#and many of them autistic lmao

[enbyboiwonder]

This is the exact panel that I fell in love with him

[moreaugriffins]

Every day i just want to write a post that just says "The Brigadier is so damn autistic."

but I then worry about what other people might say if I do that

but fuck it

The Brigadier is so fucking autistic, and nobody can change my mind

[vaguely-concerned]

trying to look for a ttrpg group in spaces where I can't just go 'listen I want to play this shit in the tumblr fandom kind of model (gay subtext extremely welcome bordering on essential, mutual unhinged character psychoanalysis, we could create a novel of a backstory together to make this sadder, let's all play with our OC dolls together and also sometimes dice are rolled I guess)' and be readily understood and/or not be immediately side-eyed or denigrated for my inherent unavoidable tumblerinaness feels like such an annoying debuff to deal with on the quest. like I know my people exist out there but how do I express myself in the right way and wade through all the copious not-it (not for me) dynamics to find them!!!

[secret-time-is-here]

Sat down to write but my keyboard is like 3 years old & steadily pissing me off. Cleaned it & even picking off all the keys, and it's worse now. (Every key takes like double the pressure it should need, and half of my typing is me fixing keys that didn't type) safe to say I ordered a new keyboard :/

[thatgirlwhokeepsreading]

The thing the people don’t tell you about re-parenting yourself/similar gambits is that for bitches of a particular temperament (it’s me I’m bitches) it sometimes makes you so so mad when it works. Sold all my baby dolls in a garage sale when I was eight not because I didn’t want to them anymore but because I thought I shouldn’t want them anymore, and now the only thing that had me sleeping like a rock after fortnight of hells is this elaborate LARP so I can convince my central nervous system that there is someone in charge who a) wants to take care of shit and b) can take care of shit.

RSD emotional hangover making you too agitated to sleep even though you’re intellectually aware the conflict is resolved? Not anymore with the power of making dairy-free chocolate milk and listening to ten minutes of Dune on audiobook while reading alongside on your e-reader before you pass the fuck out.

Like you would think cringing into the sun* would keep one even more awake than the vague background radiation of little-T traumas (which has actually reduced after five years of medication and psychology appointments), but I guess it is really about quantity over quality. Guess one big cringe is less impactful than the relief from convincing the quivering little toddler that’s been left in charge of the sleep lever in your brain to come out from under the desk and do their job by putting up a sort of flimsy curtain so they can no longer see the wall of painting symbolising your mild disconcerting experiences

And I reference temperament when I know that my annoyance is in fact also a huge part to do with socialisation, particularly being primed towards abnegation + a fundamental suspicion towards adults engaging with things culturally associated with Children and Childhood, both of which are things I challenge on principle consciously/intellectually. But knowing that it’s completely harmless, and like hey I could be doing meth or something, does not change the fact that when I mimic the running commentary I do with babysitting kids Just In My Head To Myself and immediately become head-nodding sleepy, I’m instantly like “oh we respond to this and not a haunting amount of melatonin? cool. yeah. sure.”

(*Of course none of this is cringe when other people do it, as they are allowed to experience Quirks and Vulnerabilities in peace because they are Not Me. That said, when I’m not venting on tumblr dot org I do generally avoid calling any of this stuff cringe bc I am aware that caveating with “This only applies to me because I’m Not Like Other Girls (I’m Worse)” often doesn’t actually make the other person feel assured you’re not judging them.)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

truly lmao 2024 lambda literary award finalist wynnstannery

[sunfoxfic]

idk how anyone puts up with me at all

[morg-among-the-stars]

The sillys <3

[soryualeksi]

A while ago my brother said "That guy from Fall Out Boy sings his words like your doctor writes anything on your sick note" and a) I can never be so witty ever and b) I CANNOT UNHEAR IT WHENEVER I'M HAVING TROUBLE TELLING WORDS APART IN THEIR SONGS OMFG

(Disclaimer: It wasn't meant as a BAD thing per se, more like an affectionate remark about the slight slurring of speech he has going on lol.)

[r3dships]

Projecting my autism onto my F/Os like

[pinkfey]

lrb reminds me of an argument i got into last year bc i made fun of disney adults and this person called me ableist for mocking autistic ppl’s special interests (???) when my point was about disney adults giving up hundreds and hundreds of dollars to make regular trips to disneyland and purchasing ridiculously expensive disney merch and buying into disney’s halfassed “lgbtq support” etc etc

[autisticlee]

that feeling when you're autistic and put on so many masks, played so many parts, created so many personas, etc. to try to fit in and please people due to being severely bullied or abused or whatever, that you have no clue who you are. you never developed a "self" ever. you don't have a personality, but you also have 10+ different ones that come out at different times. you don't know what you like or enjoy because it depends on what persona is in control at the time, so it always changes. you contradict yourself a lot. you like something one moment, but can hate it the next. you try to ~be yourself~ but you don't know which of these persona masks are "you." are they all you? are none of them you? how do you know?

[starrun]

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a madman because I have decided to sort through the sound files for Jedi: Fallen Order to isolate and save all of the BD-1 sound bytes.

There are nearly 35 thousand files I am manually going through, listening to them one by one, to isolate any BD-1 sounds. I am about halfway through all of the files and have separated nearly 300 BD-1 sounds so far (and saved some other good sound bytes of troopers, ship/space noises, etc.). I am probably going to do this again once a .zip of all of the sound bytes from Jedi: Survivor are ripped from the game.

Why did I decide to do this? So I could have plenty of BD droid noises to put into my soundboard for D&D. That's it. In the future when I get a 3D-printed BD droid I can also use the sounds for that.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

favourite thing from today is that my 80 yr old grandma immediately understands how dire me securing nothing but thieves tickets tomorrow is

[uefb]

The Business of Worrying (link)

A story about Newt’s first year at Hogwarts, featuring communication, bizarre wizarding expectations of ability, autism, ableism, nonverbal magic, and accessibility. (Also, with a side of 'Hogwarts is a Mess' and 'Complicated Families are Complicated'.) Starts at age 5, and ends at age 12.

SUMMARY: Newt has always had plenty of people worrying about him, so he doesn't bother with it much himself. But that doesn't mean things are always easy; and just because talking doesn't come to him naturally doesn't mean he has nothing to offer, or nothing to say at all. Luckily—sometimes—people manage to recognise that. Over time, though, Newt realises it's more important he simply believe it himself.

Opening Scene:

Newt is five-and-three-quarter years old when his mother takes him to St. Mungo’s for the first time. 

The day before had been a “disaster” and the Underage Magic Officers had very crossly told his parents they needed to “figure something out”. That command had apparently been what sparked his mum to gently wrestle him into his cleanest trousers and the itchy sweater with no holes that morning, before rushing him through their chores, tossing him an apple, and carting him off to London. She’s knelt before him, now, with that smile on her face that makes his heart beat like hippogriff wings on a late summer updraft, and she promises him over and over again that everything will be alright.

“Just try your best to talk so they can help you. Let them inside that brilliant little mind of yours. Think you can do that, cinnamon?”

They meet his aunt-the-mediwitch in the hospital lobby, and then Newt is ushered up behind her to the Children’s Ward, placed in a room with his mother seated behind him and a woman he doesn’t know across the table in front. 

The chair is too big and his legs are too small and he does not want to answer her questions. 

After several long minutes of discomfort, he lets his gaze drift to the wall and he pretends he is somewhere else ( anywhere —the doxy nest in the back garden); and when he starts paying attention again, he is suddenly and viscerally aware that his mother is crying. She’s pulled up her chair to sit directly beside him, and she is leaning slightly forward—toward the healer, who frowns at him—and she is vibrating with the kind of repressed and desperate energy he gets himself when he very much wants to leap for the next branch but knows (with his brother watching, for example) that it would be entirely inappropriate.

“Once a week, I think, Mrs. Scamander, should break him of the quiet.”

Newt blinks, watches the quivering reflection of the charmed lights on the enamel table top, swings a leg in agitation. 

“His father can be like this, though... Isn’t it possible he’ll grow out of it? That’s normal for children, isn’t it? Things like this?”

The healer he doesn’t know is rocking her head back and forth as if considering, and he thinks she looks a bit like a plimpie, bobbing about when stuck in an eddy.

“And your husband, when he was a child…” the healer is kindly saying, in the sort of voice Mother reserves for skittish hippogriffs. “Has your mother-in-law reported this kind of accidental magic? This single-minded mania?”

Newt looks up at his mum and watches her shake her head and bite her lip (No… No, nothing quite the same… ); and there is a part of Newt that wants to crawl into her lap and pet her head the way he does the stray dogs in the village, when they duck away from contact and skitter fast into the shadows. 

But he does not know this place so he does not move.  

They’re talking again, and Newt does not like it here, and he wishes his father were there with his steady voice, and firm grip; the enchanted paper he’d taught Newt to use to communicate when his words are a fog in his mind (but he wasn’t allowed to bring it today because the point was to talk ), but Dad is at work so he’ll see him at home.

“Well, we’ve no way to know about that,” the stranger-healer is saying when he starts paying attention again. “But if something happens again—like yesterday—it would be the Ward’s recommendation to admit Newton for observation.”

His mother is crying particularly hard now — she sounds like she’s choking on something very big and very important, perhaps even her heart, he thinks — and Newt feels that buzzing anxiety just beneath his skin, and he shakes his hands out from his wrists to stop the magic.

No one notices.

“Mrs. Scamander, I’ve sent a note to be placed in his file at the Improper Use of Magic Office, that his parents are reacting appropriately to the Ministry’s concerns.”

His mum pulls a handkerchief embroidered with flowers and griffins from her coat pocket, and she dabs her eyes and is herself again. Newt doesn’t look at the healer, but he watches her press some papers into his mother’s hands, listens as she rattles off the date he is meant to come back.

(Newt distinctly does not want to come back.)

His mother hasn’t carried him in years—not since he got too big to ride pick-a-back as she worked in the barn—but she scoops him up anyway as they leave the office, hefts him onto her hip as she says goodbye to her sister-the-mediwitch at the door to the Children’s Ward, floo’s them to his father’s department at the Ministry so they can all go out for lunch. 

His dad even clocks out early to take him to the menagerie and the bookstore after they eat. 

It is when Newt is on his tiptoes peering inside a terrarium that he suddenly realises his mum has begun to cry again, but this time it seems to be because he won’t stop talking (asking the man behind the counter if he can please see the kneazles! and telling him all about the horklumps he’s been studying in the garden).

It makes no sense, so Newt clings to his father’s hand and pretends it is not happening.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also if only the physical copy of how to disappear completely & never be found i first encountered & read a few years ago (sort of [roughly avg age ten] reader book, not any similarly titled How To) hadn't disappeared completely & not been found since, probably b/c i put it somewhere i intended to be For Safekeeping, which is also how my binder vanished....b/c it's one of those like. those book for late elementary/middle school readers when they just weave in this unrealism which makes for a delightful range & unpredicability? and with a cynical protagonist girl like off to the races like wow her mom is depressed asf & smoking? and it's about A Family History Secrets Mystery so blatantly a haunting that the inciting incident is basically introducing a haunted [family history secrets mystery] house. and spoilers don't matter like it's stemming from there being this missing uncle who grew up so in contrast to the Winsome Winning Sibling Who Does It All Right while seeing his own affiliation with rats that he tried to disappear completely & never be found which led to this Tragedy which led to this more unintended disappearance of his & he haunts this house & wants to be left alone & only goes out at night with this [ambiguous Is That A Giant Rat Or Weird Small Dog (protagonist affected by these family situations who expresses her preoccupation with an awareness of how fate can Strike and Get you with this interest with roving packs of killer chihuahuas. people think she's weird though she spontaneously befriends this other girl struck with this bolt from the blue & a bit weird / outcast & then Insightful who i wish was in it more)] & plays into the hauntedness danger like playing into the [something's Wrong with you then] until having to take yet more action where the urge to express the truth comes out more both b/c living that hidden is more threatened but also b/c now the niece children are more threatened as well. ft. a sort of preternatural blurring of time b/c of only being communicated with through this uncle via his comic pages (that he paints?) of dubiously accurate translations of irl events that are created so quickly it seems to verge on foresight, imagine like "hmm what's this painting. it's me standing in this room looking at this painting??? as someone ominous lurks in the shadows right behind me?" in both [now how could you know this & paint it really fast ahead of time] and [horror]