#and tried and tried and tried and i am just too neurodivergent and broke to sustain relationships or goals in life. so yeah

[fairycosmos]

i wish i had a purpose in life and a supportive network of friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[4str0nuts]

DEEP DIVE INTO HORROPEDIAS AUTISTIC CODING : A GIANT ANALYSIS THING

ALTERNATE TITLE IS WHY THE FANDOM SHOULD CHECK OUT HOW THEY TREAT AUTISTIC CHARACTERS

Disclaimer before I go in; i’m using the global translations and the english voice acting as I am on the global server lol. This may affect some things but hopefully not a lot! Also i’m using this video [https://youtu.be/ygAkz4L2AMo?si=elrUeXGompMKYXUJ] for my proof and will provide timestamps!

Horropedia is one of the most loved characters in Reverse:1999 (bc haha funny autistic guy) , yet I literally see no serious posts discussing his character or even going into his character— even at a basic level. I’ve kinda been off to the side observing how the fandom treats Horropedia and it makes me question if people actually like him or some alternate version of him. Yeah sure this is a problem in every fandom but I’m too attached to Horropedia and i’m going to make it everyone’s problem.

There's all sorts of mischaracterisations of him where his autism is reduced to him being an “asshole” and “uncaring”, or that he is some funny reddit meme sona when that’s the case at all! Every other character gets to have serious posts yet when it comes to a very blatant autistic coded character, suddenly no one knows how to act despite the fact the fandom (going off of the twitter fandom here) prides itself on neurodivergency; so I’m here to dump a ton of analysis on Horropedia using ingame sources as proof as well as my own knowledge (as someone who is autistic myself), whilst also debunking mischaracterisations of him. I’m also doing this as I don’t think people treat Horropedias autistic coding seriously, seeing it as silly and thus ignoring all of his character.

Jumping straight in, Horropedia is not an asshole and is actually quite a caring character, even if he doesn’t show it conventionally. To me, it’s quite obvious that he cannot understand people at an emotional level, and always relies on his logical way of thinking no matter the situation; for example, when he broke Blonneys camera, he clearly does not understand why she is mad/upset and instead tries to comfort her logically rather than emotionally. Even when Blonney is very much showing she is mad, Horropedia cannot process that and cannot understand until she actually explains it [Part 5 54:07-57:20]. I can see why people may see it as an asshole move since he tells her to be “reasonable” over the camera breaking, though it is clear that this is another one of his autistic traits as people with autism have a hard time connecting with others’ in an empathetic way(which can come off as being blunt and uncaring) yet no one seems to mention that. Despite this, he still offers her to buy her a new camera once Blonney vents out to Jessica, coming to terms with what he did and making it up to her. [Part 12 2:10:37]

Adding onto the last point, Horropedia shows concern and care multiple times throughout the story. Even if he is bad at comforting people, he still tries to acknowledge what is wrong in regards to the situation. I’m trying to keep this short as I don’t necessarily think this is due to his autism but a cool detail I found with the English voice acting is that his tone gets softer when he’s more genuine (it could be seen as masking but shrug. Not too sure on this one as I'm making this point to show he does care in his own way.) He constantly makes sure everyone is safe and goes out of his way to protect others [Part 4 51:08 , Part 6 1:16:18-1:16:39], which is a small detail I think people gloss over. It’s just nice seeing Horropedia care for others in his own way since I struggle with expressing affection / emotions like him.

Back to his way of thinking, it’s practically plastered everywhere that he thinks in a logical way and takes everything at face value no matter what, which is a trait associated with autism. At the very start of the very event, he even breaks down Vertins joke and still a conclusion was that she wasn’t the person he was looking for (knowing full well she was) [Part 1 11:06-11:50]. Horropedia also explains things at face value— in a basic and straightforward way no matter what it is, which is another example of not truly understanding things at an emotional level! [Part 9 1:42:45-1:43:09]This does not mean he does not consider the consequences of a situation, and Horropedia actively avoids situations where it poses a threat / harm to others. Mentioning this to point out how some people in the fandom treat him like he is stupid?— Despite how he is the basic definition of a nerd with references to it all over his character and voice lines! Yes, he could be seen as careless considering he goes to Green Lake just like that with no approval, but he certainly isn’t oblivious to dangers around him. Horropedia himself explains that he is into horror movies because of how illogical they are(stating how it is like a puzzle), not necessarily the fear of them; so it makes no sense for Horropedia to directly put himself or others in harm's way.

Still relating to his way of thinking, Horropedia uses his horror logic so he can understand situations around him. He directly links back to his special interest to understand things— and to an extent others— better, special interests are a trait exclusive to autistic people! By using his horror special interest, he can understand the world better from his perspective. I don't even need to get examples of this because throughout the Green Lake event he makes references and links to horror movies, basing predictions on what to do in order to survive in the stereotypical like scene of Green Lake. Horropedia is full of reasoning, and despite his “debatable manners” (thanks Sonetto),he is not always too absurd with his predictions. It baffles me that people treat Horropedia like he is some happy-go-lucky kid, running head first into danger; he takes the time to understand a given situation in a way he would understand before doing anything.

Another really obvious thing is that he can’t understand social cues, or the body languages of others at all. Essentially he cannot read the room. The whole “I know the rules of social courtesy” [Part 12 2:19:19] line doesn’t necessarily mean he understands social cues— rules are (usually) based in logic and reasoning, and not emotions. Social courtesy just means the rules of society (or the foundation in this case? eh), and Horropedia knows he HAS to abide by the rules or else he will be in trouble. Something seen as ‘basic’ and ‘simple’ to people considered ‘normal’ by society may be hard to grasp by people who do not benefit from society (autistic people). Horropedia understands the ‘logical reasoning’ of how someone acts but he can’t connect with or understand someone else’s emotional responses. Literally look at most of his interactions with the film crew and Blonney, Jessica even steps in at one point to stop him from making the fight between Jason and Blonney worse [Part 6 1:11:38]; and even then he tries to use logic to break down the situation. Horropedia can’t pick up on social cues for the life of him, including body language and tone.

Smaller point here but I have a feeling Horropedia’s tone is hard to understand to some of the characters. Tooth Fairy couldn’t tell if Horropedia was joking towards the end of the event , where he shows off his “sense of humour”. Nothing much to add here I just found that really interesting…

Ive rinsed out all the notes I’ve taken on Horropedias autistic coding so far…….. feel free to add on more….. I may have gotten some things wrong because I have been working on this for a few hours straight. Surprisingly I still have more to analyse outside of his autism so if people are interested let me know bc i’m desperate .

TLDR: horropedia is autistic thanks for reading.

[minothtime]

hello tumblr people this is my opinion on the prisoners

YUNO/KAZUI: yeah yeah the social themes and consequences of their actions blah blah blah. afaik they didn't kill nobody ms yuno had a secretive risky abortion and mr kazui told his wife he's gay and then she presumably killed herself is that his fault? no she should've reacted better next

FUUTA/SHIDOU: afaik neither directly killed anyone, shidou just pressured families into offering bodies for science so he could use them for his personal purposes which while shitty and a crime not murder, and fuuta was a stupid teenager + wracked with guilt over his actions. both were shitty but not as bad as [bottom two tiers].

MAHIRU/ES: Need to learn more about Mahiru's entire situation bc i genuinely don't know what's going on at all (mutually abusive relationships don't exist bc abuse comes from power imbalance). I'm just v nosy about Es like what's their whole deal why did they break down when kotoko said they were being a bad warden are they also a prisoner in here what's going on

MIKOTO/AMANE: Fuck if i know how to handle these two people. Mikoto's whole ordeal is NOT for me to talk about and it's a MESS and same w amane it just feels that whatever we vote her it's bad i just want her to be happy :(

KOTOKO: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU little ms hypocrisy she tries to put milgram's psychological violence and her physical violence at the same level when one is unavoidable and the other one is PERFECTLY AVOIDABLE. she believes to be some kind of angel of retribution when she's now shown her true colors and is going DOWNNN idc i kinda liked her at first but she's fallen off HARD. her ass needs a fucking muzzle and some more restraints bc it's clear she's delusional as FUCK

Muu/Haruka: muu's case is she's a bitch and when she was served her just desserts she broke down and killed someone like fuck her entitled ass. Haruka's thing is he's neurodivergent and a minor well guess what i too am neurodivergent and when i was a minor i suffered more than jesus on the cross and i didn't kill SHIT not even ANTS so maybe he should get it checked. buh-bye.

JACKALOPE: he's cute but i lowkey hate him. where the fuck is he now. why is he here. too mysterious too cryptic i need him GONE.

Once again this is my vibes and how I think things went so "oh but I think x and y and we don't know z" ok maybe you don't but I personally am omniscient . Skill issue

[the-guilty-writer]

No Matter What

Request (from anon): hiii if its not too much trouble could you do Reid x daughter reader where she had BPD and she has a anger breakdown??

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Spencer helps his daughter with BPD through an anger breakdown.

A/N: Huge thank you to @huffufflejoy for beta/sensitivity reading and advising me on this work. Your help is greatly appreciated! Now for my usual disclaimer before my pieces that heavily involve any neurodivergent topic: I try my best to potray mental illness in the most accurate yet sensitive way possible. Please let me know if you have concerns or issues with my work. It's important to note that everyone experiences mental illness in different ways and this may not be indicative of the experience of everyone with BPD.

CW: Reader has BPD, anger breakdown, talks of schizophrenia, self-loathing, small amount of physical violence, reader is shorter than Spencer

---

Spencer had learned long before you were born that understanding from knowledge and understanding from experiencing were two different things.

No matter how much he had read about schizophrenia, he could never truly understand what his mom was experiencing. No matter how much he'd read about being a dad, it did not prepare him for actually being one. And no matter how many people he talked to, articles he read, or data he went through, he would never truly understand what it was like for you to live with BPD.

At first, his research led him to believe that he might be able to understand some of the experience. After his dad leaving him at such a young age, Elle's resignation, Gideon leaving with nothing but a letter to say goodbye, and Emily's fake death, Spencer always had an underlying concern that the people in his life were going to leave.

But to him it was just that- an underlying concern. Like how he prefered paper over computers, but wasn't paranoid about it like his mother had been during an episode in which she threw the TV out of the house. Or how he might tell someone "My daughter is my whole world", but if he didn't hear from you for a day his whole world didn't seem to fall apart.

Nothing about your experience would ever be comparable to his. All he could do was try to understand.

Spencer had just woken up when he heard the shattering. He got out of bed, trying not to get his limbs tangled in the sheets, but still moving faster than he usually did at 7 AM. When he threw his bedroom door open, he took in the sight before him. His genius brain tryed it's best to calculate what move to make next.

You were standing in the small kitchen, surrounded by pieces of porcelain. White knuckles were threaded through your hair, threatening to pull the strands out by the root. A look of distress was plastered on your face as your chest heaved. Spencer only hoped that he'd gotten here before the anger turned into a blackout.

"(Y/N), Sweetie," Spencer cooed. He walked toward you, careful to avoid the broken bowl. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Your voice was shrill in your exasperatedly irritable state. "I- I dropped the bowl and it broke, and now I can't make cupcakes for Henry, and I broke the bowl- I'm so sorry-"

Spencer tried to change the subject in an effort to calm you. "You were going to hang out with Henry today?"

"No, of course no. Why else would I be trying to make him cupcakes?" You snarled at your dad with degrading sarcasm. "All my other friends hate me and now he probably will now too and- and the bowl!"

It wasn't an unusual thing for you to say. Keeping surface-level friendships alive could be difficult with BPD. People didn't understand where the swing of emotions came from, and how you couldn't control the things you said when the mental bomb went off. They didn't understand why you would share a hobby with them, and then a week later, drop it completely. Even when you explained BPD, used your coping skills, and tried your hardest, it was difficult just to exist in society.

Henry made it easier. The two of you had been friends since you were small children. He took his time to understand you. He could calm your nerves, help you cope, give you reassurance, set healthy boundaries.

Still, your dad was you favorite person; your safe place. Spencer made you feel secure in a way that no one else could. It didn't matter how high you flew or how hard you fell, he was the constant presence in your life that you needed. That's why the underlying fear of losing him could make you spiral.

"It's broken! It's broken and I'm broken!" The sarcasm slipped away behind your anger.

"You're not broken," Spencer cooed.

"Yes I am!" You screamed at him. Tears of fury streamed down your face. The look in your eyes was enough to tell your dad that you were close to a breakdown, and he couldn't help but look nervously at the shards still littered on the ground.

Spencer took a risk, walking forward. He got to you in three carefully calculated strides.

"Come here," he whispered, though you were only inches apart and his arms were almost all the way around you.

"No, no-" you muttered. Your eyes were shut tight, arms pulled to your chest as if they were a shield over your heart.

Spencer wrapped you in a hug against your wishes, only pulling you tigher when your fists came towards his chest. Your muttering and sobbing and squirming continued as he held you as tightly as he could.

"I love you."

"I'm telling the truth."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You're worthy."

"I will always be here."

Spencer didn't know if the words actually helped, but he liked to think they did. As the pendulum of emotion began to fall and you stopped fighting in his arms, the only sound in the kitchen became the mantras he whispered and your heavy breathing.

"I-I'm sorry, dad," your words were barely desipherable between dry sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean- I'm so sorry. Please-"

"It's okay." Spencer kept his voice calm, soothing, reassuring. "It's only a bowl."

"I broke it and I got so-" you choked out the words as if saying them was physically painful.

Spencer had to remind himself that it was. Just like the way a panic attack could make someone's heart race or their palms sweat, the humiliation of being unable to control your emotions made your throat close. He wished it didn't.

"It's all my fault- I'm sorry."

Spencer looked down at your puffy face. Your lip trembled with anxiety. Salt stained cheeks rested in his palms. In the glassy look of your eyes he could see his own reflection, his own expression. It matched exactly how he felt; concern for you that came from pure love. He only wished you'd see that there was nothing in this world that could make him leave you willfully. There was nothing in this world that could take that love.

"I promise it's okay," he kept his voice quiet. "Can we clean it up together?"

You nodded.

"I'll be here so you're safe," he reassured you. But it was also for himself.

You nodded again.

"Okay." He gently let go of your face. "Let's clean up."

Together, the two of you carefully swept up the pieces of procelain. It took no more than two minutes to do, but Spencer couldn't help but spew a few interesting facts. They made you feel better, more relaxed.

"In Japan they use a technique called kintsugi to repair pottery," he explained. "Craftsmen take the broken bits and mend them together with gold."

The both of you rose to your feet, you with a broom and Spencer with the dustpan. "It actually makes the object stronger and more beautiful." He disposed of the broken bowl in the trash.

"Is this your way of telling me that every time I break I get stronger and more beuatiful?" you asked. It wasn't snarky or sarcastic- it was exhausted. "Because I don't feel that way."

Your dad took the broom from you, putting it back in the small storage closet. "Not quite," he said, then turned. "Because a lot of people believe the practice rose from the philosophy of wabi-sabi, which encourages people to look for and appreciate imperfection."

You blinked at him. "I'm confused."

He wrapped you in a hug. "It's my way of telling you that I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't matter to me how strong you are or how beautiful you are- how perfect or imperfect. I'm always going to be here, and I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

[lifblogs]

Do You Not Trust Me?

Day 4 of Neurodivergent Tech Week Prompt: "Do you not trust me?" "Absolutely not. Next question." @neurodivergent-tech-week

Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1460 Summary: Crosshair decides to go with Clone Force 99 after the destruction of Kamino. Tech wants to scan for an inhibitor chip, just to be safe. READ ON AO3

Tech was adding just a few touches to his scanner, his body tense because of who sat across from him near the hyperdrive computer, hands bound.

Crosshair let out a huff, hanging his head.

“Do you not trust me?” he asked, knowing the nature of the scanner Tech was working on.

Tech’s solder sparked blue into the ship.

The others were busy, leaving Tech to his business with Crosshair. In truth, he was only doing it out of curiosity, though he was ordered to by Hunter, but given the situation…

“Absolutely not,” he stated quite easily. “Next question.”

“I see you still have your sass.” Crosshair’s voice lacked the usual hissing strength to it. He was clearly ashamed from asking them to help him off Kamino.

“As do you, I’m sure.” Tech lowered the scanner. “It’s not just about trust,” Tech said. “You know I have to verify this.”

Crosshair let out another huff, leaning back in his seat, and stretching out his long legs.

Tech pulled his legs in.

“Hunter wants you to verify it, to see if I’m lying.”

Ugh. “Crosshair, what reason have you given us to trust you? You lured us to Kamino at the Empire’s orders, you shot your own squad”— Crosshair turned away; perhaps at the fact that the Bad Batch was no longer his squad?—”you told us you believe in the Empire, and are loyal to them, and then you ask us to get you off Kamino despite your own pride, but since then you have not made your allegiance clear.”

Tech finished with the scanner, and set his tools aside.

“There, all done.”

“Tech, I know you. I know you like to look at every side, like to understand as much as you can about—about everything, really. Now look at the other evidence.”

“Why? Will you be staying with us, or is your loyalty to those who destroyed our home more important to you?”

Tech stood, and tried scanning Crosshair, but he stood too, shoving him. Tech shoved back.. Perhaps their altercation was too loud because Hunter noticed, exiting the cockpit in a rush, and getting in between them. Crosshair snarled when he pulled them apart.

“Stop it. Both of you. Crosshair, sit down.”

“Make me.”

“How old are you?” Hunter asked.

“Fine,” Crosshair growled, taking a seat. “But I’m only listening to you so I actually make it to my destination.”

“We’re not the ones who want you dead,” Hunter said. “Think about that.” He turned to Tech. “You’re all right here? You can handle him?”

Guilt struck Tech for a moment as his hand just brushed against one of his blasters holstered at his hips.

“Of course.”

“Good, now check if he still has his chip.”

“I don’t,” Crosshair swore.

“Then what’s the harm in the scan?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Crosshair told him.

Tech cleared his throat, going over in his head what he wanted to say. He should say it now. No, no… Now! Hmm, maybe it needed some tweaking.

Hunter, may I speak with you? I believe you are riling Crosshair up. I can handle him.

Yes, that was perfect.

By the time he had his script, Crosshair was in Hunter’s face.

Oh no, was he too late?

He still had to try.

Tech cleared his throat again, getting at least Hunter’s attention (Crosshair was still sneering at Hunter). “Hunter,” he started, worried his voice was coming out too loud (not like he could change that at the moment; there was just too much to think about), “may I speak with you?”

Hunter drew his attention from Crosshair, which seemed to take a mighty effort. Tech didn’t blame him.

“Fine, but I’m gonna keep an eye on him.”

“That is preferable,” Tech said, breaking his script, and finding the rest of the words falling away from him as the connection broke.

Scrag.

“So what is it?” Hunter asked.

How am I supposed to say it now?

Just try.

You have to try.

Tech tried to ignore the sudden anxiety in his gut at finding the right words, and said, “I believe you are riling Crosshair up. Clearly he is distressed by your presence.”

“And he isn’t by yours?”

“He is, but to a lesser extent. I believe this will go more smoothly if I handle it on my own.”

Hunter eyed Tech, and then Crosshair. He looked back at Tech, and Tech dodged his gaze, looking at his eyebrows instead, and the dark ink of his tattoo.

“Fine, but holler if you need help.”

Hunter went back to the cockpit, and the door opening earned Tech a glance at Omega peeking through, curious as always. Besides, she seemed willing to forget Crosshair’s transgressions.

AZI was in the cockpit as well, making it more crowded. He had volunteered to check if Crosshair still had his chip, but Tech wanted to see it for himself, with his own tool.

“Glad Hunter decided I don’t need another babysitter,” Crosshair hissed out as Tech came back over.

“Perhaps I was the one who didn’t want him around.”

“You? Aren’t you all one big, happy family?”

“No,” Tech stated. “I fear we are missing a piece.”

They went silent.

“Please, let me scan you.”

“Fine,” Crosshair relented. “As long as your stupid machine doesn’t touch my head.”

“It won’t.”

Still, Tech held in a wince as he scanned Crosshair, getting a closer look at his scar.

“Did that require skin grafts?” he asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. You don’t trust me, remember? So I don’t trust you.”

“I miss the time when we could trust each other,” Tech admitted, voice perhaps more monotone than he had intended.

“Just finish your stupid scan.”

Tech did, and… no inhibitor chip. He felt a strange lightness in his chest that Crosshair had been telling the truth.

But then that meant he had been telling the truth about his loyalty to the Empire as well, which then felt like a stab in the gut.

“It appears you were not lying,” Tech managed to get out.

“As if I didn’t already know that.”

“You want to be left alone,” Tech stated, still knowing Crosshair despite him being an enemy now.

To his surprise, Crosshair paused.

Tech almost sat back down, even twisting his hips to do so.

“Yes.”

Crosshair was lying. Tech knew it like he knew how to fly the Marauder, knew it like he knew that a venomous twirfang didn’t actually need its venom to kill its prey, knew it like he knew the sound of a purrgil about to jump to hyperspace.

Tech left him to his lie, wondering if he would ever look back at his recording of that moment.

Despite how crowded it was in the cockpit, Tech felt devastatingly lonely. He wondered if Crosshair felt this way. But there was no way to fix it, not unless Crosshair took the first steps.

Tech sat in the pilot’s seat, silent, brain trying to script what he could say to Crosshair to fix this, but there was no script for this pain, no script for what Crosshair had done to them and had tried to do, no script for what they had done to Crosshair, no script for the sheer encompassing malice and enormity of the Empire.

Tech, unable to sit still with his frustrating helplessness, continued work on one of his many projects, telling the others about it till they were annoyed, and past that. Though, Wrecker smiled at him through it, and Echo did seem interested for quite some time. Same with Hunter and Omega. But he knew he was too much sometimes. They listened anyway. Annoyance didn’t change anything about love. Tech was glad that after twenty minutes they at least pretended to listen; perhaps they had been doing it all along, not understanding what he was working on. He valued the questions Omega asked, and valued that they let him speak as long as he wished.

Yet Crosshair sat just outside the door, alone.

Would he have listened to Tech for some time as well? Had he tried to listen in?

Tech resisted the urge to check on him. Echo was handling that—Echo, who understood being used by an enemy to hurt his own brothers. Perhaps something would come of this.

His mind played over and over again, Do you not trust me?

Crosshair hadn’t tried to take their weapons, hadn’t hurt any of them once Kamino had been fired upon, and he had saved Omega. The evidence before Tech painted a confusing picture, one he would want to puzzle out, teasing out the knotted strands until everything was right again.

Do you not trust me?

Yes, yes, I do trust you.

[yallemagne]

Luthur (Lucy/Arthur) Propaganda

I'm writing this with all the pent-up rage of an entire year of seeing "Lucy's so dumb, she should have picked my favourite suitor" posts and "who should Lucy have chosen?" polls that always result in practically no votes for Arthur.

This is not an anti-Jack or anti-Quincey post by any means, though it may come across as defensive. It is just a pro-let-Lucy-choose-for-herself post. And yes, letting her choose for herself even includes letting her be monogamous when she has made the conscious decision to remain monogamous.

So, to the proposal descriptions--

Seward tries to hide his anxiety by putting up a front of sternness. From how Lucy describes it, it sounds like he's negotiating a contract:

He spoke to me, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.

Sounds like he hardly popped the question so much as stated: "I would be honoured to have you (I need you I need you I need you I need you) as my wife. If you don't love me back, I will die."

This proposal comes across as very neurodivergent to me. He goes into it thinking mostly about what he wants from Lucy and how good the marriage would be for his mental health, not stopping to consider if she's already seeing someone (literally the man who introduced them) or just maybe... that he's putting too much of a burden on her with this style of proposal. This approach would work better with another no-nonsense B, but Lucy is overwhelmed. He didn't think of her feelings in the matter because he was too busy schooling his own emotions so he wouldn't screw it all up. It comes across as very scripted until he sees that he's upset Lucy-- that is when we get a glimpse of his care for her. But then he's back to his bullet points of "but could you love me one day? do you love another now? on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate this interaction?"

Lucy gets through Seward's entire proposal without getting carried away and writing about Arthur instead, but with Quincey--

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet—— My dear, I am somewhat previous.

She certainly finds Quincey charming, but she cuts herself off to talk about Arthur. While she momentarily thinks that telling adventurous tales would win a woman's heart, she says that it didn't win her own. There's a sort of peacocking going on with Quincey prefacing his proposal with tales of his adventures. It's very much like Seward's stoic attempt but with far more confidence and pizzazz.

Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. 

Quincey "found [her] alone". Now, before, she said "Mr. Morris was telling us his stories"-- who is us? I am guessing that perhaps Lucy's mother or someone else was sitting in as a chaperone? And then Quincey found an opportunity to talk to her in private?

Again, she drifts off talking about Arthur while she's trying to explain Quincey. "Arthur tried twice to make a chance"-- my best guess for what this means is that Arthur has tried to have un-chaperoned time with Lucy twice before in order to propose to her, but he never succeeded despite her attempts to aid him.

Which makes this all so much funnier? Some joke that the Suitors probably arranged it all, but this hints that Arthur has been trying his damndest to propose, but the one day he actually gets a chance to, he finds out his two friends proposed to her first! Those dogs!!

I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet.

Lucy interrupts her "haha the silly American talks silly American gibberish" with "would Arthur like it if I spoke this way?" Gah, she's so in love with him. It's funny that she says she's never heard him use slang considering she's already mentioned "Dress is a bore." which she even called slang.

Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. [...] And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free...

She remarks that Quincey's more light-hearted nature makes him easier to refuse than Seward. However, she finds it harder to reject him when he drops the act and starts behaving more earnestly. She finds it easier to imagine loving him when he's being sincere. She doesn't have this same thought with Seward because, unfortunately, even when he snapped out of his legal negotiation of the potential marriage, he still kept himself emotionally guarded through the rest of the interaction.

Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it.

I must say... Lucy here is not saying "I want a harem of men.". Stop. Just stop saying that she is. That interpretation has led to every single adaptation that brands her an insincere cheater who strings along men and deserves to be punished by the narrative. Just stop. What she is expressing here is guilt at not having an option that would please all parties involved. She's been raised as a people-pleaser, but in this scenario, there is no choice she could make that wouldn't lead to someone being hurt. So, she makes the decision to follow her heart rather than her guilty conscience.

And think, just earlier, Jack planted this seed of insecurity by saying that he'll be upset if she does not love him. And then goes even further to imply her loving another robs him of his hope. It makes it so that, even when Quincey is more gracious in accepting her refusal, she can't help but beat herself up for practically destroying these men's lives (hyperbole, of course) all for her own happiness!!

Lucy clearly displays polyamorous traits. She laments that, if she did not love Arthur so much, she could love Quincey (rip Seward). But she has chosen not to explore those feelings. Part of her cutting herself off while writing about Quincey to talk about Arthur could be subconsciously reminding herself: "nope, there is no chance with him, I want Arthur". She compares the two constantly as if to remind herself she made the right choice. There's also her love for Mina, but she has plausible deniability in this era and can claim that as just classic girl love.

But when she considers a woman marrying "as many men as want her" it is not reflective of her being polyamorous because she doesn't have this thought out of "I love these three men enough to marry them" but "I feel guilty about being loved by three men at once, and I have to repay the favour somehow, but I can't". She does not say "as many men as she wants" because it's not about the woman's feelings but about the feelings of the men that surround her. But you know what? She showed agency when she picked the man she wanted and didn't bow and pick the man who would be the most devastated upon being rejected, and I'm proud of her.

Lucy is incredibly brief when describing Arthur's proposal, but let's. just. think about this. Previously, she has tried to hold back her overwhelming love for Arthur in her writing to Mina (she failed, lol). Other than wanting to be discreet, she explains:

My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

She doesn't want to taint her happy feelings with bitterness about how "oh, I'm so horrible and selfish for picking the man I love! I don't deserve to be loved by anyone!" And even then, she goes into a bit more detail in her post-script:

P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

Such a friend. Before this, Seward and Quincey were not friends of Lucy's. They were acquaintances that knew her through Arthur (though she does not explicitly state this about Quincey, so she could have met him somewhere else?), and upon being rejected romantically, they swore friendship to her. Before then, they saw her as a potential bride.

But Arthur was already a friend to Lucy. They have been close for longer than she's known either of her other suitors, and while they'd never said the L-word (love) to each other before, I think what wins Lucy's heart is that Arthur is genuine with her. We don't get to see it (she teases us!! how dare!!), but that feels like the most plausible thing that would set him apart from Seward and Quincey. Now, the other two are honest men (we see it when they comfort her), but they both initially put up a front to impress/entertain Lucy. Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't bother with that. He comes into the room, and she's practically already in his arms! It's so effortless with him. She doesn't have to imagine herself being happy and in love with him because she already is.

[parvulous-writings]

Hey! I saw that Bill and Ted were on the list that you write for, and I was wondering if you could do a Bill x Ted x gn!reader where y/n is autistic and they have a shutdown where they go nonverbal and everything feels uncomfortable (touch/sound/etc). Which in turn causes them to feel worse because now y/n feels like they're being a burden to their partners, but Bill and Ted will not let them believe that /Can be mostly fluff with a small bit of angst //you don't have to include this, but I do hc both Bill and Ted as neurodivergent, so if you want to input that you can 🌟

///This request does kinda stem from personal experiences, and I just needed some fictional comfort 😭

////Stay hydrated and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/evening! 😊

Summary: Bill and Ted try to help you as much as they can whilst you have a shutdown

Warnings: Description of autistic shutdown, descriptions of overwhelming spaces. There's nothing too graphic or anything, though! Gender-neutral use of dude, that's just how they talk 0-0

Words:

Notes: I am so SO sorry this took so long - I was just determined to pour my heart and soul into this, as it struck me very deeply! I hope I can do this justice! Also trying out a slightly new format which is strange to me 0-0  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

not my gif

Somehow, the pair of music-loving young men had managed to convince you to go with them to a local concert. How they had coaxed you into it, you weren't entirely sure - their voices had overlapped so much and so many times that you weren't quite sure who was speaking when. "Listen, it's all going to be okay! I mean, it'll be loud, but you'll be with us, we'll cover your ears if you need it!" The shorter of the two, Bill, assured you. He was already clearly ecstatic, practically bouncing as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. You hadn't even given a response yet, and he was already over the moon. "Yeah, you'll be with us!" Ted echoed, a huge, almost goofy smile on his face. Though the taller of the two seemed much slower in his movements, there was no doubt that he was just as excited as his best friend.

You had tried to explain that that wasn't always how it worked with your sensitivity, but no matter what you said, they always seemed to have an answer or a solution to every potential problem you presented them with. They were just so stoked at the idea you might join them to this concert - the event they had been waiting for months upon months to go to. The one thing that they had begged their parents to attend; that Bill had easily managed to cajole Missy to let him go to, and that Ted had somehow managed to convince his father that it wasn't anything nefarious, that he would be safe. They had already begun packing for you before you had a chance to properly consider - they were very sweet about it all, but your voice was very quiet compared to their overlapping chatter.

Three bags - backpacks - was what they ended up packing. "I think that should be enough..." Bill said to Ted, as the taller of the two was bringing more water into the garage from the house. "Are you sure?" Ted asked, "What if we run out of water? Don't want to ruin our throats, dude..." "I'm sure there'll be some there! Missy'll give us a bit of money, too..." Bill replied, starting to do up the backpacks, making sure everything was packed properly - maximising space whilst also ensuring that everything was at least somewhat secure, particularly the bottles of water. It simply wouldn't have done to have one of them burst in the bag, and soak one of your backs, especially when you were all going to be standing for so long. You stood there, awkwardly as the two friends rushed back and forth, making sure that everything was as they had planned. "Hey," Ted's voice broke you from a thoughtless daze. You blink a few times, and turn your gaze to him. "You okay?" He asks, his brows furrowed with boyish concern - he wasn't sure what was going through your head, but the worry was genuine, that much was clear to see.

You consider his question for a moment, before settling on your answer: "I'm... not sure...?" Ted is clearly puzzled by this response, so you fumble your way through a half explanation. "Well... I do want to go with you guys-" "You are coming with us!" Ted interjects, quite gleefully. "What I mean is, I... I'm really anxious about it- I've never done something like this before, I've never... been comfortable, with this kind of thing..." "Well..." Ted starts, trailing off for a moment. He must be trying to make some connections in his head. "Well, you'll be with us... " He repeats the mantra like statement that he and Bill had adopted since they broke the news to you that morning. "So, that'll help, right?" He asks - you had never been entirely open with the two about how some things would affect you in a drastically different way to what it affected them. Crowds overwhelmed you, excessive noise debilitated you and made you ever so irritated you, and change... Well, you had never let anyone but your family see the results and ramifications change had on you, but needless to say, it was unpleasant. Ted's quasi-reassurance came from a good place in his heart, but you weren't as sure that their presence alone would calm or aid you. You stay quiet for a moment, considering your options. Yes, you could refuse, and save yourself the potential overwhelming environment, but disappoint your friends... OR, you could risk it, make them possibly the happiest you've seen them in a long time, and it could all be okay. There was no way of telling. You sigh quietly, then offer Ted a tiny smile. "Yeah, I guess that could help...."

Before you had even entered the venue, there were hundreds of people, all swarmed together, bustling little bubbles of activity that you would rather avoid. Both Bill and Ted were in their element already, eyes widened with wonder and anticipation. This was what their whole lives had led up to so far. This moment - seeing a band in the flesh, and their excitement was starting to bubble up, with the evening barely started. You grab Bill's arm with both hands, pulling yourself close to him. He glances at you, and is about to say something - his mouth half open as the words begin to form - before he is interrupted by a cheer from one of the groups ahead of you, as the doors to the venue are finally opened.

Bill and Ted quicken their pace - they so badly want to get in there, find a good spot for you all. So eager are they, that they drag you head on into the flowing crowd. Bodies are pressed against bodies, all moving as one, never stopping. You're being pushed by people behind you, pulled by Bill, and by Ted. Your feet can hardly keep up - the minimal room to move not helping you at all. You stumbled along, with no choice in the matter. You feel your chest tighten - the night had only just set into motion, and already, it was starting to get to you. You tried to call out, to get the attention of one of your friends, but naturally your voice is lost in the sea of the rest. You try tugging at Bill's sleeve, and then Ted's - but because so many others had done the same in the last few minutes, that they didn't take any notice whatsoever. They keep pushing forward, dragging you with them despite your reluctance. It was all too much. You had no way to tell them, but it was too much.

You can feel your eyes start to almost glaze over as your voice dies in your throat. You can still see everything, but it felt... Far away, now. All of the noises that surrounded you blur and fade, becoming one distant and droning hum. You're rooted to the spot, though you're still somewhat aware of the fact that people are still knocking into your arms, shoving past you to make their way into the venue. It was a few minutes later, when Ted went to turn to you to say something about how totally amazing this was going to be, that they knew you had gone. Ted grabbed Bill's arm, shaking it violently to make sure he got his attention. Bill turned, brows furrowed, almost in annoyance as he pulled his arm away from his friend's grasp. "Dude, what-" "Listen - our trio's turned to two!" Ted exclaimed over the noise, grabbing Bill's wrist again. He dragged the curly haired teen back through the crowd, Bill struggling at almost every step. There was a flurry of questions from him: "What the hell do you mean, dude?" and "Why are we going back to the doors? We're going to miss it!" were the only ones that Ted managed to make out. He knew, that if Bill had realised you weren't with them, he'd be just as concerned as he was. Ted cranes his neck, scanning over the top of the crowd, looking for you. It's not as simple as it sounds: there are at least ten other people who he initially thought were you, but quickly came to realise they were not.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, they did find you. And, immediately, they knew something was wrong - of course, they didn't know exactly what, but, concert or no, they knew they had to help. "Let's try getting outside." Bill suggested to Ted, despite his earlier protestations that they would miss the show. When faced with the decision of your well-being and comfort, or a live show, it was a no-brainer. Carefully, trying not to startle you, they took your arms. You were almost like a ragdoll in their hands as they started to move to the back of the crowd, but suddenly you're pulling against them, resisting, trying to wrestle your arms from their hands. You'd snapped back to reality, feeling every sensation there was to feel; the overwhelming noise, the heat of so many bodies packed closely together, the tight grip of Bill and of Ted. You wanted none of it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggle, and soon enough, Ted let's go, motioning for Bill to do the same. You draw in on yourself, holding your hands to your ears and looking down at the floor, trying your best to minimise the amount of stimuli your brain was taking in. It worked, to some extent. You feel a quick, but firm, tap on your shoulder - someone trying to get your attention. Your eyes dart up, mostly out of habit, to see Ted waving at you, his smile nervous and unsure. He beckons to you, silently calling you forward, and you shuffle slightly in compliance. It's difficult to move, but you register that both Bill and Ted are trying to help you get out of this situation.

Eventually, you're all outside, and Bill is trying to guide you to sit on the floor so you can rest for a moment, which proves extraordinarily difficult to him when he realises he can't touch you more than a tap. You both manage it though, and Bill and Ted sit either side of you, like they do ordinarily. You all stay quiet for a while - both of them expecting you to speak first, to say that everything is okay, that you're fine. But you don't. You just sit there, tears rolling down your face. Ted leans forward, waving a little to get your attention again, "You okay?" He asks, his voice quiet, unsure. You just turn your head towards him, unable to answer. You wanted to - oh how you wished to be able to! But... At the same time, speaking felt like it would be too much now. Ted didn't really know how to take your silence. Was it good? Bad? His eyes flitted to Bill, who instantly made eye contact; clearly they were thinking along the same line. There's a moment of tension, where the two boys seem to be mentally battling to see who should speak first. Bill eventually opens his mouth. "We're sorry..." He begins, "We.. We should have listened to you, about the concert and..." He trails off with a light sigh - not at you, but at himself. At Ted. They should have listened to you - should have arranged to do something else. You hear something rustle from beside you, and as you turn you see Ted offering you one of the bottles of water he and Bill had packed. "Drink, dude..." The dark haired boy urged. He knew you needed something, and that you may be in a state, but they both still want to take care of you, even if they were the main cause of the problem in the first place. Their hearts were in the right place, and now they wished to try and make up for their mistake. Bill wished that he had thought of your perspective a bit more, and sooner. He had been so wrapped up in his desire - which had practically become a need - to see this concert, that his mind could barely focus on anything else. His chest ached with the guilt of what he had brought on to you; he knew all too well what the overwhelm could feel like, and so did Ted. But their focus on the concert had thrown all other considerations out of the window, for both of them.

You shakily take the bottle from Ted, to find it already undone. You glance in thanks to him -unable to smile- before bringing the bottle to your mouth and taking the smallest of sips. It was all you could muster for the time being. "I have an idea!" Bill announced, a tad too loud for your liking, making you flinch. Bill notices, and winces too, giving you an apologetic look. "I was thinking..." His voice is softer now, more like a whisper. "We take you back to yours..." He points at you, "So that you can rest up... Y'know, sort yourself out and everything... We can stay if you want to, but-" He pauses, realising he's getting carried away with himself and starting to ramble. "And then..." He continues, back on his original train of thought. "When you're ready... You can come over to my place, and we can jam out." He gives you that trademark goofy little smile, all teeth and just reaching his eyes. There's a question teetering in your mind, bouncing around; one you can't yet voice. Ted, somehow manages to read your mind at that very moment; "Jam? You mean, we'll be using the guitars?" He considers for a moment, "I don't know... Your dad said he doesn't want to hear any bad playing anymore... and I'm not tryin' to say anything about your playing-" Ted turns to you, totally sincere, "But I don't think it's... Eddie Van Halen level yet, dude..." "Well, it can be with or without the guitars." Bill responds, "I mean, we've got the guitars to get to Van Halen's level." He shrugs, "And who cares what my dad says? It's not like he's there most of the time."

Ted considers his friend's words for a moment, his brows furrowed as if he had been posed with a very serious philosophical question, lips pursed in thought to complete the look. After a few seconds of this, Ted nods enthusiastically, seemingly satisfied with this answer, his grin returning. "It's settled then!" Bill announces with a grin just as wide as Ted's, and with the gusto of the old shining knights of yore. "We take our good fellow here," He gestures to you broadly with his hand, "Back to their dwelling for the eve. And then!" He points dramatically to the sky with one finger. "We shall wait to the morn... To jam!" You giggle quietly, and Bill's joyous face turns back to you, all teeth and smiles still. Ted's face lights up too, and the two boys meet eyes before doing their natural greeting to one another - an epic air guitar gesture that had become customary for them after so many years of being friends. It's not long after that, that the three of you are walking down the path to your home - taking up the entire pavement as you stand with all your shoulders practically touching, though the pair were careful to make sure that they didn't accidentally brush against you on the way back - they didn't want to upset you again. Bill actually nearly ended up falling into the road a couple of times because of this mindset, so ended up switching places with Ted. Then the same thing happened to him! The pair were laughing merrily at one another as they walked you down your drive. "I'll come see you at lunchtime tomorrow..." Bill says to you as you step onto your porch. "And then we can go pick up Ted on the way to mine, if you want to jam... If not, we could all hang out at your place, if you wanted?" Bill offered, and you nod slowly, "But you can tell us tomorrow, if you want, or later - if you can call?" Bill rambles a little, grinning at you. Though he still feels a bit guilty about the fact that his actions had upset you, he knew that you would all be able to work through it eventually; your reaction, to him and Ted at least, was perfectly natural. They may have had similar ones had they been put in a situation they had deemed unsuitable for themselves - Ted had certainly lashed out in the past because of the very same thing.

"But yeah, lunchtime tomorrow-" Bill repeats, "Don't forget!" He tells you, as if you ever would. With that, Bill and Ted scurry off into the evening air- the memory of the concert left behind and forgotten in favour of the plans the pair had started to make, in preparation for the next time the three of you got to spend time together, whether that be tomorrow, or even days in the future.

[splanana-bitz]

i am asking you about your special interests. rant about all of them to me if you wish. go off my friend :)

Holy shit, you are now my new favorite person-

A lot of my special interests right now mainly center around Will Wood, ROTTMNT, and human behavior as a whole.

With Will Wood's music, whether he intends it to be or not, is just so profound and well made and really makes me happy. The symbolism, the seemingly needless, lengthy words, and the themes he explores overall are just ground-breaking to me and I could analyze his stuff for days on end with a burning passion. And the way his music (both old and new) sounds?? LIKE WHAT??

I swear, no two songs of his sound the same, and I mean it in the best way possible. The pacing, the instrumental choice, really everything just feels uniquely respective to its own song and I am drooling over it.

Will Wood is easily one of the best musicians I have ever had the pleasure of discovering. When I found his stuff, I hadn't had a musical hyperfixation in actual years, but boy did listening to the normal album change that.

Like I said, the lyrics, the sounds of the music, and (what I believe is) the continued theme of normalcy while each song still tells its own theme/story?? It's just perfection to me, really-

As for ROTTMNT? Don't even get me started!

The animation is lively, colorful, and has a delightful, anime-ish style to it that just makes the whole show eye candy to me. The boxy(?) movement in certain scenes, the shading (especially in the movie), and the character designs?? Omg the character designs-

I love how Rise broke what I feel was the "copy-and-paste" style of design for the turtles, unlike the previous series (I'm not saying other TMNT shows were bad, but good lord the designs (looking at you, 2012) were...awful-). Each design feels respective to its own character and the diversity in appearance really helps the turtle's personalities, fighting style, and expression shine through.

And the turtles themselves? I simply just adore what the show did with their personalities and how they gave them more depth and really humanized them. Especially with Raph and Donnie. Especially Raph and Donnie.

Raph always came off as just "the angry one," and there was seemingly no reason for why and there was nothing else to him, when I tried getting into older series, and at times, it made me dislike him as a character. But in Rise? They made him into a gentle giant with different likes, dislikes, interests, strength, weaknesses, and gave him reason to be angry in certain scenarios, rather than feeding us the usual "pissed off all the time" Raph. In Rise, he just comes off as a reasonably tired, realistic older brother that cares about his family and just wants the best for everyone, even if there are times he comes off in the wrong way.

And I could go off about Donnie for days

But to keep it as short as I can; Donnie is to die for in Rise. He is more than just the "tech guy." He is shown to indulge in different interests and hobbies, he has vulnerable moments, he's sarcastically witty and deadpan, just everything I could want in a character like him.

And the way they handled autistic representation with Donnie?

*chef's kiss* 11/10 👌

He comes off a realistic, neurodivergent person that isn't weakened by his condition, and is instead just accepted as he is and plays a vital role to the brother's chemistry, unlike in most shows where the autistic character feels like an inconvenience, a man-child, an un-empathetic asshole, and/or too indulged in their hyperfixation to be useful, or that's all there is to them as a person.

Rise just got so many things right and I adore the show for it!

And lastly; with human behavior? It's certainly not as strong as the last two fixations, but I still find it rather interesting.

Everything we have been taught since birth feels black and white, especially with people's intentions and emotions. But, I don't think that's the case at all (in 95% of cases). People each have their own thoughts, feelings, and reasonings for why they do x, y, z, and I may not know everything about it, but Jesus Christ, it intrigues me so much.

Thank you so much for asking about my special interests =)

I apologize it took a while to answer, I've been busy with school, my job, and trying to finish the first part of the Black Box Warrior analysis (which I should hopefully have posted in the next day or two-)

[ivydbomb]

I know this isn’t reddit but I need to do a little AITA (Am I the *sshole)

So I’m a minor. I live in a house paid by my parents. All my stuff is paid by my parents, but I am old enough to work and I make my own money. My mom often borrows money from me. Most of the time she pays it back with some added bonus money. (Most of the time meaning 7 times out of 10. The other 3 times she forgets she owed me anything and doesn’t believe me when I try to explain she does). She makes a lot of poor financial decisions and is often completely broke so relies on me to get things for her sometimes.

It’s going to be my dad’s birthday soon. And she already booked a hotel for the two of them. Only problem is they spent all their money and can’t pay for dinner or gifts or alcohol or anything like that. My mom has been asking me for my money. I already gave her some but she needs more. And the lower my bank account goes the more incredibly anxious I get. Idk why but when I get past $100 I get a horrible awful nauseating feeling that doesn’t go away till I get paid. Lower it gets worse the feeling is. It’s probably a neurodivergent thing.

She’s been really persistent. And it’s all come to a head when we got into a fight. She called me several names (mostly things like stingy b*tch) and told me to give her my phone since ‘she pays for it and I won’t share any money with her.’ I don’t think that’s fair. I’ve tried explaining why I can’t give her any more and she says it’s ridiculous and she’d give me money no matter what if I ever asked for it. Which is probably true. I feel terrible. Is it fair of me to withhold money? She gives me everything I want. Plans big trips. Pays for all my stuff. I don’t pay rent yet. All that stuff.

I understand I owe her. But she’s taking things too far by taking my stuff and calling me names. She’s very angry and I just want to know what people think about this situation. I’ve offered to start paying my own phone bill (even though technically she’s supposed to pay for it since one time she accumulated like $1,000 worth of debt to me and we agreed she could pay it off by paying for my phone bill) but she doesn’t want to hear it. Now she’s saying stuff like she ‘doesn’t even want the money. She just want’s my phone since it’s hers and she pays for it.’

Am I in the wrong? Should I try to make up and apologize and just give her the rest of what I’ve got? My dad is taking my side and is saying what she’s doing is unfair. But she’s also angry at him and is saying the same stuff to him too. And two wrongs don’t make a right? Idk. Help.

[asktherejectsau]

It’s been a while, huh?

Hello everyone.

I apologize for the incredibly long hiatus as I did not expect to be away from this account for over a year but a lot has happened in my personal life that was out of my control and unfortunately, I was not in the correct mental state to be pumping out content in the way that I was with this AU.

While I’m not going to explain the full brevity of it here, I’ll try to put it as simply as I can without divulging too much personal information. I don’t want any further questions regarding my life irl as I want to keep that separated from this project completely. But for this update, I will say this once.

Firstly, what’s been going on?

I have been struggling with my mental health for many years, primarily because I am neurodivergent. But 2023 was what I would consider one of the worst years of my life. I was nearly made homeless by an abusive family member, my grandmother had passed away, and I had failed my 3rd year of college due to what was thought to be symptoms of an undiagnosed mental disorder, which turned out be a post-traumatic response to stress.

I tried to power through it by distracting myself via this AU and in extension, this fandom. But I have since realized what I was doing to myself was not in any way healthy nor productive.

For the longest time my “worth” was tied to my work. Up until this point in my life, I was conditioned to believe from a young age that if was not successful, then I did not deserve to live. I felt ashamed of myself for not being able to fulfill what I thought were “simple” deadlines, creating grand projects to complete in just 2 weeks or less and when I didn’t hit those goals (much like with the completion of the EP) I nearly broke down.

But once I realized how much harm I was doing to myself, I felt like I had to take a step back and reassess myself before it had the chance to seep into my art and other fandom spaces I occupied.

I apologize for not giving any notices or updates whatsoever on this project. I never meant to abandon this AU. I love it way too much to let it go for good. There were other factors that kept me away here too, such as the brief influx unwanted sexual comments made by anonymous users in mid 2023, as well as my own internal struggle with my place within the Gorillaz fandom as someone who wants to share more nuanced content with mature themes in a space that has become increasingly filled with a much younger audience than intended.

But I’ve decided I want to come back to this project so I can tell the story I want to tell. Not just because of my love for the IP but simply because I want to finish. I want to finish it as a way to end a saga for myself.

Now that I have finally been given the green light to go forward into my senior year after repeating junior year, I feel that I’m finally in a healthy enough mindset to do so.

What will happen to this blog then?

I’ll be uploading questions as I get to them. But I must make note of this again as stated in the rules. Please stop sending me NSFW questions about the characters or myself. While this AU does deal with mature themes and does contain some suggestive elements, that does not give invitation for you to ask for that type of content about the characters, and especially from me. This is not directed at any specific user as most people were incredibly kind and respectful. But I beg you if you do like this project and want to submit a question or fanart, please don’t do this. It’s made me incredibly uncomfortable every time I receive them and it overall sours the experience of answering questions and continuing to work on this project. I would like for that boundary not to be crossed so please be respectful of that.

Secondly; as it stands, the EP and Thru With U animated music video are postponed.

Thru With U will most likely stay as a storyboarded piece as I unfortunately, do not have the luxury to animate a full three and half minute long piece by myself as that takes a lot of time and money that I do not currently have. And if I wanted to hire people to help me in animating it, I would want to give them proper compensation. Which again, I cannot currently give at this time.

The EP will probably come out eventually, but I would have to do some intense fine tuning in order to get sounding as best as it could be. That isn’t to say that I won’t be making anymore music/MVs for the Rejects later down the line, but I ask that all of you please be patient with me a more of those projects come out.

With that all being said, thank you all for your support. I’m incredibly proud of the community that’s been fostered from this AU and all of you who’ve sent me fanart, written kind messages, asked questions to the characters, and have written supportive tags onto each post, it means so much.

I can’t wait for you to see what this project has in store. Stay tuned!

Sincerely,

Bepis-Boii

[your-absent-father]

Hihi get it? Because Eve is my name-

Okay, in all seriousness, hi to old friends. It's been a while. Almost half a year it seems. I took too much pressure on this thing which should have been like a hobby and not... like work. We aren't getting paid to do this so I want my free time to be escapist and fun and not another reason to fall into previous habits.

I am rambling. The tldr is that I am on my rebrand and self care era after a year of disappointment after disappointment so I want to do something fun and have fun.

Who am I?

I am... people on here call me Eve, but I have juggling around new pen names I could start using, mainly because my last one I have used ever since middle school. So, you can call me Eve, but don't wonder if you see other names popping up like Alina Ellis and E.V May that are now the top runners up.

I am queer, probably more neurodivergent than diagnosed but I am too broke to get tested. I live in Finland. I am 22 years old and right now I am trying to get my papers to be a full time teacher's aid, and maybe apply to study to be a elementary school teacher.

I love K-pop, especially stray kids and (g)-idle, classical literature, media about problematic women doing problematic stuff, Taylor Jenkins Reed's historical books, pretending to watch indie movies even tough I would rather just watch musicals on loop.

As a writer, I love to write some good angst. I have recently tried to write some more positive stories and just have fun but I can have fun while writing some pain. I really love complex female lead that has that delicious female rage in her. I also almost always have at least one lesbian couple or/and wholesome guy with a girlboss woman.

my WIPs

Drafting

All the great love stories

Six love stories all different in nature. An evil sorceress waiting for her turn in the steak falling in love with her guard. Cabaret performer seducing the police officer and getting more that she barganded for. Children of rival mob bosses falling in love. Two soulmates trying to find each other. Mad scientist trying to keep their lover alive. Girl with unbeliavable power who can't seem to die. All of the stories are different but they all have one faithful similarity: All of the stories end in a tragedy.

intropost

all writing in one

Tag: WIP: ATGLS

False Gods

the story of Beatrix Jones, the lead singer of the rising indie rock band Aurora Four. With fame and success on the rise, Beatrix and her bandmates navigate the music industry while keeping their identities hidden behind masks, a decision made after a scandal threatened their careers. Is the hid indentity worth the criminal activity they tangled themselves in.

Tag: WIP: FG

intropost

all the writing in one

The vanishing act

a mystery thriller about a mystical carnival whose employees seem all to be identical to missing people trough out the years, and haven't aged a day even if 100 years have gone by. After year of gaslighting, Amanda witnesses her best friend and her mother, looking almost same age, in the circus performing.

Tag: WIP: Circus Moirai

intopost

All the writing in one

Mika Connelly VS the power of love

Mika Connelly never thought something like this cpuld happen to her. After pissing off a fortune teller, who was secretly Cupid in disguise, Mika Connelly is forced to live in a teen romance novel so Cupid can prove that everyone falls in love at least someone. Problem is, Mika is aroace, so romance is final thing she could think about.

To escape her rose colored prison, Mika makes a deal with cupid. Cupid has 20 chances to make Mija fall in love. Mika's mission on the other hand, is to make her new love interest not in love with her anymore. If she fails, she is trapped eternally as a high school senior in a warpped version of her old high school.

Intropost

On the shelve rn:

Children of Jessamine

Fantasy story about a queen who has to make a choice between betraying her country to join her husbands enemy, or protecting her son while the time is ticking. People might soon find out, the crown prince isn't the kings child

intopost

Also I have couple on hiatus that some people might remember. I think I'll come back to them at some point.

What I am doing on tumblr?

I am not probably going to be that active on ask games and all of those but I do want to do stuff and be creative so I have couple of ideas that maybe could be fun.

I want to do trailers for my wips. I want to edit again and I don't vibe with any fandom where I could do the edits I want

fake scenes from the books as edits too

more organized stuff

I just want to be creative without putting pressure on myself.

Other tags:

Eve Rambling: My random ramblings

Eve venting: If I need to vent

Eve being creative: creative stuff other than writing

other people's x: Other people's writeblr

So... Sorry for the essay lmao. But feel free to messenge me. I'll follow back. Let's have some fun!

[paperboy-pb]

"Willful Ignorance" [Life Story]

[Written in August, 2023]

A parent reminded me why I make PB the other night.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a very young creator. 20 in October. And I had one of my co-writers for a different comic ("Weirder Than Usual") over at my place for the weekend. And being the youngest of a hispanic family, my parents have no plans to let me move out anytime soon. When I do leave, it will likely be without their blessing.

I let one parent drive my co-writer back home for the night. I knew I wouldn't be much fun to have in the car that late (I fall asleep pretty early,) and that we wouldn't be free to discuss creative affairs with that parent there, anyway.

I don't like to be myself with this parent around. We are distant. And I keep that distance for a reason.

And despite my absence, this parent reminded me why. Because guess what my cowriter texted me not too long after!

Some hours later, I can't help but think to myself... it's so funny how she stresses my late speech so much. Because now that it's here, it's as if my words don't matter at all.

I will admit my family doesn't know everything that our Special Ed program put me & other children through. But I will ALSO say that that's their own fault. Because as I grew up, I used to tell them every awful thing that I found important. And it was their lack of response that made me stop.

The driver of that car is clueless. She's "forgotten" about the violence that surrounded me in there. Desks crashing to the ground after an adult's angriest shove. Sweaters stretched out and destroyed from middle school fights that nobody broke up.

She's "forgotten" about every time I told her that we weren't learning what we needed to know, insisting that every class must've been doing 3rd grade worksheets in 7th if we were.

She's "forgotten" her 11-year-old asking if he was on the spectrum; how she put on the confused performance of a lifetime as she told me no. But miraculously, she remembers sitting somewhere in the spring of 2005, being told so by professionals.

And she "doesn't remember" us yelling on the phone in 2022. How I spent 80 dollars on an Uber just so we wouldn't share state grounds. And how I screamed for the millionth time, in no uncertain terms, "I AM NOT MAD AT YOU FOR PUTTING ME IN A PROGRAM THAT PROMISED US HELP. You believed them! I know you believed them, they promised you I'd be okay! The problem is that THEY BROKE THAT PROMISE! And every time they did, you just looked the other way!"

Whether she is or isn't being truthful doesn't matter. It's bad on her either way.

Because I know she remembers my dentist reporting bruxism to her when I still had loose teeth. How they would ask her about my environment, or if she knew whether or not anything was stressing me out. And that she chose to question nothing as it continued nightly into my teens. Damaging my adult teeth and concerning all who would sleep in the same room as me. They could hear me all the time. Sometimes my sister would even wake me up.

I know she remembers marking her little one's height against the wall, and seeing the space under his eyes grow darker and darker across the 6th grade.

I know she remembers making leave Autism themed group chats, because to her, my name & that word should never be in the same sentence.

I know she remembers going through his journals and sketchbooks, finding concept art for our Matthew B. And how just one look was enough to make her enroll me to therapy when I was 13.

And she knows that I remember how she hates that boy. Matthew Boston, I mean. And at least one part of her hates everything that he is; disabled, creative, expressive, and headstrong.

I know because she hates those traits in me as well.

Since I spend a lot of time in disability spaces, I try not to assume somebody isn't trying to understand. Comprehension doesn't come easy to everyone. And I especially suspect that she's neurodivergent as well.

But I've tried everything with this one, and I'm truly at the end of my rope. I've tried visuals. I've tried keeping it short and sweet and simple. I've tried having complex and mature conversations where I don't skip a single detail.

I've even tried therapy with her in the room.

Nothing works. And unless this is the convenient work of an undiagnosed memory condition, there's no reason for that.

My Autistic voice matters so little to her that she insists on prying information out of my friends when I'm not in the room; asking the allistic all these questions I've answered myself one thousand times.

She doesn't want to understand. She doesn't want to question her own ableism. Or work past it. And that's why I don't show her "PAPERBOY" at all, and likely won't until years and years from now.

Because PAPERBOY is for the people who do understand. For people who do understand, and everyone who wants to.

[branches-in-a-flood]

This is gonna be a small novel to organize some of my personal life thoughts. By no means is anyone expected to read this, I'm just posting to the interactive diary here.

I have allowed things to continue to deteriorate with partner one. It's been almost like an acute on chronic injury. It’'s been less than it was for years, but I had accepted it and was operating like it was what I wanted for the most part. It was what I wanted for a long time. I was so wrapped up in my career that I didn't have time or energy to do more typical romantic relationship things. We saw each other every few weeks and it was. It was fine. It wasn't enough at first but I sucked it up and became perfect for my life.

Work and mental illness and chronic illness all became too much for me last summer. Relationship (rightfully) pushed back as I focused on surviving. Partner was supportive, gave me as much space as I needed. I thought space was what I needed. We talked less and less. We rarely saw each other. I tried to be happy with that, and I was sure I was. I'm not social after all, and if I wasn't sick then I was too depressed to be good company. A few times I broke my own rules and asked for them to come over. Most of the time they couldn't. Other plans. With other partners. Also having a day of no spoons. (Though they did come over sometimes. It didn't seem to help much, and I didn't put my finger on why. Possibly still haven't.)

I left my old job. Couldn't handle the work load and stress anymore. I also started therapy. Slowly, over months, realized that I do want more of the stereotypical romantic relationship things. Or at the very least to see partner one more than monthly. They agreed that we need to see each other more. We talked about doing more kink scenes. Kink was actually one of the things that brought us together years and years ago, and it had fallen out of our relationship. In the past five months we have done one scene. It frustrates me beyond words. I have never felt so safe with a partner; a partner who seems to not want to do anything with me anymore.

I started drawing away, unconsciously at first. I talked to my therapist about how I was feeling - surely I'm being dramatic and stupid. But they encouraged me to, obviously, talk to my partner about it. I had. I did again. Partner stated that they still feel we have a romantic attraction, though it fluctuates because we are both neurodivergent adults with full time careers. And I can't fault that answer. I can't argue with it. I told them I needed time to decide if I wanted more or less. (Despite having already asked for more. Having more agreed to. And receiving less.) They said they’re happy for me to figure it out either way.

Talked about this with the therapist. Therapist assassinated me by asking if I wished my partner had put up a fight instead of being passive and accepting of what I was saying. Explained that I don't want to be with someone who wants to leave, and my partner is very similar. Neither of us want to make anyone feel compelled to stay. But there's always that fantasy of the undying love that you'll fight for, even if it's only a fantasy. Reality is not as heroic. Through our session realized that I am more ok with letting the relationship go than I am with fighting for it again. I tend to only ask for things twice before moving on, and I had asked for more time and attention several times.

The week after that session I stopped messaging my partner first. Just to see what would happen. I know it's an immature game, but I was curious. Several days would pass between us communicating. In my head we’re already done. I was no longer spending my time anxiously awaiting a response to whatever message I had sent. (One of the things that put more weight on the “give up" side was when I sent a several page analysis and ramble of Fall For Me that was left on read. Zero acknowledgement at all.) So I stopped caring. Then stopped sending messages that weren't simply daily updates on work or good morning texts.

So if my mind is made up, why can I not talk to them about it?

We've been together for the better part of a decade. We started dating when I was still with my abusive ex. Partner one was pivotal in getting me to see the situation and leave. They gave me a place to stay between semesters when I was otherwise without a roof. They helped me deeply explore BDSM in a safe environment. They helped me heal from previous trauma. They have given me so much more than I have given them.

And I want to leave.

It doesn't feel fair to them. But I don't feel anything anymore, and that isn't fair either.

I know it will be a calm, well-reasoned discussion. I know he’ll handle it well when we talk. But I still panic when I think about it. I don't want to hurt them, but that's obviously going to happen. I feel like I'm going to get into trouble when the conversation happens, which is such a. Such an unfounded and juvenile thought?

(But I also thought the last two people I broke up with would take it reasonably. In one case a knife and the sheriff became involved. In the other I was cornered and demanded to pay money I didn't have and had not borrowed. So I'm sure at least a little of the issue lies there.)

Each day that goes by without at least telling them that I want to talk is adding so much stress and guilt that I have the whole thing built up to more than it is. But what do I say? How can I tell someone who has been so caring and kind and has taken such good care of me, that I just don't feel love for them anymore? I do still love them deeply. Academically. Platonically. But not in a way that would sustain this relationship. And they don't deserve that.

[phoneguyfanclub]

Spiral.

Everything was dark.

Scott had heard voices muttering around him, but he ignored them. Sleep, he needed more sleep...

He drifted in and out of consciousness. His mind barely focused. His heart crying out for so many things, but he couldn't tell what they were. Did anything exist? Did anything matter anymore?

A voice broke the silence. The voice was stern, yet concerned. There was deep sorrow that laced this voice, it being gruff and low.

"Kid."

"Huh?"

Scott's reply felt pathetic in comparison.

"Here. I made you some tea." Henry said, voice rumbling. This time he sounded calm, accepting.

"Tea?" Opening his eyes, Scott blinked rapidly. "Uh?"

Henry stroked his back, his fatherly side coming out naturally.

"Don't worry, Scott. I did what we discussed." He nodded. "They won't come looking for you. Honestly I doubt they care."

He didn't say it in a mean way, but Scott still felt struck. The company? Those who he'd given everything to? They wouldn't care if he died. And the realization hit him like a brick. Of course he wasn't special. Of course they'd cover up his death like every other employee...

But Henry had rescued him.

"Why?" He asked as he reached for the teacup.

"Why what?" Henry said gently.

"Uh... Why did you do this?" He said, not meeting his gaze. "O-of all the employees, w-why am I the one you picked?"

Henry looked down, and seemed to ponder.

"Because, kid. You give people hope." He chuckled. "And despite everything the company made you do, you still cared about keeping others safe. You didn't care about yourself. There was someone else who mattered more."

Scott looked down at his hands. Did Henry see the same person he did? Everything that had happened, and Scott's sins didn't matter to him as long as he kept Michael safe.

"I-I still covered a lot of stuff up..." Tears welled in his eyes.

Henry squeezed his hand.

"Don't burden yourself too much. You've had a long, hard road. Now rest a little more."

And Henry left the room to give Scott some privacy.

During that time, Scott finished his tea and pondered more. What had caused his downwards spiral anyway? Was it pride? Or was it not caring enough about himself to say no? He shook his head. He'd always had a weakness for pleasing people at the cost of his own health.

He thought of his parents, about his previous jobs, and about his potential love life. How with everything he did, he wanted people to be proud of him. Was that what had caused the spiral? He needed help, but he was too afraid to ask for it. Because asking for it would mean giving others a reason to NOT be proud of him anymore...

He thought of another potential cause for the spiral. Perhaps his too-high expectations of himself caused it too. He's always had beautiful wavy blond hair and shining grey eyes. The company thought of him as the ideal spokesman - adorable, ditzy, and charming - and he'd tried to uphold that image in their mind. Even though he hated the dumb blond stereotype, as he was actually very intelligent, he had to admit that his neurodivergency did give him problems in his life. And sometimes it was better to play the part than to admit the truth. He was flawed, he was hurting, and he was broken.

Not that he could do much anyway if he'd told anyone the truth. The company would just say he was a mental patient, and send him to the asylum.

Then he recalled a specific memory.

~ Flashback ~

Henry put a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Look at me."

And Scott could never hide the truth from Henry. He looked up at him, eyes desperate for something to cling to. He wanted help - he needed help - but he didn't know how.

Henry sighed and forced a smile, able to read him like a book.

"I've been there, kid. Now let's get you out of there." He looked down at a notepad. "Don't worry, I've got a plan."

And Henry had told him all about how he could rescue him from Fazbear Entertainment's clutches. He just needed to agree to Henry's terms. There was a contract that he signed. It was simple really. Henry would fake Scott's death, and help him recover from the trauma. And Scott would be there to help Henry burn down every restaurant he'd once owned. Scott didn't ask why. He was desperate at this point. So he signed the contract, grateful for the lifeline.

~ End Flashback ~

The memory faded. That was how Scott had gotten here. He must have broken down when they'd gotten to Henry's house, so grateful that someone cared about him. He remembered falling to his knees. His body was so weak at that point that it had finally fainted, letting him rest.

He heard Henry come back. Feeling a little less tired, he hummed, deciding to speak with the man.

"Henry?" He called out, voice still weak.

"Mmhm." And Henry was at his side, ready to tend to him again.

"My-my sister..." He looked up at Henry. "D-do you know what happened?"

But by the way Henry's eyes refused to meet his, Scott felt his stomach sink, realizing the truth. He felt his breath quicken, knowing what she'd asked of him - to protect her children - and knowing he'd failed. And she was gone now too...?

And Scott felt a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. Anger. He spoke in a calm way, though a darkness laced every word.

"William is going to pay for this."

"Indeed he is," Henry said, face grim. Scott paused.

"And Michael...?" The soft concern came back into his voice. Was he alright? Scott needed to know.

Henry shrugged.

"Don't worry."

He thought it best not to tell Scott everything. Michael was still out there, but he could die at any moment, just like the previous night guards. Sighing, he brought a damp, wet cloth to Scott's forehead. It felt soothing. Scott hadn't realized how hot he'd been.

Laying out his plans for building a fake pizzeria, Henry showed Scott the plan. Once he was ready for it, he'd bring every remaining animatronic to that location, and send the job listing to Scott's house so he knew it was time. Then Scott would apply and get hired on the spot. Henry would make sure there was a way for him to escape the restaurant, since despite everything, Scott looked as though he wanted to live. Henry would do everything to ensure that would be possible. He started working on the very first stages of the building.

Unfortunately, time had other plans. There was a knock at Henry's door.

It was the cops. Finally having found him, they had a few questions for Henry about what had happened in his old pizza restaurant.

[spooky-switch]

Spooky's FNAF Movie Review (Spoilers Below The Cut)

Final Rating:

★★★★☆

General Information:

↬ I have only played the first two games, and that was years ago, but I am fairly familiar with the lore thanks to theory videos and infodumps from my little brother. I think it is safe to say that even if you have not played the games, you can still follow alone with this film and enjoy it. ↬ Takes elements from multiple games and incorporates them all into a new (but familiar) storyline Long term fans will be pleased by the references but might have a hard time with changes made to the lore. ↬ Matthew Lillard and Josh Hutcherson stole the show, of course. They both have some serious acting chops and performed their parts well, though this is not to say that the rest of the cast did a poor job. Most of the cast members did a pretty decent job, though a few minor characters broke the tension at times with comedic overacting (this was probably intentional, though, as this is a PG-13 film). ↬ The puppeteering and suits by the Jim Henson company were absolutely amazing! While I had my doubts after watching the trailer, in the final film they looked far less like CGI and more like actual physical objects, in part due to how they interacted with the actors and the environments. ↬ There were a couple of plot holes at the end of the film that had me scratching my head, but this is 'Five Nights At Freddy's,' so I tried not to nitpick it too much. Looking at the series as a whole, I would say this is the most cohesive story we have been given, so plot holes can be forgiven in my opinion.

Sensory Information:

↬ This movie contains plenty of jump scares (which is normal and expected for the franchise), so expect lots of loud, sudden noises. I watched it in theaters with my little brother, and even though we took care to pick seats away from any speakers, it was still so loud at points that we needed to cover our ears. If you are especially sensitive to sound like I am, I would recommend either bringing hearing protection or watching the film at home (it should be available for streaming on Peacock). ↬ This film also contains tones of bright, flashing lights. These are littered throughout the film and go on for long durations of time. I was not bothered by them but those with high sensitivity to bright lights (and those prone to seizures) might want to be wary of this film.

Spoilers:

↬ Can we all agree that Abby is autistic coded? To me, the whole relationship between her and Michael is a big brother learning to connect with his neurodivergent little sister while cope with some pretty severe trauma (the loss of their parents and brother). ↬ I am sad to say that, no, Markiplier is not in the film. However, I can happily say that MATPAT IS, even if just briefly! ↬ Of all the jump scares, the stupid Balloon Boy one was the only one that really got me (even after the third time they did it). ↬ The tickle scene was not as bad as I thought it would be, in part because I had fair warning of what it entailed and where it would be in the film (thanks for the heads up, @unbeleevable, I owe you one). It was arguably less cringy than the 'Barbie' tickle scene, which is all I could really ask for (besides Michael getting pulled into the tickle fight, which I knew was not going to happen). ↬ Honestly? Vanessa was really getting on my nerves. If she had just TOLD Michael what was going on, it would have saved them both a lot of trouble. I mean, if she really cared about Abby being safe, why not explain everything to Michael so he would be more motivated to keep his sister away from the pizzeria? ↬ OH, and when Vanessa just TOSSED Michael's medication into the water?! Like, girl, do you know how much that stuff costs, especially in this economy (we all know Michael was probably having to pay out of pocket for it, too, since there is no way that man had health insurance)? ↬ Oh my god, when the Springtrap suit was finally revealed, I was so excited! It looked amazing, standing out as one of the best practical effects of the film, especially when combined with how it moved and Lillard's vocal performance. ↬ So, did anyone ever find the body of the aunt? Last time we see her, she is laying dead on Michael's living room floor. Did he call the police? If so, how did he explain her death? If not, WHERE DID HE PUT THE BODY?! ↬ When they played the Living Tombstone song at the end, it took everything in me not to start jamming out to it, especially seeing how happy my little brother was. We sat through the credits just to hear the whole thing.

[petrichor-and-moondust]

Sometimes I find myself sitting down, wishing for One Thing. 

One Thing to look back at and say, this is what caused it. This is the route factor. The One Thing which caused the pain. The illness. The endless doctor's appointments. The worried looks. The long talks. The eggshell walking.

One Thing. To explain the shaking. The anxiety. The panic attacks. To explain the sleeplessness and the scars. To explain all these responses I have to minute occurrences. 

One night, I talk to someone. We're sleeping on the sofa as I explain to her the voices. The actions that weren't my own. The feeling of being on autopilot. She tells me, you're dissociating in those moments. That's what it is. It's a trauma response.

But, I tell her, I'm not traumatised. So I can't be experiencing a trauma response to trauma that never happened. I have loving parents. Who love me and each other. I've always had friends. I am loved and supported in my interests and pursuits.

Sure, I tell her, maybe my parents took a while to come around to the LGBT stuff, and hey, maybe they haven't learned to accept the trans thing, but they're there. And they haven't kicked me out, or stopped loving me, or stopped treating me they way they always have. Maybe I got teased a bit in high school, but nothing extreme. Definitely not enough to count as trauma.

At 2am in the morning, I stare into the sorrow as she looks at me and tells me. 

“Growing up neurodivergent in a neurotypical world is a traumatic experience.”

Growing up queer in a cisgender, hetero-normative society is traumatising.

And I stop. And I laugh it off and we move on to another topic.

But.

But.

I keep thinking about it.

“Growing up neurodivergent in a neurotypical world is a traumatic experience.”

And I think back. To the childhood I remember in a haze. To the kids I surrounded myself with and called friends. I think about them. I think about how they never tried to really learn about my interests, other than sitting while I talked about them. I think about how they never stood up for me when I got made fun of by the boys in our year, and the years above, for liking a "babies show".

It was Pokemon. I was in primary school.

I think about how our "friendship" fizzled out the second we left for high school. They were all going to the same high school. I wasn't. 

And that was that.

I think about the little girl who got along better with the boys. I think about her best friend at the time who said he liked her. I think about how for years beforehand everyone had teased them for "dating". 

We were 10. The only thing I was interested in was drawing cats and reading books.

I think about how she told him she liked him too. I think about how she thought she was being truthful. Because she did like him. He talked to her, and dug up worms with her without calling her gross, and he knew more about Pokemon than anyone else in their class. So she said "yes." She told them they could be boyfriend and girlfriend.

I think about how they never kissed. How really, everything they ever did was platonic. How she had been so conditioned into being forbidden from touching a boy unless they were dating. How she was never taught to express love for a friend. How she didn't know the difference between platonic and romantic feelings.

I think about how their first "date" was going to the cinema. How her mother sat beside them the whole time. They called each other boyfriend and girlfriend and held hands and hugged each other goodbye every day and got each other Valentine's gifts.

Then, a month into high school, just a few months after the whole thing started, they broke up. I think about how they hadn't met up in months. He barely messaged her. She told him she didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore.

Years later, and she hears he told everyone she dumped him because he got glasses.

She had glasses. 

I think about how I was 8 when I got my autism diagnosis. I was 8 when the doctor appointments started.

I was 17 when they stopped. 

I was 9 when my teacher pulled me to the side. I was 9 when he looked at me and said he didn’t think I should put what I had on my introduction for the wall.

I was 9. I wrote that I liked to draw and climb trees. I wrote that I had Asperger’s Syndrome.

Because that’s what I was told. That was the big label they smacked on my file.

I don’t use that term now. I understand the history. The pain that happened to get it. And I refute it. I am autistic. Autism. That is what I have. There is not high-functioning, No low-functioning. No specific labels to sort the “good” autistics from the “bad” autistics. Because there are none. There are autistic people and non-autistic people. That's it.

I was 9 when my teacher told me I shouldn’t announce it to everyone. That I should try and hide it.

I didn’t. I wrote that shit down and I got it stuck to the fucking wall.

And kids read it. And they asked me what it meant. They thought I was sick. Then disabled. I hated that. I wasn’t disabled, I said. I was just like them, but more awesome, I told anyone that asked.

And yeah. I was more awesome than them. But I was also disabled. Even if I didn’t want to admit that out loud, or even to myself.

“Growing up neurodivergent in a neurotypical world is a traumatic experience.”

I repeat it to myself as a mantra. As I think back.

I think about when a mother placed a hat on their kid’s head fresh from the dryer. How it was warm and far too big. How that kid put a badge on it and proudly declared that it was her hat now. Covered it in button badges and wore it to school every day. How she wore it everywhere. Around the house. In school. Going to restaurants. In the middle of summer they walked around wearing an adult man’s thermal hat weighed down with metal button badges like it was armour. And in a way it was.

Every day she walked into class with that hat. Every day, she was told to take it off. And didn't. Couldn't. The hat kept her safe. She needed that hat like a limb. 

I think about how the hat was a comfort item. Still is a comfort item. Maybe it doesn’t get worn every day, but it’s still there. Sewn up and fraying at the seams. But they will always have that hat.

I think about every time a teacher told her to take it off. I think about every raised voice, every pinch of the eyebrows, every exasperated sigh she received. I think about every time she was told to stop fidgeting. To sit properly. To pay attention. I think about how she was still the smartest damn kid in that class when she never paid attention in the way she was told to. The way she was forced to. How she drew in all the margins. How she read books in maths and wrote them in English. How she desperately wanted to fit in, but still wanted to be herself.

I think about how she never consciously masked. How she was always too quiet or too loud, and definitely always, always too weird. Strange. But she paid attention to the little things. The way the girls talked. How they interacted to each other. What they liked. I think about how she never understood it. But she mimicked it. She learned to stand like them, play like them, and talk about boys with them- how they were annoying. How she hated them. How she wanted this one to be her boyfriend. I think about her being put on the spot and pressured into giving up the name of the boy she liked. I think about how no one believed her when she said there was none. I think about how she chose the name of the boy who she was “rivals” with.

I think about the scars on her shins that have long since faded. I think about the concerned looks and hushed voices. 

I think about how the first time she hurt herself wasn’t standing over a sink with a razor blade slicing into her arms like in the movies. I think about the little kid furiously trying to cut her nose off with her duvet cover. The kid walking around with a friction burn over her face for weeks. The kid scratching at her legs like she was trying to dig something out. 

I think about how she was taken back to the doctors. The forcefully cheery rooms with the forcefully cheery woman. Who wanted to know. Who wanted an explanation as to why a bubbly, loving and loved for kid was mutilating themselves in any way they could.

She didn’t get an answer. 

How was an 8 year old supposed to explain something so complex? To say it felt good? To say they didn’t know? To explain they were punishing themselves for being different, being an outsider, being weird?

The kid spent months talking to her. She chalked it up to a sensory issue stemming from autism. She showed her how to make stress balls from balloons and flour. She sent them off with a wave and another inch to the growing file.

I think about how the pixie cut she got when she was 7 paired with the hand-me-down trousers of her brother’s got that girl mistaken so often for a boy. How the kid’s refusal to wear skirts or dresses got her labelled a “tomboy”. I think about the lady who mistakenly called her by a boy’s name. I think of how that name stuck. How often that kid got teased and laughed at and called a boy. Of how much she hated it, because of course she wasn’t a boy. Of course she wasn’t. That wasn’t possible. I think about how really, she didn’t mind being called a boy. I think about the time her brother’s teacher asked her mother to “control her youngest son” when she sat in on a meeting. How she hated him for wanting her to sit still. How she was thrilled at the belief she was a boy. How she smiled quietly at her mother’s lack of correction.

How she sat still for the rest of the meeting to make sure her mother didn’t bring it up again.

I think about how she just hated the teasing. Being seen as different. Being the outsider once again. I think about how she finally had a reason to point to why people teased her. About how she wouldn’t get a single haircut for the next 4 years.

I think about the first person she met who liked the same things she did. I think about how much time they spent together. How they depended on each other. How toxic that became. 

I think about how at the raw and tender age of 13 that movie-moment happened. Under the cover of darkness with a sharpener and a screwdriver. I think about the obsessive tally marks on skin and paper. The lack of reasoning for drawing the blade over and over again. I think about how they went months without being discovered. I think about the obsessive counting of the scars.

15. 32. 40. 

And then they were back in that doctors office again.

I think about the first woman, who lasted three sessions total, once a month. Then the next. Another three sessions. Then the man, who cancelled their third appointment and never rescheduled.

I think about them being tossed like a hot potato from therapist to therapist. I think about how they could never build up trust with them. I think about how unwanted they felt. How hopeless did you have to be to be unwanted by the people who were supposed to help?

52. 64. 72.

I think about the confusion and the fear and the sadness from going through puberty. I think about how much hatred they aimed towards themselves for it. How many names and flags and genders they cycled through to feel like they fit. To feel right.

 I think about how they never did.

I think about his parents who were there every step of the way. I think about his mother who confiscated all of his sharpeners. I remember him thinking about the irony of being an artist unable to sharpen his tools. 

I think about the years of sleepless nights. The nightmares. The sleep-talking. The days where he felt he was on autopilot. The stories from his mother of childhood night terrors and hours of screaming on end.

I think about the voice in their head. I think about the body it belonged to. I think about all the times he was in control. I think about the times they watched him sit on the end of their bed and whisper all their worst insecurities and self-hatreds to them. I think about the times he held their hand when they were scared and told them they would be okay. I think about how no one ever saw or heard him except them. I think about how they had always known he wasn’t real. I think about how real he is to them.

I think about their high school career. Five years of hell. I think about the homework. The exams. The refusal of breaks. The notes about behaviour from teachers. The being singled out in class for fidgeting. The ban on fidget toys. The stares. The remarks. The teasing. I think about the face of bravado and the easy laughs and the dark humour shared with friends. I think about the shoebox on a wardrobe filled with notes passed in class. I think about the relationships made and the ones shattered.

I think about the best friend who turned out to be a creep. Who broke their trust so wholly that they didn’t think they would be able to trust again. All the days of shared classes where hearing his voice gave them panic attacks. Where looking at him made their lungs shrivel.

I think about comments made and the ones unsaid. I think about all the relationships broken from secrecy. I think about queer kids who were terrified to admit it to anyone. Who only shared their pain with those who understood. With those who were the same. I think about queer kids planning how to move out as soon as they could. Queer kids making safety plans for when they came out. Queer kids finding family in each other. Queer kids who run away. Queer kids who don’t.

I think back to the 7 year old crying when her mother found a backpack in their wardrobe filled with clothes and chocolate bars. I think about that kid’s plan to run away. How she didn’t want to. How she didn’t understand the need to. How she felt the need anyway.

I think about the 13 year old’s plans to run away. I think about their whispers under covers to friends who would shelter them. I think about how they never went through with it. 

I think about the pills.

I think about the first ones. I think about the blue ones. I think about the capsules. I think about the powdery dry replacements. I think about the ones split in half. I think about the ones from bottles and the ones from strips.

I think about the ones sat beside the sink and the ones sat beside the bed.

I think about her words.

“Growing up neurodivergent in a neurotypical world is a traumatic experience.”

I think about how much I wish that were wrong.

I think about how much I know it isn't.

I think about the trauma of being different. I think about the trauma of being autistic. I think about the trauma of being queer. 

I mourn the loss of my childhood as I look back at all the trauma that permeated it. I think about how many queer kids will never realise what happened was trauma. I think about how many neurodiverse kids will never realise what happened was trauma.

I think about how I never realised what happened was trauma.

I think about kids who lived through it. Kids who didn’t. Kids who survived the system. Kids who were failed by it.

I think about the 7 year old kid with the pixie cut.

The 8-year old with the new diagnosis.

The 9 year old in the waiting room.

I think about the 10 year old with friction burns on their face and legs.

The 11 year old making stress balls from balloons and flour.

The 12 year old finding a friend.

I think about the 13 year old with the fresh scars.

The 14 year old who tried to explain them.

I think about the 15 year old who overdosed.

The 16 year old who survived.

I think about the 17 year old who was discharged because they aged out.

I think about all the kids who didn’t.

And then I stop. And I breathe. And I think about the 18 year old who is here. The 18 year old who is now. 

The 18 year old who is traumatised. Because growing up neurodiverse in a neurotypical world does that. But I think about how the 18-year old won’t let that define them. How they will survive. And thrive. 

Because traumatic experiences don’t last forever.

And they are so much more than the sum of their past.

They are the cause of their future.