense of stability to my life as i watched graciela navigate her season. u are such a lovely being and i love u a lot <3

@fakieu- aj u are so creative and your sense of humor is immaculate and you have been such a positive influence on me (that sounds weird lmao but fr your calmness and creativity have inspired me and helped me so much). skam dc was the first remake i actually listened to with music, and i j have to say literally my music taste this summer was almost entirely stolen from u, so i appreciate that a lot. I hope you’re doing well and that school isnt beating u down to much, love u <3

@womenstan and @nori-in-pink- we haven’t interacted a lot but both of u are so sweet and the support u have for your friends and the enthusiasm u have for others is so affirming and rlly helped me feel like people cared about what i had to say here. em- it meant the world to me that u actually made something out of my gif suggestions, i have lots of ideas bouncing around but actually seeing them was mind blowing and i loved them. courtney- i love the cheerfulness u bring to my dash and u are such a lovely soul and i hope u are both doing well

#this is rlly long lol #anyways i hope u all had nice valentines days if u celebrate #lee’s bullshit #sorry if theres any mistakes lmao my reading comprehension is barely existent rn

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deepblooberc · 4 years ago

Note

Hello lady! The whole call-out thing (a series of misunderstandings made out to be way bigger than they were) made me think about neurotypical - neurodivergent communication. I'd like to ask (I read the screenshots over @/goho and found them to be pretty clear, tbh) if you have some tips to suggest to a NT when texting a ND. Are there any social faux passes which might lead to miscommunications? What might be the biggest hurdles, what the source of possible issues? Thank you for your answers! <3

Oh, oh my! Thank you for asking me, I really appreciate it!

Honestly, every ND person is different (as you may or may not expect from humans being different beings) but there are a few things that can tick off any ND from my own experience:

1. Being unclear or expecting us to get it first try - this is one many people don't seem to want to listen to us when we say this, but something I think NTs can do better is maybe explain things when we may not immediately get them. For example, you read in the screenshots an inside joke that Dominic had with Alex. It was sparingly, however, so it wasn't every day he'd say it. Now, was it a bit crude and edgy, saying a race based name as a joke? Absolutely. Do I care? No. It's like if I give someone the N word pass. Anyhow, Alex never said the joke made him feel uncomfortable until he was behind Dom's back chittering with others. He should have really said he wasn't comfortable with the racial joke and Dom would have gladly stopped it. Don't expect us to be mind readers, I'm sure NTs can relate to that somewhat.

2. If you don't want to be our friend, say so. - I notice this more with younger folks rather than people older than me (I'm thinking late 20s early 30s). We gotta stop with the wishy-washy "oh I'm your friend" and turn around and say "I hate you" stuff. I've had that done for so long by many people that I never understood why they would. Had they just been clear and explicitly said "I have problems with you, here's what it is. Fix it or we can't be friends" instead of being all nice to our faces and turning around behind our backs to say "actually X is NOT my friend. They're creepy and manipulative" or something like that. Please understand friends and companions are something we take seriously because we don't usually have a lot of them, if at all.

3. Whatever you do, do NOT start a public call out/shaming campaign - we'd rather you talk to us directly and use the call outs as a last resort. That shouldn't be something that you do because you framed up some kinda image in your head of us and you think we match it (when in reality we're just socially awkward and unaware). Just...save that energy for something else you enjoy. (Unless that's causing drama, which in that case, see a therapist.)

4. Just be kind. - Many of us are used to bullying and being treated like a child just because we are ND, and it's not fair to us or even you. It makes us feel bad and resentful of you, and it may cost you some really good friends who want nothing more than your time and kindness. It's free, after all, to be a good person.

I'm sure I'm missing a lot more, but I'm really only my own voice and if you want to hear more voices about this topic, I'd suggest asking around. You won't be bothering us if you ask questions, and especially me, I don't mind autism questions.

[image is of a pastel rainbow infinity sign, representing neurodiversity]

#mission complete #that autism feel #autism and social life

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wrctings · 4 years ago

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Bill Guarnere x Reader | Not without you

i really wanted to write about bill (of course all my respect goes to the real veteran, this is only based on the show) ❣️ warnings: cursing, strong language

It is with an irritated grunt that you hoist yourself upon one of the stools facing the bar, the heavy sigh that erupts from the depths of your irked mood shattering the frisky and overly-joyful atmosphere that came with off-duty nights of such kind. Under different circumstances, you were certain to have wholeheartedly relished in whatever celebration your friends were engaged in, either joining a heated game of darts — always resulting in the trade of many packs of cigarettes before a crowd of sprightly figures —, or partaking in an often drunken yet dedicated rendition of a song you do not always know the precise lyrics of. But on that evening, even as you recognise many bright faces that you trusted unquestionably and would be sure to spend a good time with among the swarm of uniforms, the exuberant force that would have pulled you straight to them had been receding due the very cause of your acrimony. Namely, Bill Guarnere.

Even though the black-haired man has not yet noticed your coming in, busy downing a beer to Joe Toye and Babe Heffron’s cheering, you had made sure to pinpoint his exact location so as to contrive better ways to escape from the Sergeant’s attention. If you weren’t going to enjoy your night as plentifully as you would have without the incident that had caused your rancour, at least you would rather do so out of sight from the one who ruined it for you.

“Why the long face, Sergeant?”

You dismally swing around your stool, meeting George Luz’s playful grin. As he takes a better look at your indeed disheartened expression, your friend sits beside you, repeating in his best Cpt. Sobel voice:

“Sergeant, if you disobey a direct order by not telling me what’s going on, I’ll cancel all of your weekend passes. Forever.”

With George’s sudden materialisation and comforting humour, your spirits raise slightly and you even crack a smile, catching the gleeful twinkle in the soldier’s eyes. And yet, even with the effervescent talking pounding against your eardrums and the strong wafts of alcohol intertwined with smoke inundating the room from all parts, synonymous to the parties you took such delight in after days of combat and agonising battling against your own fear and torment, you still don’t feel like leaving your corner. In addition to this, Luz’s casual kindness only increases your resentment toward Guarnere.

“What the hell is a weekend pass anyway?” you shoot back, half-amused. Ever since Easy Company made their jump in Normandy, weeks ago, Toccoa Camp and Captain Sobel’s tantrums have seemed so far away. ‘Going back’ now refers to Albourne, which, although not quite being home, nonetheless became a place whose name resonated with a sense of warmth that is always welcome after days of duty.

George makes his pint of beer slide toward you on the surface of the bar counter, as though attempting to cheer you up differently as he notices that your state of mind hasn’t grown much merrier. “Drink up, Y/n. What’s the matter with you? Go get shit-faced while you still can,” he encourages you in a manner not at all subtle.

“Thanks, George.” You comply, thankful, and take a gulp from his drink — the stream of alcohol prickles the inside of your mouth, its hardly-resistible appeal already enticing you to take another sip. “I won’t give this back to you, you know that, right?”

“How dare you, Sergeant, this is United States army property!” The man doesn’t lose an occasion to impersonate Sobel again, this time succeeding in extracting a laugh from you.

“There you are!”

Your attention then gets drawn by another silhouette emerging from the mass of clustered soldiers, striding toward Luz and you while clutching an empty pint of beer in each hand.

“Hey, it’s Joe Toye himself!” George heartily pats his friend on the back. “Coming back for more?”

“Hell yeah,” the other man approves, slamming his load of glasses upon the piece of furniture before him. “Get me another drink, will you?” He shouts toward the man behind the bar, signaling for the private to get him a refill, before turning to you. “So, what are you doing here?” he inquired, bemused. “Why aren’t you out there partying? By that time of the night we’re usually third-wheeling for you and Garno.”

“What?” you almost choke on your beer, staring at Toye in bewilderment.

“Cut the crap, Y/n, we all know about you and Bill,” Joe rolls his eyes, smiling slyly. “He won’t stop looking around any chance he gets, so you better get your ass up there before he loses it.”

“Well why don’t he? If he likes replacing me so much, why don’t he j*rks himself off on his own.” Your stark reply startles both your friends, though Luz interrupts the bitter trail of thoughts that is already running through your mind again.

“What the hell happened back there?” he asks incredulously, taken aback by the sharpness of your tone.

“Shit, I think I know what this is about,” Joe sighs, even ignoring the beers that were just delivered to him. He frowns, trying to piece back together what he thinks may be the reason for your tartness. “Last time we were out fighting Guarno went outta his way to do something Y/n was ordered to. He got yelled at by Lipton for that. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you with us ever since. Not when Bill was around, at least. Is that what’s going on?”

“I—”

“Y/n,” George cut you off insistently, having payed attention to the story. “We already got Krauts tryina kill us, it ain’t gonna make it any easier if some of us turn against each other. Let’s go have fun, okay?” he beseeches you and Toye, glancing at the bustling room.

“Fine, but he ain’t off the hook,” you consented on reflection, seizing the pint that you’ve monopolised from Luz as you hopped off your chair. Now that your friends are by your side, the prospect of facing Bill doesn’t seem as tedious — wickedly tempting, even. You want to come clean with him, to spit out every ounce of anger you’ve been harbouring in his face, or simply ignore him until he isn’t able to take it any longer. Either way, you want to hurt him as much as he hurt you, belittling you in the line of duty without an explanation, without a single word to explain what was going on. If he can push you around this easily, making you look like you aren’t able to handle the situation on your own, then you have nothing to do with him anymore.

“Just try not to kill him right away,” Joe swiftly turns around to give you a quick smile as you follow the two men through the room to the clinking of glass. “We still need men to fight the war, remember?”

Alongside Toye and Luz, you find your way toward the table Babe, Guarnere and Johnny are established at, drinking and talking loudly while their sentences are punctuated by sniggers and exclamations.

“I found some friends of ours who got lost, had to show ‘em the way,” Joe announces humorously as your party stops in its tracks, greeting your fellow paratroopers. You act carefully as to ignore Bill’s gaze, only giving Johnny and Babe a pleased smile, and keep on standing by Luz without coming any closer to Guarnere.

Though a small part of you is itching to witness the puzzled look that makes its way upon the Sergeant’s face when you don’t return his salutation, you refuse to yield to further temptation and join George and Babe’s discussion instead. You hope to make Bill understand that as long as he doesn’t apologise — or at least tries to vindicate his action, if it is possible —, you are going to act as if nothing had ever gone down between you two. But the truth is, some things have gone down between the two of you, which makes it even harder to stifle the painful feeling that you’ve been carrying around ever since your return to England. The faded touch of Guarnere’s lips still haunts yours, the dimmed feel of his hands still runs along your back. Yet the desire to feel them again is checked by the flashing picture of him departing on the double as you and Carwood exchanged a dismayed look, Bill shouting that he could take care of it just as you were about to obey Lipton’s command. Does he really deem you unable to manoeuvre NT? You don’t know how to else construe his gesture — he must have known what he was doing, because you have never ever since anyone else behave this way on the front line. In the field, you do as you are ordered to, without questioning whom your CO delegates tasks.

“Hey, Y/n! D’you remember how that song Babe was hummin’ in his sleep went? When we were in the truck.” Guarnere’s voice however reaches you at last, and this time you have no choice but to finally set your eyes upon him with a glare, sparing him none of your displeasure.

“No,” you answer curtly, shifting your attention back onto whatever Luz is saying. But you do recall how the song went, and your heart falters a little when you imagine Bill’s optimism dying out, the man’s speech growing quieter. If only you could resent him as intensely as he upset you.

You keep your interactions with Bill’s corner of the table to a minimum throughout the evening. Although you have eventually relaxed enough to actually take an active part in the chattering all around you, mostly laughing along and sharing anecdotes with Babe and Luz — who are further away from Guarnere —, your pride is still hurt from the latter’s lack of account for his actions. You had confided in Bill how arduous it had been for you to find a place in the army, let alone rise through the ranks, so his carelessness digs particularly deeply into your sensitivity. He, of all people, should have known how hard you tried, and yet he had disregarded it by treating you as if you weren’t capable enough.

“Well, boys, some people care about a good night’s sleep, so I’m heading off,” you finally declared after finishing your second pint of bear, stretching your arms out before you depart.

“Already, Sarge? Who knows when we’ll get another night like this,” George tries to change your mind, slightly wavering from tipsiness and exhilaration. “C’mon, we ain’t gotta jump tomorrow.”

“Yes, George, but I feel like you’ll end up jumping from tables in a few hours, and I don’t wanna break my neck joining ya,” you joked, patting your friend on the back. “Good night boys, take it easy.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Babe chuckled, contradictorily taking another sip from his drink. “Good night, Y/n. Don’t let the drunks hook up with you on the way.”

“There’s no chance.”

You spin on your heels after wishing your friend to have a good end of night, then heading toward the exit the room while navigating between the tables and inebriated groups of soldiers stumbling by, and disappear inside the corridor meant to lead you outside the building. As the English family that you are quartered with lives nearby, sneaking into their house this late at night isn’t a problem as long as you remain discreet.

When the door closes on you, the buzzing sound of the bubbling men you left behind is still ringing in your ears and the faint smell of smoke hasn’t quite dispersed yet, echoes from the on-going party reverberating in the empty corridor. The aftertaste of alcohol is still burning your tongue, but you shiver, away from the warmth of the packed room where elation is chasing the Battalion’s fears and concerns away — far, far away.

However, you don’t get much time by yourself as the thumping of footsteps arising from the direction you left draws your attention, making you turn around to get yourself acquainted with whoever else is roaming the hallway. You cannot help but scowl as you recognise the man: you didn’t know whether you expected anything from Bill, but now seems to be the time to find out.

“Y/n, wait,” he calls out for you, so you stop — now could be the time to finally get everything off your chest. As he levels with you, Guarnere’s expression appears defensive, worked up. “What the hell is going on with you?” he asks abruptly, and your eyes anchor into each other’s at last. Your anger swells, enlarged by his unawareness.

“What the hell is going on with me?” You snap in response, the muscles of your body stiffening as you attempt to keep yourself steady.

“Yes, what’s your fucking problem!” he immediately retorts, eyebrows severely knitted together. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m sorry Bill, I thought you were too busy trying to prove everyone how tough you are and how good you are and doing other people’s jobs!” you bite back, unable to quench your outburst of rage. “If you think I’m only worth fucking, you better get the hell out of here immediately. Go get laid with someone else, because I was clearly mistaken about you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You can see that Bill is still mad, but confusion mixes in with his aggressive comeback as he tries to make sense of your answer. “I don’t fucking get it!”

“Oh, cut the crap. Like doing my job in my place is not a clear message! I’m perfectly capable of getting TNT on my own, Guarnere,” you stated in a more controlled, but deadlier tone. “I don’t need you to think of me as someone in need of your assistance.”

“Fuck, this is why you’ve been acting so weird?” He understand with a movement from the head, jaw clenched tightly, but his gaze then sets back onto your face.

“Yes, that’s precisely why,” you start again before he gets the chance to defend himself. “If you really think that I can’t handle things on my own in the field, then you’re wrong.”

“I didn’t do it because I thought you couldn’t!” The dark-haired man exclaims indignantly, the modulation of his voice stronger.

“Then what is it? Why the fuck is it, Bill, because I don’t understand!”

“I didn’t go out there because I thought you couldn’t handle it!” He repeats, driven by a virulent impulse. “I did it because that field was brimming with Kraut artillery, and I couldn’t stand the goddamn thought of seeing you collapse among all the other dead bodies!”

His words hit you so forcefully that your next sentence gets caught in your throat, leaving you speechless for the first since Guarnere has joined you. I couldn’t stand the goddamn thought of seeing you collapse among all the other dead bodies.

“That’s right,” The Sergeant continues less harshly, catching his breath. “I ran for that TNT instead of you because I didn’t want you to get killed. There, are you happy now?” Too taken aback to come to your senses right away, you process what Bill is saying. You’ve never heard him confess that he cared about you this much before, though your affection and attachement toward each other have been undeniable. “Don’t ever think that I might consider you a lesser soldier than any of the men in this company,” he goes on, intensely looking into your face. “I damn well know what you’re worth. And...” he hesitates, somewhat flustered, but finally opens his mouth again. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

As Bill speaks, the violent emotions that had previously got a hold of you evolve into something else — something even stronger. Something that drives you to him, that makes you want to stand by his side before the entire world, that reminds you more than ever of all the times you have looked at him, and seen a form of reassurance that you never found anywhere else. He takes a step toward you.

“You can’t die for me, Bill. You can’t. I don’t want to lose you either. But we’re done being stupid now, okay?” you whisper, unable to yell anymore while tears are threatening to well up as you cup his face in your hands. All that you feel at once completely throws you off balance, seemingly both emotionally and physically. “There’s enough fighting out there already.”

“We’re done being stupid.” Guarnere’s voice is now barely more audible than yours, and his comforting touch is soothing you down when he feels like it is safe enough to get closer. “I don’t want to do this without you,” he says.

You kiss, his hands running through your hair as you let yourself go to him, pressed against the comforting steadiness of his chest, the fabric of his uniform filled with the warmth of his body. After such a tumultuous night, exhaustion doesn’t take long to descend upon you, but what hits you most is another sudden realisation — you are falling in love with Bill Guarnere. You have been for days.

The dark-haired man takes you into his arms after your lips break apart, hugging you tightly as he kisses the top of your head, and holds you closely. “Do you wanna go to sleep?” he murmurs, feeling you fully lean into him. “I can walk you to your house, or I know a spot where no one will walk on us.”

“Let’s do that,” you approve against his torso, before adding: “I want to be with you.” You want him to know how much you care about him too.

“Okay, then come with me. No one should be able to find us.” He takes your hand, leading you through the dark, and is cautious to make sure that you aren’t seen.

Later that might, when you finally fall asleep, it is by Bill’s side. And, long after your eyes are shut and sleepiness has taken you both into its realm, you can still unconsciously feel the man’s heart beating inside his chest, pressed against your back.

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #bill guarnere imagine #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #BoB #writing #bandofbrothers #band of brothers imagines #my writing

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

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request: “Nice! I really want to see a Muku and Juza dating HC (they are my favourites and they are cousins too do syajdn)” — @meegeemee26

i love muku & juza’s dynamic as cousins! i think they’re so cute and have the best sibling–esque relationship ever so i’m glad to write for both of them~ sorry for the delay, i hope you love it!!!

summary: who said romance couldn’t be a little cliché?

warnings: fighting, robbery, tripping

author’s note: i found it funny how similar i thought muku and juza would act as boyfriends~ just a small thing to point out! nothing to say except i researched every shoujo manga cliché in the book i swear... expect All Of Them in muku’s (i apologize for using kabedon T___T, that is all)

word count: 5,105 (total) — 2,698 (muku), 2,407 (juza)

music: adore u – seventeen (muku), dumb dumb – jane jang, giant pink perc%nt (juza)

clichés.

🌻👑 sakisaka muku

muku felt like he was in a shoujo manga

except, you were the bishounen prince!

you were a shoujp cliché: you were st. flora’s resident prince~ you were treated as royalty and had the largest following ever known to the school

you could say muku was apart of your fanclub, apart of the adoring students who crowded around you with presents and gifts just to see how cool & suave you were

although he always admired from afar, muku definitely dropped everything he was doing to watch how effortlessly awesome you were at making everyone fall at your feet and swoon over your natural charisma and charm

he wanted to be just like you! you were just like a manga prince, muku wanted to learn everything about being the most popular student at st. flora and become the shoujo prince he always wanted to be!

but, you were always with someone. whether it be at your locker and spilling tons of flowers & chocolates on the ground, or signing autographs at lunch with a flawless smile, or even competing at seasonal schoolwide events and winning without fail, you were never alone

muku wanted to be friends with you! you were so cool and everything he aspired to achieve, but he resigned himself to complimenting you to others and making heart eyes across the room at your dreamy persona

it wasn’t until he was walking to class before he tripped, bracing himself to hit the floor but to no avail. instead, a strong arm was wrapped around his waist as he heard the loud slam of a hand beside his head. he was being leaned against a wall, it couldn’t be...

when muku opened his eyes, his books pressed tight against his chest, he swore you sparkled in the sunlight. oh my god, you were basically pinning him to the wall! you had your arm outstretched to support him as you looked down on him like the true royalty you were

you had did it! it was muku’s first kabedon!!! (experiencing the sound a character’s hand makes when it slams into the wall and pins the protagonist to the wall)

“uwah... you saved me...” muku was amazed, practically speechless. everyone at st.flora’s crush was holding him in their arms. he wanted to squeal and roll around on the ground, he knew his cheeks were red and his eyes were hearts but he liked you so much! you were a real prince!

you smiled, like you’ve done this a thousand times before you gently let him go, helping muku steady to his feet while insisting on carrying his books to class

“i’m so glad you’re not hurt~ a cute baby face like yours must be protected at all costs!” you sweetly said, and muku’s heart skipped a beat. he couldn’t believe it, you, his crush, were helping him! you wanted to talk to him, he must’ve hit his head and gone to heaven because this could not be real!!!

“muku, right?” you carefully asked, adjusting the grip on his bag as you made sure nothing fell. the corridor was filled with hushed whispers and jealous rumors swirling past the duo. both you and muku walking to the same homeroom class that morning, easily making comfortable conversation despite muku’s shyness

“you know my name?!” muku squeaked, unaware you even knew who he was. you giggled, brushing your hair out of your face as you smiled, a light blush dusted across your nose at the shock

“of course, i’ve gone to your track meets before, you’re so fast~” you complimented, going to pat his head with sincere affection. muku nearly passed out—his crush used to go to his matches! his crush just said he was fast! was he, oh my god, your friend?!

“i... i, thank you! i’ll become even faster for you!” muku spluttered, trying to get the right words out as he nervously glanced down at his uniform, trying to keep his composure. how were you so cool? you effortlessly laughed, shaking your head with absolute kindness as you waved hello to the underclassmen practically begging for your attention

“no need, muku! i like you the way you are, it’s so nice to finally talk in person.” you comforted, walking side by side as you two had the entire school’s attention. every student was gossiping, wondering how muku was friends with the school prince

muku was about to become overwhelmed with all the praise he was getting! flustered, muku shyly laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye–contact even though both of you were in the same grade

you weren’t his senior by any means, you were just so popular it felt like you were in a completely different social level

muku couldn’t believe it! you, the most popular prince with the biggest fanclub ever, was walking him to class! it was the most perfect day ever, he wished he fell more just so you could catch him!

when you two arrived, muku couldn’t help but feel disappointed. you must’ve noticed, because you hummed a concerned tone as you rested your hand on muku’s shoulder, looking at him like he was the only person in the world (muku swore he was never going to wash his uniform ever again)

“muku? are you alright? i can take you to the nurse if you’d like.” you offered and muku’s lovesick heart almost said yes even though he was completely okay, he just wanted to be by your side again

“n–no! i’m okay! thank you so much!” muku slightly bowed his head, trying to show respect as you placed his books at his desk and strapped his bag around the back of the chair with ease (oh my gosh, you knew his desk?! you knew where he sat?)

“call for me anytime you want to chat, muku! you’re such a nice person!” you said before you went to your seat in the front row, immediately getting surrounded by your fans and friends alike as they all fought for your undivided attention

muku let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, dropping in his seat and focusing on the board to remain as invisible as possible. his heart was pounding rapidly against his chest, his hands were shaking, and muku was sure his whole face was red and sweating from the short encounter

you knew he existed! you knew his name! you knew you two shared the same homeroom! you even knew he used to be on track and came to his meets! muku put his hands against his cheeks, trying not to scream as he felt how hot his face was. you knew he was a real person!!!

unknowing to muku, you barely focused on the crowd as your eyes naturally fell upon muku’s frame, smiling and missing the way everyone swooned over your affectionate expression

(“who are they smiling at?! i bet it’s at me!” “no, they’re clearly looking at me, do they like me?!” “aaa!!! our prince is so cool and royal, we’re so lucky to be graced with a smile!”)

you always liked muku, you found him to be so cute and adorable that you wanted to be friends. but, muku was an anxious wallflower who didn’t want to have the whole school know who he was. you wanted to support him, but you were uncertain on how your reputation as “st. flora’s prince” would affect him

but rescuing muku this morning was necessary, you didn’t hesistate to drop your items before running down the stairs to catch the cute boy. when he opened his shiny blue eyes with a fond but shy smile, your heart soared and it felt like meeting prince charming for the first time

his pink hair was soft, like cotton candy. muku was made of everything sugary sweet and nice, you wondered why he didn’t follow you like the others. you wanted his adoration, his love, his romance because he was so cute!

you looked at muku again and smiled when you caught his eye, holding in a light laugh when he nearly yelped and looked straight down at his paper, hiding his shaking hands in his lap with an extremely embarrassed blush

you wanted to be friends with the nicest boy at st. flora!

the next time you talked to muku was during gym. you had finished sprinting your last lap, accepting a water bottle from someone as you took a chug, automatically looking around for a certain pink–haired boy

he was no where in sight, before you remembered how he significantly finished the mile much faster than you. you told your friends you were going to change, leaving the field with a peace sign as your fans collectively broke into excited squeals

you were about to go searching before you caught sight of muku’s book bag, turning your head to see he was reading something under the bleachers

you casually went over, dropping down next to him despite being sweaty from the run. muku jumped, tensing up once he saw it was you as he smiled nervously, shutting his book quickly

“hi! you did so well on the run today, muku!” you praised him, leaning over to look at the cover of what he was reading, not noticing how red his face was from how close you two were

“oh? you read manga?” you innocently asked, noticing the sparkles and roses decorating the front cover as muku put it back in his bag in a hurry, laughing nervously as he tried to make up every excuse

“n–no, not at all! i’m just, i um... i found it!” muku blabbered, not sounding very convincing as you slowly nodded, trying to comprehend whatever he was saying. you just looked again and shrugged

“that’s too bad~ i, myself, really enjoy that series, i haven’t read the latest volume yet, though.” you sighed, pretending to push yourself up before muku caught your wrist in his soft hand with a surprisingly strong grip, you felt your heart nearly explode with confetti

“you can read it! i just finished, actually! i love it, i didn’t know you liked manga, too!!!” muku quickly offered it to you, and you carefully took it to make sure you didn’t bend or damage the pristine copy. muku really took care of his manga, huh?

“muku! you’re the best!” you exclaimed, pulling him into an one–armed hug. his uniform shirt was ironed to perfection and smelled like flowers, just like what you thought! you turned your head to grin at him, but pouted when you saw him freeze up

“muku? are you okay?” you asked, unintentionally moving in closer as you examined his red face. muku.exe had stopped working all because you were too cute for your own good!

you glanced at his lips, about to ask if this was okay, but...

before you two knew it, the bell rang as the clasd started heading back inside to the gymnasium. you stood up this time, holding your hand out with a wink like an elegant prince would

“let’s go back in~ i’ll walk you to class!” you offered again, excited when he gently took your hand and walked side by side. it didn’t take long before you began waiting outside his classroom door when the schedules differed, automatically taking his books and asking muku about his day

one day, it wasn’t until muku was at his shoe locker until he noticed a heart–shaped love letter placed inside. as always, he opened it, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering from the familiar signature

“meet me at the school rooftop, i have something i want to confess — your secret admirer ♡”

muku had been receiving small letters and gifts from the same person who signed their items with a heart at the end. for some reason, muku treasured this anonymous person much more than he’d like to admit; they brought up details only a friend would notice, gave thoughtful gifts that actually related to his true personality, and made him smile for the entire day

so when muku came up to the rooftop after school that day, he didn’t expect to see you waiting for him with another white envelope with a heart–shaped sticker holding it closed

“please accept my letter~” you held it out with both hands, trying to stop your hands from shaking as you smiled. muku stood there, jaw dropped from the shock as his head started spinning

how could you, the person he liked so much, end up liking him back?! he wasn’t a prince like you, but here you were, taking him to the school rooftop to confess your feelings like you were afraid he was going to reject you

“you like me?” muku choked out, staring at the letter as the sun started setting, the golden sunlight illuminating your shadow as you nodded, your confidence beginning to falter when you noticed how flustered muku was

“i like you, muku.” you confessed, about to put your hands down before muku pulled you into an abrupt hug, causing you to drop the letter as he put his head on top of yours

“i like you so much, i like you, too.” muku mumbled, keeping you in his arms as he leaned back to place a very gentle kiss on your cheek

as the polite and nice prince, you continued being constantly kind and proper to every student, but reserved much more affection and love towards your boyfriend, muku

but he liked doing everything a prince would do for you: buying you bouquets of red roses, gently holding your hand through the hallways, cheering you on the loudest at events, baking you chocolates on valentine’s day, making you bento boxes for lunch out of the goodness of his heart

he was much more of a prince than you could have ever been!

muku liked serving you like you were the ruler of his kingdom. to him, you weren’t just any prince, you were the monarch of his heart and he was your faithful, valiant knight that would have done anything to protect you

but sometimes, he got insecure over if he was good for you. you were so cool and loved by everyone, so he doubted why you even liked him when you could have dated anyone in the entire school

“i don’t understand... why do you like me?” muku once asked, shyly staring down at his feet as you whipped your head towards him in shock, stopping yourself from eating lunch. you two were sitting underneath the cherry blossom tree on top of the hill, alone as you stared at him, trying to understand why he’d ever self–deperecate on himself when he was the sweetest boy alive!

you were about to respond with all the reasons why before you stood up, about to go on a rant before you accidentally tripped over your own shoe lace. you accepted the fate you were assigned: which was falling onto the dirt before a strong arm looped around your waist, a hand slamming into the tree bark to keep you from falling

it felt like the first time rescuing muku all over again, except this time, you were the one being saved. you opened your eyes and smiled, kissing him on the lips before pulling back. muku was sparkling like a 90s glitter shoujo scene, making you swoon for your perfect boyfriend

“that’s why i like you, because you’re my prince.” you said, brushing your hand through his hair like you couldn’t believe you were in his arms. before you knew it, muku picked you up princess–style and gathered the bags with ease (you always forgot how strong he really was)

“muku! put me down!” you giggled, ignoring your own blushing cheeks as you playfully slapped his arm. muku just continued down the hill, turning to look at you with all the love and devotion in the world

“i can’t, you’re my prince.” muku winked this time, and carried you to school as the cherry blossom petals fluttered around you, your love blooming like the spring season

you were st. flora’s prince, but muku was your prince forever & always

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

juza didn’t let anyone pull anything on one of his own, especially you

the first time juza met you was when he was going out at night to buy some extra supplies for the dorms. he heard someone yelling before he snuck into the dark alleyway, catching sight of a robber that stole your bag

without warning, the robber slumped to the ground as juza knocked them out with one punch, not hesitating to let them fall as he picked up the bag and turned towards you, who was sprinting down the sidewalk panting as you gratefully smiled at him

“thank you so much, you completely saved my bag!” you said, not reacting to his serious expression. juza blanked as you took your bag back, self consciously pulling his hat lower over his eyes as he glanced at you

weren’t you scared of him? he was wearing a dark jacket with the hood over his baseball cap, with his sharp piercing yellow eyes staring at you. he knew he looked like the big bad wolf, but you just smiled at him and oh—you were saying something?

“—where were you going at this time of night?” you asked, ignoring the passed out man on the ground as you examined your bag to see if anything was missing. juza glanced at the convenience store down the street, unable to miss its bright LED lights as he tilted his head towards the store

you noticed his hands shoved in his pockets, but he must have been fidgeting the way he was avoiding your eyes. he didn’t look like he was an adult, like a rebellious teenager who ended up scared of the dark

you clapped your hands together, excited from the coincidence. “me too! do you want to go together?” you offered, walking towards the store as juza trailed behind you, unsure of how to react or respond to your lack of distrust against him

you two entered the store like you were friends. although it was the first time you had ever met, you talked to him casually like you two had known each other for years as you got two carts, giving him the other as he forced out a quiet “thank you” embarrassingly enough

walking down the aisles, you liked pointing out foods you thought he’d enjoy. he had a rogue, tough thug reputation even if it didn’t seem like he had a bad bone in his body. in fact, his grim expression the first time you saw him was gone now, instead he looked... flustered... as he just nodded at your suggestions

you hummed, considering your options as you glanced back at the tall boy. he didn’t seem to be interested in any of the bitter, dry snacks. in fact, he even grimanced at one of your recommendations but quickly masked it with his stoice features once again

it wasn’t until you walked past an ice cream freezer towards the back of the store that his eyes lit up. you grinned, knowing you had discovered an unlikely trait of your savior’s taste palette as you smiled

“do you want some ice cream, uh...” you trailed off, unaware you never got the stranger’s name. he shuffled around, looking around to see if anyone was watching you two before he sighed, nodding like it took all his energy to admit he wanted something sweet

“juza.” juza stated, not saying anymore as you nodded, opening the freezer and feeling the cold brisk air hit your face

“okay, juza! what’s your favorite flavor?” you asked, taking two out of the fridge as he responded bashfully. juza glanced around again, like he was oddly nervous for the first time as you shut the freezer with the two best ice creams in the house

“bingo! come on, i’ll pay.” you insisted, hurrying to the register to greet the tired cashier, who boredly scanned your items without another word

before you could pay, juza slapped multiple bills onto the counter, making both you and the employee jump from the sudden sound as juza just stared down at the worker

“juza... it’s—” you were about to put your own money on the table but juza just shook his head, not offering an explanation as he took the change (but tipped the cashier regardless, wow, he really was nice)

you and juza sat outside the 24/7 convenience store on the bench, placing both your grocery bags down beside you. the plastic red happy face staring back at you rustled in the light night winds as you two opened your ice creams with childish excitement

unexpectedly, juza began wolfing down the treat without warning, sparing no modesty as he indulged. you almost giggled at how cute he was acting, like his true personality that loved anything sweet didn’t match up with his gangster appearance at all

juza paused when he noticed you weren’t eating, holding the stick mid–air like he hadn’t noticed you were there. juza cleared his throat, about to make up some excuse before you ruffled his hair, smiling again

“you’re so funny, juza! let’s do this again, sometime!” you said, retracting your hand when you were aware of how red his cheeks were. juza didn’t respond, just stared as you rummaged through your bag to pull out a pen with an “aha!” as you looked at him expectantly

juza blanked. did you want something? what did you want? before juza could ask, you just took his hand and his entire body froze. he shutdown, he had no idea how to react, why wasn’t he pulling away?

you scribbled a set of numbers, writing your name below the phone number as you doodled a smiley face on his hand. you pushed his hand back, letting him regain his consciousness as juza blinked rapidly, trying to keep his composure

“text me, okay?” juza just nodded as you gathered your things to go home, saying goodnight as you were about to walk away. juza quickly got back to his senses as he took his own bags in a hurry, rushing over to you as you looked back with surprise

“did you forget—” you were about to ask before juza shook his head, trying to find the right words as he let out an exasperated sigh

“it’s dangerous at night. let me walk you home.” juza demanded, giving no room for arguments as you fondly ruffled his hair again, laughing when he had enough sense to whack your hand away lightly

you two walked to your house, and as soon as juza arrived home with the snacks, he texted you

juza: i never got your name. let’s go out again tomorrow.

you agreed, not knowing how badly he reacted to you sending “it’s a date” as he flopped onto his bed. juza hid his blush in his pillow, kicking his legs uselessly as banri just figured he had a cold or something

you two began having daily night visits to the local convenience store, becoming regulars as you two shared your favorite snacks

you were never scared to be out at night anymore since juza was intimidating enough. anywhere you went, all juza had to do was glare at them unintentionally for everyone to leave you two alone at night

(it was hard to explain to juza he had a natural resting bitch face, though he didn’t buy it)

one night, juza was walking you home again but this time, you guys were taking your favorite route. it was the one along the common park, where the only thing that illuminated the streets besides the lamps were the bright vending machines at every corner

you stopped by one, insisting on having juza taste this coffee brand by dragging him by his arm. you didn’t even have to describe it before he already pushed in a coin for you, refusing to let you pay for anything even if it hurt his wallet

you didn’t even question it at this point anymore. you punched in the number and took it from the machine, popping it open with a smile as you held it out to him

“come on, juza! just one sip, that’s all~” you begged, putting on your best high–pitched cute voice and puppy dog eyes just for him to budge. he protested, saying it never worked on him, but juza begrudgingly took the can and sipped, immediately grimancing

“why do you drink such bitter coffee?!” juza spluttered, trying not to spit it out as you laughed, taking it back. you had paid for a strawberry milk this time, passing it to him as an offering of forgiveness. juza just pretended to glare at you as he quickly took the drink, too distracted by the gross taste to question why you paid

sitting down on the bench, you and juza quietly observed the homely street, underneath the flickering street light as the odd car drove by every now and then

“you know, you’ll have to get used to what i like if we’re dating.” you joked, nudging his arm but juza whipped his head towards you with an alarmed look, like he completely missed something

“wait... are we dating?” juza asked innocently, oblivious to the fact he had been going on night dates with you for the past month

you blanked, staring at him with the most incredulous expression ever as it took all your power to not burst out into laughing right then and there

“juza...” you started, trying to keep your face serious as he just owlishly blinked at you, still holding onto his tiny carton of strawberry milk in his huge hands. it was comically gold, but you pushed through, trying to not scare him off

“when i said these were dates... what did you think i meant?” you slowly enunciated as juza’s mind flashed back to all the texts you said confirming if these were dates, and he just agreed without thinking it over

oh my god. juza had been going steady with you, and he hadn’t even realized it

“oh.” juza just said, and he wanted to smack his hand against his forehead. he had been so dense! all these times, all his gestures, of course you thought you two were dating, it’s everything a boyfriend would do!

“juza, it’s okay, we don’t—” you dejectedly started, hiding your disappointment at misreading the signs as juza shook his head, placing his drink down as he fully turned his body towards you

“no, no. let’s date, i want to—” juza insisted, holding onto your wrist before you tugged him in and kissed his strawberry lips gently, afraid he was going to run away and close himself off

when juza quickly pulled back, your heart dropped. was it too soon? did you move too fast? oh no, did juza hate you? what could you do to apologize? before you could profusely say sorry, juza grimanced again as he wiped his lips

“ugh... black coffee.” juza grumbled, muttering something about how you just had to torture him before you snickered with relief, thankful he just hated savory foods and not you

(next time he bought you something was strawberry chapstick, you use it every day)

from that moment forward, it felt like a new relationship. now that juza was aware you two were dating, he did everything in his power to make sure you didn’t left a finger

he was the type to lay his jacket down across a puddle just so you could walk across (despite just being able to walk around it), he shared half of whatever he ate with you even if it was his favorite, and he began picking you up at your house with his motorcycle (he even got a customized helmet for you and always strapped it tight before speeding off) (under the speed limit of course)

(juza even tried liking bitter food, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it no matter how many times he saw you eat it)

it was as if the night was to claim as your own, where no one could disturb the new couple as you two had all the time in the world to hang out and discover more local areas to gaze up at the stars

juza was dense, but he tried his best in every way he could to show he cared about you. that still included paying for you every chance he got, and one time, when you asked where all his money came from, his nonchalant answer almost made you turn the entire vehicle around

“fights?!” you exclaimed, shocking juza to skid to a stop in the middle of the road as he glanced at you with wide eyes. he looked surprised at your angry reaction, frowning in confusion

“yeah, people like betting and i always win, so.” juza reasoned, but it literally made no sense to you as you smacked his arm for real this time, not even feeling sorry as he winced and complained about how he regretted teaching you self defense

“juza! you hate fighting!” you were appalled, knowing your boyfriend was never interested in fighting and people only approached him because of his street cred. he was truly a gangster, but he didn’t care about it, just wanted to see you and have some sugar

“yeah, but they make good money.” juza shrugged, about to drive off again before you yanked on his helmet strap, pulling him back as you narrowed your eyes at him

“no more fights, got it? i love you, not your money.” you said but it was too late. juza shifted his head so he was looking over his shoulder with a flustered blush across his nose

“you... you love me?” juza choked out, as if he couldn’t believe it. you were mortified, unable to believe you just let the l–word out like that before he had an attempt at a smile

“i, i love you, too.” juza mumbled, pretending like his first love confession wasn’t a big deal as he didn’t give you time to respond, just driving off into the night with the load roar of his engine

you responded by wrapping your arms around his waist, leaning your head on his shoulder with a wide smile. juza didn’t need any more answers, just wanted to keep you safe as you two drove to your next date

you were definitely one of his own, even more than that, now

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child-of-peace · 4 years ago

Text

So I was watching Fitzsimmons clips on YouTube, and noticed a scene I had quite forgotten existed (given that I watched the first season in one day with my friends, it’s no surprise I didn’t remember this part) but I wanted to talk a bit about 1x20. (This will be an in-depth Fitz-centric analysis of that scene, just to let you know.)

I’d like to make clear from the outset, this is completely my own opinion based on my own experiences. Other people may read the scene differently and that is completely their own opinion and I respect that.

I’m autistic myself and I headcanon that both Jemma and Fitz are autistic too (though really it should be canon with all the signs they’ve given us throughout the show). The clip I saw was of Fitz very clearly having a meltdown, but because the video I was watching was only about Fitzsimmons + every time they say each other’s names, the clip only showed a couple of seconds of it. So I found the episode in question and looked for the scene.

For anyone who plans to watch the show and has not already seen this episode or heard any spoilers for it (though how you’ve managed to avoid spoilers, I have no clue!), I’m about to reveal one of the biggest spoilers for Season 1, so maybe just scroll past this post.

Anyway, so in the scene we see Fitz, Coulson and Trip standing by whilst Jemma is doing an autopsy on the dude who, as this scene later reveals was killed by Ward. Fitz clearly saw Ward as a big brother kind of figure and as we all know, was unwilling to believe Ward was capable of this.

Throughout the early parts of the scene, Fitz is displaying some of the “signs of distress” (as noted by the National Autistic Society) which can be seen as a precursor to a meltdown: pacing, repetitive questioning and even, as Jemma is giving her report, going completely still. Also, when he talks to Trip and Trip puts his hand on Fitz’s shoulder (terrible decision), Fitz pushes him away saying “Don’t touch me.” (This likely would’ve made Fitz more overwhelmed because contact can be Bad especially from a near stranger when you’re close to/having a meltdown.)

The meltdown itself doesn’t hit until Jemma says “Ward did this.” You can see beforehand, she is hesitant to say anything, partially because she can tell Fitz is getting overwhelmed, but she has a job to do. The next moment, Fitz flings something metal across the room and pushes everything off the nearby surface, because this information is too much, because it’s bad, bad, bad and he’s overwhelmed.

Jemma knows what’s going on. Of course she does. They’ve been best friends for eight years by this point, this is certainly not the first meltdown either of them have had in front of each other. Each autistic person has their own rules about what works for them and what doesn’t when they’re having a meltdown. So Fitzsimmons probably have a routine, little things they do to calm each other down, such as the hand-on-shoulder thing which they do all the time to comfort one another. The hand-on-shoulder thing in and of itself is important because it’s a somewhat safe place to touch and familiar for them and if the comforted party needs more, they can go for a hug, if that’s enough, they can put their hand on the comforter’s and if it’s too much, they can easily move away. This shows they have their rituals.

Whilst Coulson and Trip are shocked at Fitz’s “sudden” outburst, Jemma gasps at the noise, but then immediately steps towards him. She knows what she’s doing. She calls out his name, and when he starts hitting the wall (which is something that will cause him pain), she reaches for him (this is a bad idea unless you are sure the other person is comfortable with it) and she tries to stop him from hurting himself by moving him away from the wall.

Here’s where it goes wrong. Now to be clear, I don’t think that’s through any fault of the writers or the actors here, but rather, the reaction from a neurotypical (or at the very least allistic) character is very real and true to what can happen in real life, and therein lies the problem. Coulson gets involved.

Coulson clearly views this as a fit of rage or something to that effect, and therefore, his reaction is to treat Fitz as a younger colleague who has lost control of his emotions due to anger and is now acting out, rather than recognising what Jemma does: that Fitz is not okay. When Fitz leans over the table, Jemma puts her hand on his shoulder; familiar, safe. But then Coulson is there, by his side, saying, “We need to hold it together, listen” as though this is something that Fitz can control, like all he needs to do is put a lid on his “temper”; bad, bad, bad.

To hear this as a response to a meltdown will not help you to calm down. It’ll only make you more stressed. This is shown when Fitz, after Coulson says this, hits out, knocking something else off the table. Jemma’s crying. She doesn’t know how to help Fitz because this is their boss stood in front of them, and what can she say in front of him. She can’t tell him to back off and give Fitz space. She can’t tell him that he’s not helping. All she can do is watch as her best friend struggles. The only support she can offer is her hand on his shoulder.

“All that anger, all that pain, you need to hold it in and focus on Skye.” Pain, yes. Anger, no. He’s not angry. He’s overwhelmed. Holding it in won’t help and is certainly not healthy at all for him. And as for focusing, it is so hard to focus on something else when your brain is still struggling to process one piece of information. And Coulson doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop trying to “motivate” Fitz into redirecting his “anger”. And when Fitz doesn’t respond, because he’s trying to calm himself down so that he doesn’t feel like he’s a hindrance to his team like his father probably led him to believe, Coulson grabs his shoulder (not roughly) and pulls him up so that Fitz will look at him. Fitz lets him, because what else can he do, this is his superior and his father most likely drilled some bullshit into his mind before he was ten, but he doesn’t look at Coulson’s face.

Fitz, in his overwhelmed state, cannot stand to make eye contact or even attempt to pretend to make eye contact. Instead, he averts his gaze, keeping it low, as Coulson tells him what he needs from him. Then Fitz meets Coulson’s eyes when Coulson says “can you do that?” To a neurotypical, maybe this sounds like an “I need you to do this for me, cool?” (I wouldn’t know) but from an autistic perspective, this sounds like “are you capable of doing that?”. This, therefore, to Fitz sounds like Coulson is saying “your autism is getting in the way of your work and your inability to maintain the standards a neurotypical would be able to maintain makes me question whether or not you are suitable for this job”. Of course, that isn’t what Coulson is trying to say, but for Fitz? Fitz, whose father called him stupid and incapable when he was young. Fitz, whose peers mocked and isolated him. Fitz, who struggles to open up and forces himself into being someone else around NTs because, in his experience, they don’t understand him and many won’t even try. Fitz takes this as a reprimand.

So he nods, because he can’t speak right now, but he’ll be the person they need right now. Because if he isn’t, will they give up on him? Fitz leaves the room, head hung low, Jemma just behind him.

There is no follow-up to this scene, but I imagine that, when it was just him and Jemma, his meltdown struck properly. And, as far as I can remember (which apparently isn’t very far), he doesn’t have a meltdown like this in front of his team again (with the exception of Jemma’s disappearance, when he lost the one person who understood him/the love of his life, but even then, with witnesses, his meltdowns seem contained), most likely a result of this and the trauma he still carries from his childhood.

You can find the scene in question on YouTube here.

TL;DR: In my opinion, Jemma’s interaction with Fitz during his meltdown in this scene was based on years of friendship and trust and actually listening to what he needs. Coulson’s interactions with Fitz, while well-meaning, were probably more damaging than helpful. If you have an autistic friend/family member, find out what their specific needs are when they have a meltdown, and try to keep a calm voice and don’t overwhelm them.

I’d like to make clear here, that I love Coulson as a character, I just think he reacted badly in this scene because he didn’t recognise what was happening. Plus, Coulson is completely justified in wanting to help Daisy (Skye), but he’d have better luck if he let Fitz calm down and sort his thoughts out first!

#MAOS #Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD #Leo Fitz #Jemma Simmons #Fitzsimmons #Phil Coulson #Antoine Triplett #1x20 #Actually Autistic #Meltdowns #I wrote more on this than I’ve ever written in an English essay...#This may not be the most coherent thing I've ever written #But I hope you still like it

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luminescentlyricist · 4 years ago

Note

VD: y⊙ur turn, buddy :o)8 (if y⊙u want t⊙, that is)

VD: n⊙ full ⊙n pr⊙mpt, but h⊙w ab⊙ut just s⊙me b⊙nding? maybe putting my makeup ⊙n ⊙r fixing up my hair, y⊙u kn⊙w, getting int⊙ the r⊙utine. can g⊙ any directi⊙n y⊙u want, ⊙r y⊙u can use an entire different pr⊙mpt. i just want t⊙ hear y⊙ur take ⊙n me :o)8

;; Gotcha!! Hope you like this :o)

🃏A Road To Recovery ⊙

Being the newest troll in the circus troupe, as unintentional as it was, Jezakk often stood out like a sore thumb when it came to showcasing his skillsets. He was unbearably graceless, even though he had never adorned the classical shoes that the clowns seemed so fond of. He left trails in his wake, whether or not it was a physical presence. Scent trails, more often than not, that were unbearably easy for a certain other troll to pick up on. While the tinkerer had never established himself as a sociable troll, he kept himself silent despite his yearnings for interaction of any kind. It was a strange fear that helped him maintain his otherwise unassuming nature, though it did nothing to deter one Othamo Oculus. If anything, the smaller of the two had the feeling he was being watched around a corner more often than not, regardless of Othamo’s lack of sight.

Then, there was always the heaviness. Although noticeably thinner and smaller in stature when compared to the other purplebloods around him, there was an uneasy leadening feeling that occasionally swept him, and it was nothing that he could yet explain. Of course, there were quite a lot of things that he had failed to glean from his short time in the facility, when he was conscious. The only conclusion he could draw was that it was a power-based backlash from his time as Othamo’s chucklevoodoo puppet. Jezakk felt there were also things that he had been told then, critically, that his amnesia - as a result of the unfortunate puppetry - had made him forget.

This was one of those times that he didn’t want to forget. Jezakk sat out in the hallways leading to one room of the Mordant King, the ringmaster of the whole group and undisputed Lord of the Circus. Panton Magnic was his name, but that title had been long since forgotten in favour of raw greed and want to establish his power with a title. Sometimes, his tinkerer mused that Othamo was no longer the main puppeteer of the troupe. He fidgeted restlessly with the small golden pendant he had been given on his first day, twisting it around in his claws and glancing downwards to catch the Capries as it flashed in the light of the windows. These windows, Jezakk thought, were unnecessarily large, and depicted circus acts in manners more suited to scenes of the Sufferer’s preaching than entertainments.

He looked around himself, heart beginning to pound in his chest. Panton’s name was the only memory he had retained from the many-sweep-long amnesia, and he wasn’t sure why. It barely mattered. If he shared it with anyone, he feared being exiled from the troupe and never seeing Sealdad again. And the healing of his father’s injury was exactly what landed him in the troupe in the first place. It was strange how desperate he had once been to get into the area, because all he wanted now was to escape. But there was a moral dilemma to deal with, and that was the fact that he would have to choose between his friend and his father if he wanted to get out. As much as Othamo gave Jezakk the creeps, he remained one of the lucky few that held his attention for long enough.

There were vaguely familiar voices behind the door, those of Ferrum and Mierle, two of the other purplebloods that he often crossed paths with. They were friendly enough, but he was wary nonetheless. Tilting his head and standing, he realised that there was no way he was going to hear the conversation. After a few moments, they exited together, looking quite shaken. Laughing dryly to himself, Jezakk shivered in anticipation and dread. He’d not been looking forward to any sort of meeting with the ringmaster, and the unnaturally hesitant appearances of the other trolls did nothing to reassure him. Smiling at them as they passed, he forced his hands to his sides and entered the room without waiting for Panton to call him through.

First mistake.

There was something unnerving about the way that Panton swivelled on his heel to greet the other, and the calm smile that he wore did nothing to soften the sharpness in his gaze. Something told Jezakk silently to turn tail - literally, as it squeezed around his waist tight enough to hurt - and get out of there before he was sliced into. Instead, the tinkerer bowed his head to show his respect, stepping forward. Despite his acquaintances’ nervousness, the naive tinkerer saw next-to-nothing that he should have been concerned about until the ringmaster raised an eyebrow, clasping his hands in front of his body neatly and beginning to speak. His tone was soft and disarming, made to rekindle a false sense of security. Although the smaller knew this, he couldn’t help but begin to let his guard down.

“Y/o\)u( KN/o\W, JEZAKK, I’VE BEEN THINKING AB/o\)u(t Y/o\)u( RECENTLY.”

This caused Jezakk’s eyebrows to raise in alarm, but he was otherwise still. He’d had to work on suppressing his fidgeting in fear of irritating the other troupe members, which had also caused him to unintentionally become skilled in preventing general movements and emotional displays. Raising his head to look at Panton, he remained silent.

“THERE’S A SMALL J/o\B I WANT Y/o\)u( T/o\ D/o\ F/o\R ME, AND THERE IS N/o\ /o\NE ELSE Q)u(ITE S)u(ITED F)o(R IT. Y/o\)u( ARE FAMILIAR WITH THE BEES, I TR)u(ST? I HAVE SPENT AN ADMITTEDLY L/o\NG TIME SEARCHING F/o\R S/o\ME/o\NE WILLING T/o\ C)u(LTIVATE THEIR H/o\NEY, AND I HAVE N/o\W C/o\ME T/o\ A RECENT F/o\REG/o\NE C/o\NCLUSI/o\N THAT Y/o\)u( MAY J)u(ST BE THE PERFECT CANDIDATE.”

Jezakk often spoke without foreseeing consequence, and lacked much of a social filter. It proved itself a dire slip to make more often than not.

“I’Ll do IT, sir.”

Panton’s smile widened, showing off rows of teeth more suited to a shark than any troll. It was less comforting than it was menacing, and the ringmaster’s next words sent a chill through his subordinate’s whole body for no clear reason.

“AH, GOOD! I AM S/o\ GLAD I F/o\UND Y/o\)u(, JEZAKK. Y/o\)u( START IMMEDIATELY, N/o\ Q)u(ESTI/o\NS ASKED. ASK /o\C)u(L)u(S F/o\R ASSISTANCE IF Y/o\)u( M)u(ST AND BEAR IN MIND THE AM/o\)u(NT /o\f FAITH I AM PLACING HERE. D/o\ N/o\T BREAK IT, F/o\R THE C/o\NSEQ)u(ENCES WILL BE DIRE.”

And with that, Panton Magnic returned to his work. Jezakk shifted in his stance. There was a creak as the door was leaned against by another from the outside, and the man only looked up once more from his work before smiling - almost threateningly, despite the lack of teeth - and waving to dismiss the troll in front of him.

Leaving the room, the little tinkerer never expected to see Othamo already there and waiting for him to follow. Placing a hand on the blind troll’s shoulder to indicate where he stood, he looked towards his companion.“WElL shIt. DIDn’T expEcT TO hEar thaT. UH… wEll. I KNoW yoU caN gENERaLlY SMEll yoUr waY AROuNd pRettY weLL, oThAMO, Sir, BUt I thINK I’ll LEAve THe hEAvY LIfTin tO VIZeRA aNd LUmIra WHen I CAn GeT THeM to LIsTen ENOugH.”

Othamo raised an eyebrow, waving to Jezakk as if trying to snap him out of some kind of daze. There, on the palm of his hand, was a carefully drawn eye. Jezakk looked dumbly at it, placing his hand over the one seemingly offered to him. This caused the other to flinch back, curling his nose in disgust. The scent of lemons was heavy in the air, which made him smile despite the distaste he’d show moments prior. He treated those inferior to him as they should have been treated, and never once considered that the tinkerer - a newbie, fresh meat, the perfect little puppet for his games - would be any different, regardless of the time he had in an uncomfortably close proximity and seeing through his eyes. Although it was normally an unpleasant, sharp scent, the undertones of fruitiness unique to the other made fear smell inviting.

“i can see a little bit, y⊙u kn⊙w. en⊙ugh t⊙ want t⊙ c⊙mment ⊙n h⊙w idi⊙tic that was t⊙ assume.”

He murmured, pointing towards the eye on his palm and inadvertently causing Jezakk to look down towards it, even though he had nervously averted his gaze prior. The lemon still hung in the air between them, and the smaller’s appreension was unrelenting. Tension ran through his every movement, and the stiffness was what caused him to fumble and almost trip over. He likely would have, had Othamo not reached out to steady him, unintentionally knocking their bodies a little closer than was comfortable. The taller chuckled, letting his arms fall from around Jezakk and noting how powerful his lemon scent was after that, enough to make his head spin.

“i can generally see thr⊙ugh eye shapes as well, n⊙t just y⊙ur eyes. thatd be selfish, d⊙nt y⊙u think? als⊙, the legends are true. y⊙u smell ⊙f blackberries and fear.”

Jezakk nodded silently, seeing that Othamo would notice the gesture without shifting his arm. He couldn’t help but laugh in fear, even though his words were stuck in his throat, making it near impossible to muster any vocal reply. There was something disarming about the puppeteer, but he was entirely aware of what he was doing. It was making Jezakk on edge, constantly, and he hated it. As such, he sped up his walking, attempting to get as far away from his companion as possible. Due to his dismal height difference, it only took a few rapid strides for Othamo to catch up.

He still intended for the others to help, however, so he continued on his merry way while periodically checking whether or not his ‘friend’ remained at a safe distance from him. There was really no use bothering him further. The first section of the journey to his practice room - as it was in an entirely separate tent to the Ringmaster’s quarters - was filled with a tense silence, which at least one of the pair seemed to heavily regret. The tinkerer was spinning his Capries necklace about in his fingers as an anxious fidget once again, something he performed under stress frequently enough that he took no notice of the action more often than not. Attempting to break the silence, Othamo spoke. It was more of a private mumble than anything directed towards Jezakk, despite that he was wrongly addressed.

“i have n⊙ idea why that jerk th⊙ught it was a g◎︶◉d idea t⊙ put me in charge ⊙f the bees, jazakk.“

“JazAkK? I’M jEzAkk.”

To this, the puppeteer simply shrugged, giving his companion a toothy smile. There was no true joy in the action, and it was unnervingly similar to the Ringmaster’s in that it was more threatening than anything else. Othamo never appeared to drop his grin, which was one of the other reasons Jezakk found it hard to detect whether or not he was being genuine about his expressions. Reaching to place a hand on Jezakk’s shoulder in a mimicry, his claws dug deeper than necessary. He spoke in a hiss, though there was some lightness to it that was reassuring. As if he never meant to threaten, but it was habitual.

“well, y⊙ure n⊙t t⊙ me. y⊙ur ⊙fficial nickname is jazzy n⊙w.”

“I- fiNE. BuT You cAn’T LEt anyONe eLsE knoW… Ah, hERE we aRe. WaNnA CoMe in fOr a BIT? I dOn’t miNd thE cOMpAnY. NObOdy elSe mUch PUTs UP wIth me THeSe daYs. SoRRy… Uh, sOrRY AbOUt thE mEss. I’VE bEen tiNKerINg QUItE a BIT. sEcreT PRoJect.”

The tinkerer, still fidgeting restlessly, rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I SHoUld proBabLY gO anD sOrt ouT the BEE buSINess foR a Bit. NOw thAt I knoW yoU don’T wannA dEal WITh thEm. FeEL frEe to LOOk arOunD, i guEss.”

With that, he left his friend to his own devices for a moment, which likely wasn’t a good idea. There were things scattered all over the place in a frantic manner, as if there had been a fight or something had occurred very quickly. Otherwise, the room seemed relatively empty on the ground, instead hosting shelves that lined the walls filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes. These were Jezakk’s pride and joy; the jack-in-the-boxes were what he was known for among his friends, and rightfully so. He’d definitely honed his craft, making them with an unprecedented love and precision.

Luckily enough, certain trolls - such as Othamo himself, and Jezakk - had been born with tails, according to whether or not their lusus had one, although it was rare. This enabled Othamo to better navigate the room, sweeping objects aside and out of his path to sit and wait for his friend’s return. Closing his eyes, the troll noticed soon enough that there was a strangely printed pair of leggings discarded across a chair, and his grin widened. Perfect. Their ocular design - unnerving to some, and even more so to Othamo himself because of his phobia - would enable him to see properly, though significantly blurred. He had chosen to sit on Jezakk’s recuperacoon, which had been fitted with a cover. It seemed nearly unused.

Activating the chucklevoodoos he was so adept at using, feeling about for the eyes and latching onto them, he made sure to keep his own closed. He wouldn’t need them. Observing the room through his ’new’ sight made his head spin, more than it ever had before. But the fruity scents were like a comforting punch in the nose, so to speak, and it helped him relax slightly and disregard the strangeness of it. There was nothing he could see that would possibly reveal the secret Jezakk had mentioned beforehand, or so he thought. The truth was that he wished to sell his jack-in-the-boxes to help him gather enough Caegars and ensure a safer escape from the troupe.

Meanwhile, Jezakk had located one of the two trolls he wished for help, and he was glad to find that ze was pleasant enough for him to avoid losing his composure. Vizera was slightly too loud for his tastes, and he kept his distance from the acrobat beside him, recalling the enthusiasm with which she had accepted his comparatively gentle plea for assistance. It was not exactly his ideal bottle of Faygo.

“LuMira? YEs, hElLo. It’S… JEzAkk, AND i Don’t THiNk we’VE reaLLy spOken, bUT i wAS WOndeRIN if I couLd HavE soMe heLp mOVIn thEse BeEhOUsEs inTo mY roOm.”

“YEAH, LLLLLUMIIIIIRA! HELLLP THE KIIIID OUT, WON’TCHA? HE’S A NEWBIIIE, AND YOU KNOW HOW THE RIIINGMASTER GETS IIIIF NEWBIIIES GET THIINGS WRONG!”

The troll at the door wore a pleasant smile, directing zir gaze towards Vizera and nodding before looking back towards the little tinkerer, who was significantly shorter than both of them.

“oh!! of course i’ll helP you, jezakk!! i suPPose i have enough time, and i wouldn’t wish for you to get in trouble with the ringmaster!!”

With a small sigh of relief, Jezakk smiled towards Lumira - still, unfortunately, finding it rather difficult to speak because of the new people around him - and led the two through the task, eventually saying his shaky goodbyes to the two and returning behind the safely closed doors of his room. His heart was pounding in his chest, and there was nothing that could have possibly prepared him for the sight that greeted him in that moment. It was an absolute mess. Everything that was scattered on the floor beforehand had been shoved to the side messily. The fact that a few of the jack-in-the-boxes had fallen from their shelves had just established itself as the second most distressing sight there.

The first, of course, was Othamo.

Immediately, the smaller’s hands retrieved his card deck, and he began to rapidly shuffle them as a reaction to his nerves. There was nothing else he could think of except the boy on the floor, but his body completely refused to move in a way he wanted it to. It was hard to decipher what had happened, exactly, but Othamo was laid out on the floor, staring blankly towards the tapering ceiling with eyes weakly flickering purple. He looked as if he’d been almost paralysed. Tears dripped their way down his cheeks, an even paler lavender than his eyes themselves. The only sound in the room - that Jezakk could hear - was the beating of his own heart, so loud and panicked that it drowned everything else.

Jezakk wasn’t used to this at all. His claws were trembling as he shuffled his cards around, silken gloves at risk of unravelling from where they were pulled high to his shoulders. He wasn’t truly expecting anyone to be with him within his practice room, let alone when he returned to it after Othamo had scheduled a busy day at the shows. Because he was new to the troupe, everyone else tended to have more performances than he did, which left him lonely. But here Othamo was, finally giving him the company he so craved, and he had no idea what to do. Everything was just a little bit too wrong, and no amount of physical messing around could fix it. So he distracted himself first, because his thinkpan wasn’t letting him make any lateral solution to the problem yet.

Tiptoeing around so that he didn’t disturb anyone else, Jezakk let his mind drift away from his friend for a moment. He placed his cards away, attempting and failing to regulate his breathing. How could he, when his pan was being wild? Instead, he walked around and picked up all of his boxes that had fallen, softly humming a show tune under his breath that he was fairly sure Panton himself had composed. He wasn’t sure why his pan had strayed to it, but he didn’t like it much. There was a funny taste in his mouth about it, because it meant that something about that suave, manipulative asshole was genuinely likeable. Shaking his head physically in an attempt to clear it, Jezakk placed the last box upon the shelves and redirected his attention to his friend.

Clearing a space to sit next to Othamo, he crossed his legs and began to sing a little louder. Even though his voice was croaky and awful because of the tears that had begun to greet his eyes and blur his vision, he continued, hoping that his voice would at least rouse the one on the floor. There wasn’t much else he was able to do, because he couldn’t properly attend to someone who was unconscious. Othamo was practically a dead weight as it stood, so manipulation would prove difficult for Jezakk. Nonetheless, he continued to sing to his friend, the frown lifting from his lips into a smile.

However negative, he enjoyed the time he spent with the puppeteer, and hoped Othamo felt the same. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, the clown gently wiped the tears away from his friend’s cheeks and eyes, which caused them to flutter and Othamo to stir. He flinched back, seeing the purple sparks that licked at his fingers, and shuffled his position so that he could give him some space to properly orientate himself.

“Ah, SHit, sORRy otH. DidN’T, UH, didN’t meAN tO hUrT YOu or ANytHIn…”

Othamo’s unseeing gaze followed Jezakk’s voice when he struggled into a sitting position, and he shrugged, not having gathered enough composure to vocalise his thoughts. Everything was spinning, and he felt dizzy even though there was no visual indication of it.

Although there was no longer a smile upon the tinkerer’s face, he was relieved beyond expression that Othamo had actually stirred. His fears often caught up with him, and he’d panicked about leaving the other troll to get into a bigger accident. Observing the smudging face paint smeared across his puppeteer’s cheeks in blackened tear trails, he pursed his lips. Softly telling Othamo to wait - as if he could do anything else - Jezakk left the room, locating Othamo’s own and entering it. It was cluttered, sure enough, but he was soon able to locate some liquorice-scented face paint among the jars of scenting strings and return to his friend.

“HOLd on. I thInk YOu smUdGed, mAn. LEmMe heLp yoU.”

He murmured, lifting the puppeteer into his arms with a groan and placing him on top of his recuperacoon once more, back against the wall. He hopped onto the cover himself, settling beside Othamo with his supplies. Taking a makeup brush and some remover, he began to gently brush away the crust of old makeup and remove the rest. After he was mostly clean, Jezakk preceded to wash his friend’s face of the smears with warm water on a cloth, all the while mumbling rapid-fire apologies whether or not he’d actually hurt the troll. He didn’t know how long it’d been since the blind troll had been able to reapply it himself or bothered to, but it couldn’t have been good.

He wrinkled his nose upon twisting the paint’s cap off, the scent making him almost vomit. Why Othamo liked liquorice was something he’d never understand, but he dipped the brush into the pot and began to carefully outline the boy’s ‘mask’ nonetheless. Subconsciously, he found his singing beginning again as he worked but reducing itself to a vague hum. It was a habit he’d suppressed, like many others, but Othamo made him feel safer about expressing himself. Filling it in gently, with slow and rhythmic strokes, he was pleased to find that the paint was drying rather quickly.

“YOu shOuLd gET soMe reST, BRoTHer. I CAn’T be sURE hoW loNg yOu weRe ouT FOr, buT yoU SEEm tiRed AS alL hEll. I hoPe I DId yoUr FACe PaInt WELl enOugH. I guEss I’M prEttY LucKy THaT YOu cAm’T SEE it… I’LL chEck On yoU LAtER, but I SHouLd go DEaL witH acTaLLy geTTin ThE bees FOr thE hOuseS. YOu caN usE mY reCUPerAcoON toDaY, lOokin IN no RIgHT sTaTe tO BE MOvIN.”

Once again using his unprecedented, caste-granted strength, the boy moved Othamo enough to slip the cover away from under him and help him ease into the slime underneath. Jezakk remembered how warm and relieving the sopor was, especially for physical pain. He’d installed a special heating apparatus underneath it so he - or another recipient - wouldn’t get cold in the harsher Alternian months. Turning this on and walking towards the door, Jezakk flashed Othamo an equally warm smile that would go unseen, but was nice regardless. Feeling a deeper sense of satisfaction than he had in sweeps, the tinkerer flicked the lights off and partially drew the door closed.

“HAve A gOOd rEsT, BRoTHer. yoU dEsERvE it. I’m pROuD oF yoU.”

#🏠 stuck at home 🏠#fantroll #jezakk imetat #othamo oculus #❤️ a world of our own ❤️

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fanficqueenie · 3 years ago

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TW, dr*wning, second hand embarassment

The water was icy and felt like a thousand needles slamming into Elloise's skin as she was pushed into the half-frozen lake. She shot up but grunted as the Soldier's metal fist landed on her cheek, snapping her head to the side with more force than one should be able to handle. She had no time to recover and dodge. The Soldier had already grabbed her by the shoulders, and kicked her at the ankles, forcing her under the ice-cold water.

The Soldier grinned at his success for. . . for what, exactly? Never mind. Elloise fought with everything she had, thrashing her arms and legs against the Soldier practically sitting on top of her, keeping Elloise below the surface of the lake. She was running out of air, her lungs burning as she struggled to get up, to breathe.

She felt the gloved hands of her attacker yank her back above the surface. She gasped for air and then tried to exhale, but all that came out was violent coughing that shook her body as the Soldier held her up.

"Deep breath now," the Soldier hissed and pushed Elloise back underwater. "For Hydra."

The Soldier could see the water around the woman's head becoming stained red with where he tore her skin, brought her pain. Instead of pulling her out again, he pushed her further into the sand under the waves. Her arms thrashed, and her hands clawed at his bare forearms, leaving deep red scratches, but he didn't feel them. He only saw her face through the tinted aqua.

Her face.

"I see you've still got some moves, Sargent," A bright, happy voice, followed by a cheery laugh as someone in a bright blue dress spun in front of him, hands intertwined with his. His hands.

The Soldier blinked, and his focus was lost, long enough for Elloise to rocket her torso out of the frigid water and cough up a lot of it. "Bucky, please!" She hacked out between gut-wrenching coughs that made her whole body convulse. "You know-"

She was only able to get out so much before he seized her neck again and pushed her back down. He recognized that feeling, the feeling of her skin, even if it was bruised and torn. Bit he didn't know her. He couldn't.

A nervous giggle sounded, and shining eyes were in front of his before she closed those pretty grey eyes and pressed soft lips to his nose before following supple fingers to his neck.

"Buck!" The Soldier had lost his focus once again, found that the woman had stopped moving, and another man with blonde hair and blue eyes had yanked him away to pull the lady out of the water. She wasn't even shivering. Nor breathing. Just pale, with blood dripping down her left cheek and her arms. "Buck, what did you do...?" The man's familiar voice sounded desperate, weak, worried.

The Soldier sat back on his knees, thinking of what had just happened. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the baby blue dress on the woman he had just tried to drown. After a moment of contemplation, it fit.

Dancing with Elloise, every Friday, until he got drafted into the army. She had been so disappointed, especially when she found Steve was going, too. She wouldn't have either of her boys at home to keep her company. She wouldn't have anyone to cook for.

That was until she decided to become a nurse.

She and he had had quite the falling out the night she had told him. The next morning, they left to go to war. She didn't see him again, until she was treating him after he had been captured by Hydra, and experimented on by Zola. She had to step away and have the other nurses help, she had felt so bad, being unable to help. And tears streaming down her face as she watched.

They went dancing again, out between the tents, the following Friday.

And then the train.

And then back here.

He just tried to drown his best friend. His girl.

He was back to Bucky, but his actions were still there. Elloise still lay shivering under Steve's frantic attempts to warm her. She had lungs full of water and skin that felt like ice, fresh from the North. "Come, El. Come on." Steve begged, uncertainty lacing every inch of his voice.

Bucky crawled his way over, slowly and hesitantly. Steve's head shot up, and he instinctively pulled Elloise away from Bucky's grip before making eye contact with his friend. Bucky's heart shattered at the thought that this was his doing. He had put her in this vulnerable position, where she was unable to move, even breath, or open her eyes.

"Steve, please," he whispered, not taking his icy blue eyes off the captain's. "I'm... I'm me again. Please, please let me help her."

Steve hesitated before gently letting Elloise spill out onto the ground between the two of them.

"Oh, god, El. I'm so, so sorry," Bucky muttered and shook his head before carefully beginning CPR. Chest compressions. Chest compressions. Chest compressions. Breath. His hands shook when he finally stopped she still hadn't moved an inch. "No, please. No..."

As a last-ditch effort, Bucky leaned down to give Elloise one last assisted breath. The contact turned into more of a kiss. One Bucky thought could be goodbye. The last thing that she would have seen would be her best friend through murky, red water. And felt his hands around her neck.

Steve's quiet voice came from where he sat. "She's gone, Buc-"

Elloise coughed, the water from her lungs traveling to her mouth, therefore into Bucky's. He sat up in shock, sputtering before he tipped El to her side. She hacked up the remainder of the liquid and then promptly laid back down tiredly. Dying took your breath away. "Well." She rasped. "That was... q-quite an experience. Love you, Buck." She shivered and winked with an aura of exhaustion, depleted energy.

"Right," Bucky watched silently after that as El fell asleep right in front of him. On the very rocks he had attacked her on.

*Reposted from quotev.com, user @.goddessofsecrets

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel oc #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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kirythestitchwitch · 4 years ago

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okay so like, bear with me im having some Thoughts. [child abuse cw] [physical abuse cw] [suicide mention cw] strap in.

[[MORE]]

I remember this one night in the late 90s when I was on the landline in the computer room talking to a friend from church. I was probably like 11-12 bc i was friends with this person after Titanic came out but before my parents stuffed me in private school. Anyways we having perfectly normal pre-teen conversations like "Jack Dawson is soooo hot," and "I love Dimitri's hair!" and like, somehow we got onto how annoying our parents were. normal kid shit right like idk they didn't let me read past my bedtime idk, and i didn't even have the vocabulary to say "fuck" at the time! and I kinda spun the chair I was in to face the doorway (open, rookie mistake) and fuckin there was my mother, looking pissed as hell. she made me hang up immediately and then proceeded to scream at and then ground me for being an ungrateful little shit or something. idk, I was eleven~, all I remember is that I was scared.

a few years down the line (middle school maybe) my dad was "helping" me with my math homework and like, belittling me when I did not understand it. and he got frustrated and started to walk out of the room. and i said "fuck you," under my breath. god, he came back in the room with thunder on his brow and pointed his finger in my face and whispered "Don't you ever say that to me again." I was certain he was about to hit me. he didn't, but I was terrified of it.

now, one of my coworkers (26) likes to complain about a teenager (17) that lives with her. she's her boyfriend's kid sister and her mom is dead and coworker's boyfriend didn't want to take her but she talked him into it. anyways she acts up and has threatened to commit suicide at least once while coworker has worked here. (her mother, our boss, made her come into work that day anyway but that is another fucking story) so but, coworker admitted tonight that she went "into a rage" when the teenager called her a c*nt during an argument and basically backhanded her over the couch.

so like, possibly calling cps aside, I was just kinda ruminating on the weirdly specific anger that adults get when confronted with a child that is not "appropriately grateful" and dares to insult them. I keep trying to put myself in their shoes, and like, I can see that the main reaction could be them feeling hurt. like if my child called me horrible names, that ofc would hurt. BUT. I completely disconnect at the idea of screaming at them, or fucking hitting them. I might cry, after all, it hurts when someone you love is lashing out at you. but like, can you imagine if more parents were just like, "I'm sorry you feel that way. It really hurts when you say something like that, could you talk to me about why you think I deserve to be treated like that? Because I dont."

and like yeah! that's not a magic cure all, kids aren't always gonna immediately calm down and be like, "you did this specific thing and I didn't like that," like you're gonna have to prompt them through that shit, maybe take a breather, and talk about a resolution BUT. BUT. god, if my parents had just done that instead of the way they chose to handle my ~rebellion~ like we might have actually gotten somewhere. coworker's teenager has had a shitty life and lives with someone she Knows wants to get rid of her but legally can't until she's 19. ofc she's not doing her chores and cleaning her room, and seeking validation from dudes on the internet. get her a goddamn therapist and stop having her committed! she is only fucking seventeen.

tl;dr anyways kids don't actually "owe" parents anything. try not to take their growing pains personally. be supportive. don't hit your kids, that fucking includes spanking, don't hit your kids.

#god i hope that read more worked #look i know im fucked up from my childhood im in therapy im working on it #there is a reason 99% of my rebellion was reading books all the time and not doing my homework #aside from being in a terrible house; having untreated adhd; and escapist tendencies i was actually a p chill kid #i would absolutely have a kid like me and feel grateful for it #liking this post is fine #child abuse cw #physical abuse cw #suicide mention cw #like coworker was like 'we've looked into having her committed until she's 19' and i fuckin??? must have blacked out #i don't remember any more of the conversation #long post

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boredliondisorder · 4 years ago

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Let's say you knew all about BPD before going to therapy, and you were diagnosed already. Would you still have gone to therapy, do you believe it was worth it for you? I don't know if it's worth going for me, I know I'll never be able to get that attachment, love and trust that I need anyways, might as well just pretend to be an NT until I can die. It's a life full of pain for sure but we'll have that anyways, won't we? Why therapy? Was hoping you could share the benefits you got from it.

---

Oh this might be a long one. OK.

I was actually diagnosed over ten years ago in 2008, iirc. At that point, I was in the hospital and was told that I either had to see a therapist of the doctor’s choosing, or I’d stay in the hospital for an indeterminate length of time. Staying in the hospital would cause me to lose my job, etc, So I agreed to see a therapist.

It took them quite a while to find someone who would treat a person with a diagnosis of BPD. Back then, BPD was seen as incurable and dangerous. No one wanted to risk their career or their life treating someone with BPD. Even though it turned out that people with BPD (those who legitimately suffered from it and weren’t just abusive) are not dangerous, and their outbursts are based around fear. Many thanks to Dr. Linehan for her work in that area.

Anyway, to make that long story short, the therapist tried to convince me I didn’t have BPD. It was a nightmare all around, and I left as soon as I could.

So I lived with that diagnosis for eleven years, not truly understanding it, warning people about it, both attaching myself to people and HATING that attachment to people, going through minor ups and downs, until a medical problem caused the anti-psychotics I was on to stop working.

Then I actually had to face the diagnosis. It started to get bad. But it was such a slow process that I didn’t realize it. Eventually, I hurt the people who mattered to me most, which is what BPD tends to lead to over and over and over, and I realized that if it happened again, I wouldn’t be able to take it. I’d rather kill myself than live through that again. I had to break the cycle.

I really did want to live. I wanted to live to finish my book, to see my nephews grow up, to achieve my dream of getting venomous snake certification and working with my favorite elapid, the king cobra. I couldn’t do all that if I was dead.

At the time I decided to go back to therapy, I knew SO MUCH about BPD. I was sure it would be useless for me for the same reasons you do: that I was doomed to repeat this pattern for the rest of my (possibly short) life, working at trust for weeks and months, then losing it because of a disease that refuses to disappear. A lot of this is in my previous posts, so I won’t go into it all in detail again, but my mind finally got to a point where it refused to accept friendship. I didn’t talk to anyone except my parents, my sister, and my best friend for weeks.

I found a therapist who specialized in BPD. And that’s important, because she helped me discover where my BPD came from--where it started and the reasons for it--as well as learning to question the fears that often led to the stereotypical “borderline rage.” She taught me how to take a step back and re-evaluate. To leave a situation alone for a while until I had a legitimate answer. To actually have discussions with people instead of accusing.

I’ve already been able to use these new skills when it comes to very slowly forming bonds with people. That’s another thing I learned--how to not go from 0 to 60 in a new friendship, but develop it slowly. To not saddle new friends with my problems, but to get to know them first. And sometimes it turns out--as I’ve found a couple times already--that those friends aren’t right for hearing my issues, and I would have hurt myself by rushing into an unsustainable friendship.

And this took... so much time. I am still learning. And I think I always will have to continue learning, because BPD isn’t curable. The things most people know when it comes to emotion and relationships aren’t things that come to us naturally. You can recover from BPD, but the skills you learn are hard-fought and difficult to master. In a lot of ways, a person with BPD who has recovered is always going to have to “fake it” in the simplest of terms.

But that’s okay. To paraphrase the saying, if you can’t naturally form healthy emotional attachments, therapy-learned is okay, too.

In your ask, you said “might as well just pretend to be an NT until I can die.” And honestly, that’s... The whole point of therapy. Therapy’s going to help you pretend, and over time, pretending will become easier. Almost natural. And there will be days when you want to backtrack. When you want to say “why don’t you love me?” to your very best friends. But you’ll have the tools to Not Do That, which is more than you might have now.

It’s unfortunate that NTs refuse to truly accommodate those with BPD, but they really can’t understand it because they don’t grasp the intensity of the emotions we suffer. They don’t understand why we’re asking them to help us in a certain way, or fuck, to just pick up a book and read about the disorder. NTs on tumblr have also been told over and over that they’re justified for “leaving abusive people, even if they’re mentally ill,” and that’s where the mindset remains. So many people equate the symptoms of BPD with actual abuse, so much so that when you tell a neurotypical person that you have BPD, the response I’ve always gotten without fail is “but you don’t seem like that type of person.”

I’m working to change that. I don’t think I could do that without therapy. It’s an uphill battle, but I think I’ve gotten through to some people already. I’m going to continue to try.

In summary, it’s okay to use therapy as a way to learn how to pretend. And in pretending, you’ll learn to feel better, because you won’t be destroying your friendships at every turn. When the low part of your cycle starts its upswing, you’ll still have friends there to help you. Try not to resent them too much for their ignorance.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, even if it’s a lot of work. But I guarantee that if you find a therapist you like who specializes in BPD, you’ll eventually start to see improvement. Seriously. I think we’re all naturally suspicious and we’re so sure that therapy can’t help us, but it really can. I’ve been right where you are, and I’m glad I decided to go.

#Anonymous

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