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comfortmarvelimagines · 4 years ago

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You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed)

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be.

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over.

That changed when you met Nat.

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted.

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home.

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back.

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat.

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe.

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored.

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall.

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.”

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.

***

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her.

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much.

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears.

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.”

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?”

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years ago

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transfemme!sarah au

thinking about transfemme!sarah

literally coming up with this au on the fly but here you go

this is literally so long but whatever i like it

there are a couple trigger warnings in this (suicide, hate crimes), they’re listed in bold italicized writing before and after the trigger so you can easily skip them. this is in bullet point format.

anyways i love this and i'm obsessed with it so enjoy! first chicago med au. it doesn't really have a name yet but i'm tagging it transfemme!sarah for now

from the minute sarah was born she was definitely different, and her parents actually had her tested for autism

then got her tested again when the first one was negative. and then again when the second one was negative.

her parents were actually so positive that she was autistic that finally one of the psychologists ended up giving her a PDDNOS (pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified) diagnosis until a therapist suggested gender dysphoria

i mean back then kids weren’t trans they were just Troubled(tm)

so up until she was about nine or so they figured she just didn’t have enough care for social cues that she didn’t understand gender enough to act like a boy instead of acting like a girl. she refused to wear “boy’s” clothes which was mistaken for sensory issues, had anger issues and outbursts that were mistaken for meltdowns, they really thought she was autistic

i mean. she pretended to breastfeed baby dolls for christ’s sake.

anyways once her therapist figured this out, she was discharged and transferred to a gender specialist psychologist who revoked the pddnos diagnosis and switched it to a gender dysphoria diagnosis

sarah’s mom was completely on board and had quietly suspected it herself but her dad

hooo boy her dad

her dad hated the idea so much that he basically walked out and never came back

sarah started going by sarah because she loved sarah from hocus pocus

anyways she was 9 when she changed her name and she moved schools because she was getting bullied

when she was 10 all her girl friends at her new school started growing boobs and getting their periods and sarah started getting really depressed

which ultimately lead her mom to take her to an endocrinologist that specialized in gender diverse care

and she started puberty blockers

sudden new issue: sarah is terrified of needles. her childhood vaccines caused full-blown panic attacks and the blockers were no different.

she is horrifically stubborn and determined to make this work though

so she kept going. and every week she had a panic attack and had to skip her injections a couple times because she just couldn’t handle it

but eventually, her panic attacks got less and less overwhelming with the help of being prescribed a benzo to take fifteen minutes before her injection. eventually once she could handle the injections with the help of the benzo, they tapered it off until she could 100% handle needles sober. this took close to two years, but she did it.

(side note - this positive experience with exposure therapy was why she was so keen on trying it during s3 with dr charles)

so at this point she’s about twelve and still feels left out from her peers. she’s going into middle school, her friends are all growing up physically and she just feels left behind

her mom tries to convince her that some girls are just late bloomers, she can still fit in even if she waits to go on estrogen, nobody is going to suspect a thing, etc etc etc

but it gets really bad. her dysphoria gets terrible and she starts having panic attacks so severe that she had to leave school and be homeschooled.

SUICIDE TW UNDER HERE

then sarah attempts suicide

she spends about a month in the psych ward to recover, and ultimately the doctors advised starting low dose hormone replacement to alleviate her dysphoria

SUICIDE TW OVER

sarah cried when she had her first estradiol injection, but this time it was happy tears, not tears of panic

she had injections weekly, and as she started to see changes she got so, so much happier

fat redistributed, her skin got softer, she even started to grow breasts. lots of fun stuff.

they later added progesterone for more effects when she was in highschool

also in highschool she found out she was a lesbian. not important rn but that did happened

her graduation gift from her mom was breast augmentation surgery <3 congratulations sarah ily

after all that, she finally decided she wanted to go into medicine.

so she started college and moved to chicago

the first year of college, she was out and proud and even had an officer position at the gsa on campus

HATE CRIME TW

in her second year she was the victim of a pretty bad hate crime committed by a group of frat boys on campus. she was attacked walking home from a party at night.

HATE CRIME TW OVER

while she recovered from that experience, both mentally and physically, she had to take a gap year from college and move back home with her mother

her mother persuaded her to finish her degree closer to home, so sarah stayed home for the last two and a half years of college, and upon graduating college, she decides to move back to chicago for med school

this time she stays closeted because she has ptsd from college

first three years are uneventful but she does quietly get a bottom surgery consult, but she decides not to move forward for awhile

and that brings us to season one

alrighty season one

as we know there’s a lil mild homophobia and whatnot in the hospital and as a result of that, sarah deals with some lovely compulsive heterosexuality and is still extremely closeted

so she dates joey even though she is most definitely a lesbian in denial but she doesn’t tell him she’s trans out of fear

then things with joey get even more serious and he wants to get intimate with her, so he makes an advance one night when they’re home watching a movie

so she lies her way out of it, says she’s waiting for marriage and not ready and blah blah blah

total lies

she’s a lesbian and she knows this

so anyways she breaks up with him right after she graduates med school, quits pathology to avoid him, and mourns the loss for a bit before she realizes

she wants to move forward with bottom surgery

so she schedules an orchiectomy and has that done during the time before she was hired by dr. charles

for laymen, an orchiectomy is the removal of the the testicles :) typically the first step in multi-stage bottom surgery, which is where you do each stage of bottom surgery at different times

anyways it fits into the timeline because recovery from that procedure takes less than a week

then dr charles hires her for s2, events of s2 go as written

then the sexy ava bekker moves to chicago med from south africa and sarah is SMITTEN

anyways i should probably stop here and avoid spoilers

well whatever i'm open to asks abt this <3

#chicago med world #special interest world #chicago med au #reesker #sarah reese #ava bekker #transfemme!sarah #what do y'all tag your writing as #chicago med #sarah reese x ava bekker #ava bekker x sarah reese #crockettstiddies #i hope you don't mind i tag that #i feel like you'd maybe be into this though? idk #or at least i love your work and would love for you to see mine :)

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

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Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter Six

Title: Subway trolls and pancakes

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @alievans007 , @tragiclyhip

They stop at the closest bodega for a cup of take out coffee and a carton of chocolate milk, then hand in hand navigate the snowy sidewalks on their brief jaunt to the subway. Tanner is excited about their morning out. Words rapidly leaving his lips as all his pent up thoughts come spilling out; sentences running together and often making little to no sense as several different topics messily mix together. But Tyler lets him get it out. Tanner often very quiet and shy and finding himself lost in the chaos of their home; unable to get a word in edgewise at times and then finding himself growing more and more frustrated. It always leads to a meltdown; tears and screaming hyperventilating and sometimes even the odd destructive episode. The latter hasn’t happened in a long time; both his parents and Tanner himself recognizing the triggers and the warning signs and able to calm him down before things escalate that far. It’s been a journey to say the least; learning how to both handle and help a kid like Tanner. Specialists and fellow parents of children with Autism and autistic adults themselves have been extremely helpful; they’ve found the strategies that aid him the best and in turn, help him thrive. Music therapy and appointments disguised as play, sensory items that provide him with the ‘break’ that he needs when overwhelmed, deep pressure applied with hugs and weighted blankets and vests. It’s a whole new world that has been both overwhelming and rewarding. Tanner isn’t the only one that’s being helped. It’s an adjustment for the entire family and everyone has had to make changes and sacrifices. But it’s also been a positive thing. What could have broken a marriage has actually made it stronger; working as a team and discovering just how strong and determined the other is and witnessing what lengths they’ll go to help their family thrive under even the most difficult of circumstances.

Tanner is a gift. An extra special one. In a way that his siblings aren’t. He’s opened their eyes to an entirely different existence, bringing out the depths of their patience and compassion. He’s beautiful and intelligent; the depths of his knowledge and information stored away inside that little brain simply profound. And talented; cooking and baking, drawing, playing the guitar and singing. But he DOES struggle. Anything social is a challenge for him; extreme difficulty in making friends, becoming extremely shy and withdrawn and even scared if a stranger approaches him for even the smallest of chit chat. And his fears and triggers are numerous; thunderstorms, needles, too much noise and conversation going on around him at once, the sudden and sharp clattering of dishes, the seams inside clothes. Things that most people would never even notice, are extremely heightened for him. And while most are easily recognized and identifiable and the entire family goes out of their way to accommodate him when possible, new issues seem to arise every day.

But the subway is one of his favourite places. The dark tunnels don’t faze him, nor does the crowd of people during the more busy times. And when the noises become too much he knows to simply put on a pair of sounds cancelling headphones and then concentrate on something else; whether it be a book he’s brought along of a sketch pad or even games and videos on one of his parents’ phones.

This morning he’s in his glory; kneeling on the seat beside Tyler, nose pressed against the window as he stares out into the darkness. The subway is quiet; people choosing to stay in after the snowstorm or already flooding earlier trains in hopes of beating the masses that will flock to malls and boutiques to complete their Christmas shopping. While extremely advanced intellectually speaking, he’s a lot younger in other ways; social skills and emotional maturity putting him around the level of a five or six year old. The difference is most apparent when he’s with his twin; TJ becoming older and wiser with each passing day while Tanner struggles to get to the level at Declan -or even Brooklyn and Takota- functions at. And he’s much smaller than his older brother as well; gifted with his mother’s height and slender body and some of her petite features. But there’s never any problem recognizing the Rake in him. The facial expressions and mannerisms and that Australian accent that he’s developed; much thicker and stronger than any of his siblings.

“Dad?” Tanner pipes up from beside him, one hand tightly gripping the top of the seat while the other keeps a firm hold on his chocolate milk; stomach pressed against the back of the seat, his father’s arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the subway trolls are real? Do you think they exist?”

“Subway trolls??”

“Remember the subway trolls? TJ talked about them during the summer. When we came here to visit Ovi. About how there’s trolls living down here. Do you think it’s true? Do you think there’s really trolls down here?”

“Something tells me that’s something your brother made up: to freak Takota out. He had nightmares for three weeks after that.”

“Everytime we come on the subway, I try looking for trolls. But it’s dark and the train is fast and I can’t really see ANYTHING. But it could be true, yeah? There really could be trolls. They could exist.”

“Trolls aren’t real. It’s just something that people made up. A long time ago. They just exist in movies and books. Like in The Lord of The Rings.”

A look of visible disgust appears on Tanner’s face. “Those are Orcs. NOT trolls.”

“Same thing.”

“No, dad. They’re not. You need to read the books again. Orcs and trolls are NOT the same. I mean, they’ve evil, but orcs aren’t much stronger than humans. Trolls have superhuman strength. Plus, they’re HUGE. Orcs are just the size of normal people. Even mummy knows this stuff.”

“That’s because mummy is a nerd.”

“She’s not a nerd! She’s very smart. In a lot of different things. She even speaks three languages. You only speak one.”

“I speak two. English and profanity.”

“Swearing is NOT a language.”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s an art form.”

“You do have A LOT of swears in your vocabulary. It’s pretty impressive; that you know that many bad words. You know twenty different ways to say the F word. That’s cool. You’re smart in your way and mumma is smart in hers. Is that why you fell in love with her? ‘Cause of how smart she is?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

“I wanna meet a girl one day. Like mum. Mum is super cute and tiny and really funny. She makes me laugh a lot. And she’s got a really nice, kind smile and pretty eyes.”

“Yeah, she does. She’s pretty special, huh?”

“She is,” Tanner smiles.. “You’re a lucky guy, daddy. She loves you a whole bunch. I see it in her eyes, you know. They get all sparkly and shiny when she sees you. Like yesterday when you got home. As soon as you got out of the cab, her entire face changed. Her cheeks got rosy and she had a huge smile and her eyes were shiny. Like she was going to cry but not crying eyes at the same time. I want to meet a girl like mummy. Then I’d be lucky too.”

“You would,” Tyler agrees. “You’d be the luckiest guy on the face of the earth.”

“I’ll ask mummy about the trolls. When we get home. She might know. She lived here before. Maybe she’s seen one. That would be so freaking awesome.”

“Something tells me that mummy hasn’t seen a subway troll. Something also tells me they don’t exist.”

“Why you say that?”

“Have you ever seen one? I’ve never seen one.”

“Just because we don’t see things, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I haven’t seen a lot of things, but I know they’re real.”

“That’s a very good point, actually.”

A sudden pout appears on Tanner’s face; entire body stiffening. “I don’t like this part of the ride. It gets really noisy and extra dark here. Can I sit on your lap now? You make me feel safe.”

Nodding, he places the backpack sitting on his lap between his feet. It contains everything the ten year old could need during the time out; headphones, weighted lap pad, various fidget items, an extra sweater that’s a size too small but Tanner enjoys wearing because it’s ‘tight and feels like a hug’. Scooping his son off the seat next to him and settles him on his thighs; Tanner wrapping both arms around his neck and sliding his body forward in order to have that comfort of body against body. And he slips his hand up the back of the little one’s jacket, hoodie, and t-shirt; giving him that press of a warm, soothing palm against his bare skin.

“I don’t like this part, daddy,” Tanner whimpers, and tightens the hold on his dad’s neck. “It’s scary.”

“It’s okay, mate. I got you. You’re fine. Close your eyes; I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

“Alright,” he squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can. “I trust you.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”

“I know you won’t. But it’s still scary.”

“Nothing to be scared of,” Tyler assures him, and presses his lips to his temple; the end of his nose resting against the side of Tanner’s head as he speaks to him in a low, quiet voice. “Nothing can hurt you. Ever.”

“Not when you’re here. You won’t let anything hurt me.”

“Anything or anyone. You’re alright, mate. Just breathe. It’s almost over. Just a couple more minutes. Why don’t you tell me about some of your dreams? The ones you were writing about? Tell me some of them and I’ll read the rest. I want to hear about them.”

“Okay,” Tanner takes a deep, shaky breath, but keeps his eyes screwed shut as he launches into a recap of one of his many dreams.

Tyler’s not sure how many of these dreams are actually real; they’re vivid and often far beyond Tanner’s level of maturity. And he often wonders if it’s just tales the ten year old has conjured up in his own mind; a very detailed and colourful imagination that is often underused AND under appreciated. But he never questions their validity or ‘tunes out’ when his son is sharing his stories; letting him indulge in that little fantasy world of his where things probably seem a lot easier to handle and cope with. And it gives Tanner a sense of confidence and pride in himself; knowing how well he can both tell a tale and how well received it is by the one person he’s always so eager to please and make proud of him.

Today the dreams are about dragons and sea life. Two very distinct ‘dreams’; the first consisting of Tanner being the brave and noble knight that saves the princess and an entire kingdom from an untimely demise. The second he’s an underwater explorer; making friends with all the marine creatures and building a completely self-sustaining and livable underwater habitat for both humans and sea life. And he sees the way people around them react to both Tanner’s story telling and the gentle and calm way Tyler deals with him; the smiles and the comments about how ‘cute it is’ and even the praises of ‘it’s nice to see a daddy out with the little ones’.

“Is it done yet?” Tanner inquires, as the last of his final tale leaves his lips. “Are we past the scary part?”

“Yup. All done.”

“Good,” he heaves a sigh of relief. “But can I still stay here? Can I still stay on your lap?”

“You can stay there as long as you want, Nug.”

“I love you daddy. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate. I love you too.” He removes the hand from underneath Tanner’s clothing and briefly lays it on the back of his head; placing a kiss to his cheek before wrapping his arm around his waist. Even THAT’s been a learning process; expressing emotion and talking about feelings and showing affection. He’d grown up not being allowed to do any of those things; his father only beating him more savagely if he cried or begged for him to stop or if he cried over the loss of his mother. Meeting and marrying someone that craves both giving and receiving affection had been a real eye opener; showing him just how badly the old man had screwed him up both physically and mentally.

“Nug?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something.”

“About what?”

“Mummy.”

“I don’t know what she wants for Christmas. She says ‘nothing’ EVERY year.”

“I already got that all figured out. This is about something else.”

“Okay. What is the something else?”

“When I was gone, did mummy seem sad?”

“Mummy is always sad when you go away. She misses you.”

“But did she seem extra sad, maybe? Did it seem like she was having a hard time with me being gone? A harder time than usual?”

“Maybe a little. I mean, she was really sad. She did cry a few times. And locked herself in the pantry once. But that’s ‘cause Millie was being mean and driving her nuts. I pushed tissues under the door; so mummy could wipe her face and blow her nose. We all get snotty when we cry.”

“I’m glad you help mommy out. Especially when she’s sad. You’ve always been good at that; helping take care of her. What about at night? Anything go on at night? Maybe you were supposed to be sleeping and you heard some things? Maybe mummy really upset and crying hard extra hard or…?”

“I snuggled with her a couple nights. On the couch. Because she said she said she couldn’t sleep and that she was feeling lonely. I went down to get a snack. I know I shouldn’t have; that I’m not allowed downstairs by myself in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, daddy. I was hungry though and mummy wasn’t in your room and I went looking for her. She was eating ice cream out of the container and watching Sex and the City. Are you mad? That I went downstairs by myself?”

“No, mate. I’m not. You went looking for mum, right?”

“Yeah, because I was hungry and I knew she would make me a snack. She always makes me an English muffin. Toasted. With a piece of cheese and two slices of tomato on it. With pepper sprinkled on top. And when I couldn’t find her upstairs, I got worried. So I went looking for her. We had snacks and she let me have some ice cream and then we snuggled on the couch watching Sponge Bob. I stayed up until she fell asleep, and then I went and got the big blanket of your bed and your pillow and took them downstairs and tucked mommy in. Then I went back to bed. Once I knew she was really fast asleep and comfortable. I gave her a goodnight kiss. Three, actually. Two on the lips, one of the forehead. Like you do. You always kiss her on the forehead.”

“You are a good son, Nug. A great son. That loves his mumma very much.”

“She’s the best mummy in the whole world. If I could pick mummies, I’d pick her above everyone else. Because she loves me no matter what. She doesn’t care that I’m different. That my brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s. She just loves me. No questions asked. Just like I love her no matter what. Even when she gets mad and yells. But I don’t like when she cries. It makes my heart hurt.”

“Was she crying a lot? While I was gone? More than she’s ever cried before?”

“I guess. TJ and I could hear her the first couple of nights. Crying in the bedroom. We were going to see if she was okay, but we didn’t want to get in trouble. Takota and Brookie went in though and slept with her. She seemed okay in the morning. She likes when we come in to cuddle. She doesn’t like the big bed all to herself.”

“Did she say anything to you? About me being gone?”

“Not to me. But I heard her talking to Desi. He came over every night to check on her and make sure she didn’t need anything. I heard her saying how worried she was about you. That she was scared something would happen and she’d never see you again. That she’d already almost lost you twice before and that she couldn’t take it a third time. Desi tried to talk her down; told her everything would be okay and that you’d be home before she knew it.”

“That was it? The whole thing you heard?”

“Most of it. She also said that she’s never loved anyone the way that she loves you. That you couldn’t ever possibly understand how much she does. That you saved her. In every way someone can be saved.”

“She said that?”

Tanner nods, then reaches inside Tyler’s jacket and pulls out the wool beanie he’d put in one of the pockets for safe keeping. “Will you help me when my glasses fog up?” he asks, and he yanks the hat down onto his head. “They always fog up when we go out in the cold.”

“I will help you.”

“And over the really high snowbanks?”

“I’m going to toss you in those. Have to call someone to dig you out.”

“Daddy…” he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him pointedly. “...that’s not very nice.”

“I would never do that to you. TJ, yeah. You? Never.”

“You know…” Tanner scrambles off his lap as the train begins its final approach to their station, then curls all of his fingers around three of his father’s “...if I got to pick daddies, I’d pick you.”

Tyler smiles down at his son. “You would, would you?”

Tanner nods. “In a heartbeat.”

*****

Breakfast is a success. A small diner in Battery Park that Tanner had found online three years ago; spending hours online searching for the best pancake spots in New York City and reading all of the reviews and browsing all the menus. He’s very detail oriented. Choosing places to eat and shop on not just popularity and the items being offered, but on the way the food appears in pictures; a keen eye for attractive colour palettes and neat and tidy -and appealing- presentation. He’d put so much research and time into it that Tyler hadn’t had the heart to tell him that maybe somewhere closer to home would be a better fit; no ‘scary’ trips on the subway meant less crowds and noise and almost assured no sensory meltdowns which in turn, would mean an extremely hard day for Tanner. Once something is ‘set off’, he remains on edge and anxious for hours; the mere stress of his brain going into overload causing him to be destructive and aggressive. The latter is always directed at himself; yanking his hair out, banging his head off walls, scratching himself until he bleeds. And while it’s always a worry that something will spark the behaviour, they’ve become better at recognizing the warning signs; identifying triggers and able to remove him from a situation before it becomes too much for him to bear.

The morning had gone well. Tanner had been talkative and cheerful; uncharacteristically engaging with the waitress and carrying on conversations -albeit brief, as too much chatter and eye contact make him extremely uncomfortable- with fellow diners. He’d only had difficulties twice. Needing his weighted lap pad and some fidget toys when the wait for food was longer than expected, and a flight to his father’s lap when a larger group of diners came in and their voices were needlessly loud and obnoxious. A tight as possible embrace and encouraging and comforting words whispered had quickly soothed him, but he’d still insisted on staying perched on his dad’s thighs while he finished the remains of his breakfast.

After a quick trip to the Cartier store -a little something for mummy as a form of both apology and an excuse to spoil her- and to pick up some novels to read at Tanner’s favourite used book store, they returned home and onto the final ‘event’ of the morning; time spent at the private park. It’s cold and the wind brutal, but Tanner is in his element; loving the way he can ‘crash’ into the snowbank at the bottom of the slide, tend to building his own snowman without interference from his well meaning but way too hyper younger siblings, and time on the swings. And while he has two of his own hanging from the ceiling in his bedroom, he prefers being outside; leaning as far back as he can and staring up at the sky. It’s gray and dreary today, but he’s in his glory; catching snowflakes on his tongue and giggling the entire time.

That laugh -one he’d inherited from his mother- is more than enough to tolerate the frigid temperatures; a hot cup of coffee and the hat and gloves Esme had both nagged him about taking along -and had resorted to shoving into the pockets of his coat before he stepped out the door- enough to stave off the chill. And he’s leaning back against the wrought iron fence and sipping the strong brew -two shots of espresso helping to fight off the lingering exhaustion from jet lag- when the gate to the park swings open. It’s a highly controlled and private area. Only those who live in Gramercy Park have access; given keys when they take up residence. And while he isn’t necessarily worried about the stranger joining them, that old inkling of hyper-vigilance never fails to make an appearance when he spots an unfamiliar face. It’s the years spent on the job; burning bridges and stepping on toes and making a lot of enemies along the way. Revenge is par for the course; dirtbags sticking up for other dirtbags and seeking vengeance for fellow drug lords, rapists, murders, child predators. The list is vast and seemingly endless; he’s gone up against the lowest of the low and somehow lived to tell about.

The worry is always there; that someone will come looking for him and then use his greatest weaknesses to destroy him. It’s why he’s extra careful now; willing to do anything in his power to keep his family safe. Five years ago had been bad enough; if word got back to the wrong people that it was his business employing the mercenaries sent to clean up messes, the result wouldn’t be pretty. Far more devastating and widespread than what happened at the hands of Mahajan and Asif’s remaining people. And while he highly doubts that the woman and child stepping through the gate pose a threat, his brain immediately tends to think of the worst. Especially when one of his children -arguably the most vulnerable of them all- is with him. But he manages a polite smile in the woman’s direction, then shuffles his weight from foot to foot when she approaches; an attempt to keep warm and his discomfort at the idea of having to be social. It was one of the things that sold on him buying the brownstone; no one bothered with him and likewise didn’t seem to give a shit that he mostly stuck to himself.

“It’s amazing how they can stand being out like this,” she comments, as she sidles up next to him.

It’s way too close his own comfort; the sleeve of her fur lined coat brushing against him. He sidesteps; putting just enough space between them to let her know she’s invading his space, yet enough to come across a complete asshole. She’s new to the area; a face he hadn’t seen last Christmas or during the month they’d spent in the Big Apple over the past summer. Tall and slender; shoulder length blond hair sticking the bottom of the black and gray knit beanie and too much make up on her face.

“My daughter LOVES the snow,” she continues, nodding in the direction of the little girl attempting to make conversation with Tanner. It can go either of three ways; Tanner acknowledging her presence and actually speaking in return, completely ignoring her and acting as if she doesn’t even exist, or he’ll be so anxious that he’ll flee to his father’s side for comfort. “It’s why she took moving here so well; used to the weather in Utah I guess. I’m Natalie,” she offered a slender hand encased in a lambskin glove.

“Tyler. You just moved here?”

“Couple weeks ago. Took a job with Goldman Sachs. I’ve always wanted to live here, mind you. A dream going back to my childhood; Central Park, Broadway shoes, shopping at Bergdorfs. A lot of stuff on my to do list. Your accent; you’re a long way from home.”

“Our second place is here. Kids love coming to stay. Especially during the winter. They love having a white Christmas.”

“Must be a change. Going from somewhere hot and sunny to this. Why go from the ocean and the sand to snow and slush? And most of all, why New York City?”

“My wife spent some time here. Fell in love with it. Always wanted to get back. And our oldest lives here. In Queens. He’s in his first year of med school.”

“You have a kid old enough to have done four years of undergrad and is now in med school?”

Tyler nods. There’s no need for specifics. No reason to tell a complete stranger about Ovi and his background and how he’d wound up going from Mumbai to Colorado and then onto Australia. That part of their lives is firmly rooted in the past; Dhaka, Asif, Mahajan Senior. And it’s not something either of them enjoy revisiting. The years have gone by excruciatingly slow; leaving mountains of mental and physical issues behind. “I’ve got grandkids too.”

“Seriously?”

“Two of them. Boy and a girl. Three and eight months.”

“You’re a grandpa?”

“As much as I hate being called that, yeah. I am.”

“Makes you feel old? Being called that?”

“Just thinking about it makes me feel old.” He takes a swig of coffee; watching as Tanner abandons his snowman and his new playmate in favour of returning to the swings. The ten year old is doing better than expected; not growing agitated or anxious when the little girl immediately follows him and once more attempts to make conversation.

“How old is he?”

“Ten. Eleven next month.”

“He’s shy. Or he’s already playing hard to get when it comes to girls.”

“He has Autism. Aspergers. It’s one of the things he struggles with; making friends.”

“I’m sorry, it must be hard. It must be…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I mean, look at him. He’s healthy. He’s happy for the most part. He’s beautiful. He’s a good kid. A REALLY good kid. We’re lucky to have him.”

“And are those your only two? The med student and him? Quite the age gap.”

“Actually, I have six more at home.”

Natalie’s eyes widen. “You have eight kids?”

“I do. Well, technically the oldest one isn’t mine. Not by blood. We took him in when he was fifteen. But I do have six more at home.”

“All biological?”

Tyler nods.

“All with the same mother?”

“Every last one of them.”

“I don’t know whether you’re crazy or brave. Or a mix of both.”

“Guess that’s up for debate. It’s a pretty full house.”

“God help the woman who got pregnant SEVEN times.”

“It was actually only five times. We have two sets of twins. Ten and five.”

“Wow,” Natalie laughs. “That’s quite the brood. You don’t see that very often these days; big families like that.”

“Once we started, we couldn’t stop I guess. We were supposed to be done at four, but…”

“Things happened.”

“That’s one way of putting it. You said you just moved here?”

“Number thirty-three. You?”

“Eleven.”

“The one right on the corner? With the two dogs? A shepherd and a…”

“Australian shepherd. Mac and Saju. Two major pains in the ass.”

“They love to stand on the couch. Look out the front window. My daughter always waves to them. She keeps hoping one day they’ll be outside. So she can meet them.”

“They’re standing on the couch because they like to spy on the neighbours. And growl and bark at the squirrels. They’re used to koalas and kangaroos. Not squirrels. They’re not the brightest, but they’re loyal.”

“I walked by the other day and when I saw all the kids out front, I thought it might be a daycare. That was a nanny with them? Cute little thing with dark hair. Didn’t look old enough to be their mom.”

“That IS their mom,” he confirms. “My wife is very tiny and cute. And I agree; she does NOT look old enough to have that many kids.”

“It would be nice to meet some of the other families around here. There aren't many with young kids, so it was a relief to see people at the park. My daughter’s always looking for new friends.”

“Well, she’s got a lot to choose from at our house, that’s for sure. I don’t think the wife would mind if you popped by. She’s the social butterfly. Complete opposite of me.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be holding your own in this conversation. A little gruff at times and straight to the point, but…”

“This is me on my best behaviour. It doesn’t get any better.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think it’s perfectly fine how it is.”

Smirking, he downs the remains of his coffee and tosses it in the nearby trash. It’s a line that’s been crossed. Not appreciating little smiles and flirtatious comments and the insistent way she keeps stepping even closer to him; not realizing that he grows more agitated and uncomfortable each time he moves away. It’s annoying; unwanted attention even AFTER you’ve told someone that you’re married. Most women -and some men- seem to take it as a challenge; an extra thrilling chase to land someone that’s declared themselves unavailable. And maybe it’s worked for them before; landing a guy that claims to be happily married and getting him to abandon all his morals and betray the one person he’s supposed to love more than life itself. But that sure as hell ISN’T him. He doesn’t need or want anyone else. Perfectly content to spend the rest of his existence with just one person; happy to wake up to the same face every day, kiss the same lips and make love to the same body , and hear the same voice and laugh.

“Daddy!” Tanner calls as he bounds through the snow; wrapping both arms around one of Tyler’s thighs. “Can we go now? I’m getting cold. And I miss mum.”

“Yeah, we can go. I bet she misses you too.”

“Hey there, cutie.” Natalie smiles, and crouches down to the little boy’s level.

“No,” Tanner shakes his head and slides behind Tyler, hiding himself behind his father’s legs. “Please don’t.”

“He doesn’t like eye contact. Not with people he doesn’t know. Scares him. It’s okay, Nug.” Reaching behind his body, he lays a hand on the back of Tanner’s head and gently pushes; encouraging him to come out of hiding. “Don’t be nervous. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen. Just people trying to meet you. Wanting to be friends.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Just someone being nice. Can you come on out? At least say hi? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Come on…” he lifts one leg, allowing Tanner to slip between them. “...can you just say hi? I won’t ask for more than that.”

Tanner nods, both arms once more wrapping around his father’s thigh; body leaning into him, needing that comfort and support. “Hi.”

"I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Natalie says. “Just trying to make friends. What’s your name?”

Tanner glances up at his dad. Looking for reassurance. And permission.

“It’s okay. You can tell her.”

He looks back at the woman in front of him. “Tanner.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten. Almost eleven.”

“I hear you have a lot of brothers and sisters.”

He nods. “I have a twin. He’s older than I am. His name’s Tyler. Like daddy.”

“And is he as handsome? As you and daddy?”

“I don’t know. I guess. He’s really tall. And strong. Like daddy. He’s almost taller than mummy already!”

“Well your mum’s pretty tiny,” Tyler reasons, and straightens out Tanner’s scarf and hat; pulling the beanie down over the tops of his ears. “Speaking of mum, want to go see her?”

“Yeah,” Tanner nods enthusiastically. “I wanna see her. I miss her. I want to give her a hug. And her goodies. We got mum her favourites,” he addresses Natalie. “Mummy loves croissants. From a certain place. So daddy and I took the subway to get them. And he got her something really nice. From a really expensive jewellery store. There was lots of sparkly stuff in there. Mummy likes sparkly stuff but never lets daddy buy her any. She says he spoils her too much.”

Natalie smiles. I’m sure your mom deserves to be spoiled.”

“Oh, she definitely does. She’s the best mummy. And the prettiest. She puts up with a lot. Especially from Millie. That’s my oldest sister. She’s a bitch.”

Tyler frowns. “Tanner….”

“I’m just sayin’. Millie is really mean. She’s almost a teenager. That’s why. They get mean at that age. Girls. That’s what daddy says.”

“And on that note,” Tyler chuckles. “I think we should go home. You’re gonna wanna pee soon, aren’t ya.”

“Yeah. And you can’t drop your pants and go in the bushes here. Wayyyy too cold. I got snow in my boot. My sock is wet. I can’t walk in wet socks.”

“You could if you wanted to. It’s like a hundred feet away.”

“Naw. I don’t like it. The feeling. My foot is cold. And wet. My sock is too squishy.”

“You’re demanding.” Scooping Tanner up with one hand, he settles him on his hip, then reaches for the bags he’d hung earlier on the rungs of the fence. “Ready to go? Go and see and mummy?”

“Ready, Freddy. I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“You’re ALWAYS hungry. Giants eat a lot. Bye” ! Tanner waves a mitten in farewell in Natalie’s direction. “I like your hat, by the way. I like the panda bear pin on it. It’s sparkly. And I like panda bears.”

“Well, I like your glasses. You’re awful cute, you know that.”

“Cute like daddy, smart like mummy,” Tanner declares, as he curls an arm around his dad’s neck. “Bye new friend!”

“Bye, kiddo. You be good. Although something tells me you always are.”

Tanner giggles. “You’ll change your mind once you get to know me. I can be really annoying.”

“Something tells me you’re more cute than annoying.”

“Just you wait,” he singsongs, and then gives one final wave before being carried out the gate.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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vesperione · 6 years ago

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Please Read This Before Commenting

So, as you can tell, already, this post will not mention TGWDLM until the very end. If some of you are unaware, I headcanon Paul as having Autism. Yes, autism, a very “scary illness caused by vaccinations.” Well, a couple of days ago I got someone commenting “HOW CAN YOU ROLEPLAY SOMEONE NOT ORIGINALLY AUTISTIC, LIKE HOW?” And it really hurt me! So I posted it on my instagram story (y’all on tumblr its @robertstanion) and I got an overwhelming amount of support. Except one person, who claimed the question was valid. So I told this person that the title of the post clearly includes the word HEADCANON in it, needless to say they are both blocked (to see this post, it’s TGWDLM Headcanons Part 2 and it’s the very first headcanon mentioned that has driven me to write this post) Now. As I’ve already mentioned autism is “a scary illness that is caused by vaccinations.” Well here’s something for you. I’m happily vaccinated and autistic. That’s fucking right, I’m autistic! More specifically, I have Aspergers/Asperger Syndrome. Now here’s the reason I’ve written this post. I would like my currently 351 fans on insta and my 21 fans on tumblr to see how I truly feel. So welcome, here’s an insight of my life. Also, if you want to take this to my dms, feel free, I’ve got over 300 fans I won’t mind losing a few. I’m also writing from experience.

Aspergers! What the fuck is that? Well, it’s one of the most common types of autism. Essentially, autism is a disability and a collective term. My type of autism falls underneath that umbrella term. So, Aspergers. What is that? yes I’ve repeated myself, and that is something common with me. I repeat myself and I stutter, I stumble and I slur. I am one of the gobbiest people you will ever meet with a high profanity and if you couldn’t tell, pretty much every single one of these posts on here and insta have a curse/swear word in it. INCLUDING THIS ONE! Common symptoms are that we have trouble filtering jokes from insults, filtering sarcasm and we take it the wrong way a hella lot. Um, we’re also sensitive to loud sounds and bright lights. And the big one, CHANGE IN ROUTINE! This was when I had to move to high school I was so scared because I am now the only person from that asshole school at my current high school which is brilliant by the way. So yeah, back to primary, this isn’t an exaggeration, I was bullied and I had no friends. Not even joking. Also year 1 (age 5-6) y’all are talking to the lass who threw not 1, not 2 but SEVERAL chairs at the head of the school when I W A S 5. that was also when my mom worked at the school. So anyways, this event occurred a few months after I was diagnosed with Aspergers. I was 4 and like 3/4 when I was diagnosed, And I’ve had this condition for 9 years so I’m pretty experienced. I’ve had it all my life. Wanna know where the signs started? When I was a baby. Common forms of autism also include late development and toilet training. My first word was triangle (i’m a part of the illuminati shhhh) or dad, but I have an ok relationship with my dad, but I prefer to have it known as triangle. Throughout first school I struggled, every day I would have a meltdown. I flat out refused to do the work! These meltdowns consisted of my folding my arms, putting my head down on the table and I just cried. Can’t remember why but I did. And when it was the end of the lesson, I would get up and go to break. I wasn’t punished! Year 7, I refused to do something in drama (I was very self conscious and still am and hate performing in front of groups of people) and I just froze on the spot. Wouldn’t move. So my then-drama teacher took me out and I wouldn’t talk to her. And then we went to student services and they sat me down in Miss Q.s office (Miss Q is such a lad, her and miss BE have been with me since day 1.) Luckily, the only TA i could talk to at my previous school moved up with me and I told her everything. Year 8 I only had 1 meltdown. Year 9, I’VE HAD NONE MOTHERFUCKERS! Well I kind of did in Maths a week ago becauseIstillfeellikeeveryonehatesme- BUT ANYWAYS i’m ok now. So, me, what comes with Aspergers, here’s what!

It is extremely common for people with autism to have depression and anxiety. In fact aspergers is actually an anxiety disorder. This prevents me from being in large crowds for large periods of time because of the noISE and I’m claustraphobic. So, anxiety. It’s common. Now imagine having a panic attack before you go to sleep. Literally as you shut your eyes. If you can’t here’s what it feels like. The room is dark, the only light is usually from the streetlights and occasionally car headlights, but it’s just gone midnight and the streetlights have turned off. The only light now is from your phone. Your eyelids are about to shut so you put your meditation music on to sleep with. You put your phone behind your third pillow exactly and shut your eyes. Suddenly, your breathe gets shallow and your heartrate goes up. A familiar feeling of nausea creeps around the corner immediately making you reach for your water bottle. That’s how it is for me, every night. Now, nausea. I’m emetephobic. Having emetephobia ruins my life. Emetephobia is the phobia for vomit. I can barely even say it out loud so me typing that certain “v” word is huge. This prevents me from watching TV shows and films, even certain music videos, because in case somebody just happens to throw up. Now the last time I threw up was my 8th birthday and I live in fear every day. Just a few weeks ago, this bug had spread to my school and someone legit ONLY HAD TO WALK 4 MORE STEPS TO THE BATHROOM but threw up OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM i mean dude. logic. and as soon as we were told, I was not the same for the last half hour of last period. I probably ingested more perfume that week than I ever have. So. On the topic of phobias, here are some I have:

Emetephobia: vomit Lepidopterophobia: Butterflies & moths (as long as I’m at a distance I’m fine) Arachnophobia: spiders excluding tarantulas they’re cool.

They’re the main ones.

Now, this part is digusting, feel free to skip. This is something that I’ve only told 6 people. I have a condition called Paralysed Bowel Syndrome. I’ve only met 2 other people with it. PBS legit makes this person SHIT THEMSELF. I was really ill before Christmas and early Jan. Christmas, I couldn’t move I was in agony (i almost threw up thrice that week I was so scared) and in Jan my body just kept trying to make me shit but my brain didn’t want me to. I have these things called ‘Moments’ where my brain literally stops me from shitting and this usually results in me wearing pads I didn’t have a period in February because my stomach’s so messed up. What happens in the end is I legit shit out this massive lump of...welll....shit. And my mum weighs it evERY FUCKING TIME! The day I got better this year was 07.02, my sister’s birthday. To put in comparison what happened, I got half a bag of sugar lighter that day. But no, this condition sounds stupid but it makes me really ill and I have to take this disgusting medicine when I get bad. There is no cure.

So, that’s me and why those two people really hurt me. But did you know these people also had aspergers?: Obama has a very mild case Albert Einstein Anne Hegerty (was on 2018 I’m A Celeb, British, google her) Chris Packham (ONE OF MY IDOLS-) Susan Boyle Tim Burton (who is born 6 days after me-) -

But also, people with Aspergers need something to live for. In my case, there are several things including Brooklyn Nine Nine, Musicals (specifically TGWDLM) Panic! At The Disco, Starkid, The Vamps, Backstreet Boys, Stephanie Beatriz, Fanfiction, Instagram and memes. This is why people with autism, when they love something, NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT IT (lowkey one of my best friends and exs is obsessed with sonic the hedgehog and he’s on the spectrum. May or may not have succeeded in getting said friend into Hamilton-) SO yeah! This is why you shouldn’t come to my page and start spreading your shit about this condition I’ve grown to love, hate and understand. Any negative comment makes me feel even worse about myself than I already do, that’s why I took a 3 month break from ao3 because one of my books got so much criticism that I had to take it down and it really upset me. So I beg you, give me advice, tell me if there are certain mistakes but do NOT insult me or aspergers syndrome. Thankyou, J

#consjderthecoconut #Aspergers syndrome #asperger syndrome #autism #rant

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auttobedifferent · 2 years ago

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My story

I’d like to start by telling you a bit about my story, all words are my own and are about my own experiences and views as a late diagnosed autistic person. I am by no means a professional, but have worked in professional settings with other autistic individuals and have learned about autism within my professional development as a support worker.

I am 30 years old and was diagnosed last march, in 2021, at 28 almost 29.

Why so late? Well for many years, from about 14, I suspected I could be autisic but my mindset was very different then.

I basically didn't consider myself “bad” or “disabled” enough to do anything about it. I felt like I was taking resources from people who would need it more than myself. I felt like this about my crippling depression also (which I suspect was a side effect of the constant masking and feeling like I never fit anywhere) which, when left for so long, creates problems.

So fast forward a few relationship and friendship breakdowns and just general struggles with other people who just didn't seem to “get” me or understand me, I decided to pursue a diagnosis.

It wasn't really just about my communication styles, but it was also about my executive functioning, sensory issues and meltdowns that I'd have (which often ruined friendships and relationships because I struggled with communication, things would get too much and everything would come out). I struggled with uni, I have dropped out twice.

Working was also an issue, as I worked as a support worker.

I looked into it extensively before I pursued this as I wanted to be somewhat sure. I read multiple resources, took loads of online diagnostic tests on autism, which ALWAYS came out very high, read other peoples accounts, and because all of this info felt highly relatable, I went to the doctors with the information I had found, and asked for a referral for an assessment.

Because I was giving my all and putting a lot of energy into supporting others, I largely forgot about myself and overworked and neglected my own needs. So every 2 years I would change companies and get a new job within support to keep the interest going as after a while it got boring. I didn't find being a support worker that rewarding, like people say (that’s not to say it isn’t, it just wasn't for me), because so many of the people i worked with had been institutionalized for most of their lives, and staffing was so limited, it was incredibly hard to actually fulfill people's needs, so it was hard to make a real difference for people.

I did this until 2020 after 5 years in health and social care when I decided to take some time out for myself.

I then had my first autism assessment with a psychologist in march 2020 just after I left work. We went through my childhood and how I was back then, how I played, how I interacted with others, as well as them being in touch with my mum to get a better picture.

However, a couple of weeks after, Covid-19 lockdown happened which affected the rest of the diagnostic procedure (as well as my willingness to go back to work during this time).

Because of covid, this lengthened the diagnostic procedure to a year, which at the time was very overwhelming as they weren’t able to give me a time frame of the next sessions. One had to be a phone session (in April) which I do not like being on the phone so that was really draining to do, but I didn't want to prolong it any further.

March 2021 was my final assessment in which it was confirmed I am autistic.

I was both relieved and completely frustrated and angry that this was never discovered in childhood, when it was quite obvious (I had very little friends, I struggled with certain subjects - or id completely hyper fixated on them to the point i was still learning about it well past the time it was being taught at school-, how i was taught - i had different learning styles to most, and was constantly being told id “misunderstood” people, was told i was too sensitive and over reactive, i also had serious meltdowns outside of school, due to being bullied).

I definitely don't blame my mum for any of this as I am very much like her, and on reflection she is also autistic, which is why she never picked up on it as I was just like her. However, how others at school didn't pick up on my differences I don't know.

So that is a basic rundown of my background and I am going to be sharing other stories and topics, which I find interesting and/or a part of my experience.

#actually autistic #autistic life #autistic adult #autism #its the neurodivergency #neurospicy #neurodiverse stuff #adhd #living with adhd #audhd #actually audhd #neurodivergent

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firelynxinbloom · 7 years ago

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The Closest Thing I have written to a Biography: “My Mind is a Time Machine.”

Here is a short story that I wrote for a university class about a year ago. It is one that centers around time and memory, and it also surround my life as an Autistic woman, and my father’s struggle to accept his Autistic identity. All the characters in the story are based in real friends and family, but all the names have been changed for privacy reasons. This includes mine and my father’s name. I hope you enjoy it :)

...

As I watch the thundering rain falls heavily in a wet drape of blue and green, I am taken back to my childhood, where I sat in a cheap kiddie pool in my Dad’s backyard and looked up at the flashing and booming lightshow that flares above me. The wetness of the pouring rain, and deafening crashes and bangs, and the bright streaks of white and gold sent me into an overload of sensory ecstasy. This wonder is slightly marred by the faint screeching of my father’s worried voice, slowly taking shape into the words; “Talia! Get inside!”

“Talia, dinner’s ready!” The beckoning call of my mother pulls me back into the realm of the present. Reluctantly, I pull myself from my bedroom window and slowly make my way to the kitchen. I sat at the dining room table to eat when I noticed what was on the plate in front of me. It was a piece of grilled flathead fish with vegetables and tartar sauce on the side. I was overwhelmed with disbelief. “How did you afford this?” I asked my mum with eyes wide open. She looked at me with a warm smile. “I’ve been saving up for it. I wanted to spoil you the night before your graduation.” As I tuck into my ridiculously expensive meal, my mind wanders off to one of my winter holiday trips to my father’s rural home....

Every winter, since my parents broke up, my dad would take me to his home in the rural coast. The smell of ocean salt and cocoanut-scented sunscreen is a gateway into series of long road trips and petrol stops that led into a paradise of paternal reconciliation. One day, at the age of nineteen, Dad and I joined his girlfriend Julie and their family on a fishing trip to the Hamilton River. In my pale blue jumper and my rolled up jeans, I waded into the freezing water and let out my fishing line. I bask in the serenity of bright blue sky and the gentle of warm wind that carries the laughter of Dad and Julie and the impatient groaning of my supposedly de-facto step niece. The scent of cigarettes and cologne greets me, and I turn to see Dad standing beside me. I remember that look of pure love and joy on his face, a look of man that did not want to lose contact with his baby girl again. This serenity is broken by the strong tug of my fishing line as a frantic white object splashed about the river on the other end. “Pull it! Pull it! Come on, Talia! You can do it!” Dad cheers me on as I yank a massive flathead fish from the river depths. “I caught a fish! I can’t believe it! I caught a fish!” I shouted joyfully. I took a good look at my prize. It was a white, shiny, and graceful looking thing. It had a flat and wide head with an eye on both sides and what appeared to be thick slimy whiskers of its face. I gently gave it to Julie, and she put it in a large bucket of water. “That fish is a Flathead. They are expensive when you buy them at the shops, so it was a lucky catch for you today.” I remember her taking the fish to her place to prepare it, and Dad and I had it for lunch the next day.

As I finished my dinner, I remember the sense of accomplishment that I felt when I caught that fish. I remember the smile of pride on my Mum’s face when I told her about it. I think that is why she cooked flathead fish for dinner. It is her way of showing me how she is proud of my hard academic work in light of my graduation. My Mum gives me a hug as walk into the lounge room.

“Do you have a dress picked out?”

“Yes. I’m wearing the black one with the peplum.”

“I’m so proud of you. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night.”

“Good night baby.”

I walk into my room and I climb into my loft bed. As my head touches the pillow, my mind begins to travel. My dreams take me to the events of my past.

The first event that beckons me to an argument my parents had when I was four. It starts with a flurry of chaos. This chaos consists of too much noise, too much light, too much of everyone else’s emotions, but most of all, too much of this burning sensation in mouth by this thing they call tomato sauce. It felt like I was swallowing napalm. As this overload softened, I was able to wake up from my meltdown. I noticed that my parents were yelling at each other. My Dad did not understand what had just happened to me. He keeps arguing the point.

“She was overreacting! It’s just tomato sauce! She knows it gets your attention!”

“She’s not faking it! How is that fake?! She was having a meltdown!”

“Too bad! It’s tomato sauce! She’ll get used to it!”

“She can’t get used to it! She’s autistic! She’s just like you! Do you remember the meltdown you had last week?”

“Don’t get me started on that bullshit!”

The beckoning of another event pulls me away, and I am taken to the day my parents broke up for good. I was twelve at the time. I woke up in the middle of the nigh to hear Mum and Dad arguing again. I heard Dad scream at the top of his lungs, “I’m not autistic, and neither is she!” I made my way to my bedroom door, but my sister Natalie walked in to stop me. She is seventeen at the time. I cried in her loving arms as I heard the front door slam and the screeching of a car driving off. “I know what I am. Why can’t he accept himself for who he is?” I asked between sobs. Through the dim light, I could see Natalie’s blue eyes shine with compassion and worry. “I heard that his family was in denial of him being different in any way. His mother is very stubborn about him being normal. I think Dad feels that if he accepts his Autism, he might somehow be insulting his mother’s memory.” This insight led me to feel a sense of empathy towards my Dad, coupled with a subtle hatred towards my paternal grandmother for emotionally abusing my Dad in this way. Suddenly, I am swept away to the day my Dad came back. I was sixteen, and I was playing fetch with the dog we had at the time, when there was a sudden knock on the front door. My Mum walked to the door and started talking to the person that was there. The conversation seemed slightly tense from what I could see in the backyard. I heard my calling to me, “your father is here.” The initial shock was followed by joy as ran into the house to greet him. He embraced me in his arms where I was reunited with the nostalgic smell of cigarettes and cologne. My mind flashes toward to an hour afterwards. Natalie came over from work and we all started talking about the time that went by. Dad said that he had moved to the rural coast to get away from all the noise of suburbia, and we talked about Natalie moving out, my high school achievements, and Mum’s struggle to raise us on her own. This scene of bittersweet joy began to fade as I woke up to my conscious reality.

As I am getting ready for graduation, my Mum is calling Natalie on the phone to make sure she has not slept in. By the time Mum starts calling Dad, I have slipped into my peplum dress. This sleeveless black pencil dress reaches the top of my knees. It has an elegant peplum flap on each side of my waist. I have paired this with a pair of plain black kitten heels. As I walked into the lounge room to see Mum dressed and ready to go. She was wearing a loose pair of black palazzo pants and a loose black crochet singlet. A rainbow chiffon shawl and a pair of black decorative sandals topped the outfit. She was on the phone to Danielle, my step-grandmother of sorts. Danielle was the de-facto partner of my maternal grandfather. Papa and Dannie, as they were known, were very close to Natalie and me. My Dad is not Natalie’s biological father. Her father abandoned her when she was five, so while my Dad was gone, Papa took the role as our fatherly figure. Natalie was closer to him than I was, so his death was extremely hard for her. I remember being in the hospital waiting room at the time. I was eighteen, and I was talking with Natalie’s partner, Ray. Natalie’s sobs pierced the peace in the room. She ran to Ray in a crying mess, and I stood there, frozen with grief. “Is he.....?” I asked, and she turned her crying red face to me and nodded. I heard the distant sound of Mum wailing in grief. As Natalie cried in Ray’s arms, I became overwhelmed by own emotions. I didn’t know which one to process first. On top of that, I was overloaded with the grief of Natalie and the grief of Mum and Dannie as they walked into the room. My head was crammed full of emotion, and most of it was not my own. I could not process anything. I could not cry. I could not make a sound. I just stood there, frozen.

The front door opened as I came to the present. Natalie came through the door with a big smile on her face. “I’m proud of you,” she beams while holding me in a tight hug. She is wearing a flowing purple blouse with silver trimming and her nicest pair of jeans. She had on a pair of silver sparkly converse shoes that match the polish on her naturally perfect nails. When she released me from her arms, I looked at her face and I saw that she had makeup on. I looked to Mum and she had makeup on too. I touched my bare face and laughed. “Well, I’d better put my face on.” Mum and Natalie laughed. “Take your time. It’s your graduation,” said Mum.

As I was fixing my makeup, I catch a whiff of a familiar perfume. I have not encountered this smell in a long time. I wandered what it was doing in my house. I called out down the hallway; “Where is that sweet smell coming from?” I heard a faint call travel back to me; “It’s this bubble gum flavoured ‘Hello Kitty’ spray that I found at the shops yesterday. I was showing Mum how ridiculous it smells. Why ask?” said Natalie. “It smells like someone I used to know,” I answered.

I associate that smell with my first year in university. This first year was my foundation pathway course because my university acceptance mark was too low. I remember crying at my computer, feeling like my hard work was for nothing when I received that mark. This sadness switched to joy when I got an acceptance letter to a foundation that would get me into university. On my first day of this course, I was sitting in class, waiting for the teacher to arrive. That was when I was greeted by the childish smell. I turned to see where it came from. Sitting next to me, I saw the most unusual looking woman I have ever seen. She had bright red hair done up in fifties rockabilly styles. Her makeup was extreme, with winged eyeliner and a red lip to contrast her porcelain skin. She wore a pink frilly fifties dress, with a pair of red stiletto pumps covering her pink frilly socks. This vintage look seemed quite. However, the brow piercing, the black clawed nails and her many ‘Disney Princess’ tattoos gave her a distinct edge. Her name was Regna, and although I was only an acquaintance to her for only a couple of months, her image made me realise that is was a way to be true to oneself without succumbing to group pressure.

As I was finishing my makeup, I thought that Regna would be a perfect example for Dad to admire. Like Regna, he should accept himself for who he is, without worrying his family. He should not have to be scared. These thought were interrupt by another knock on the door. I walked into the lounge room greet Dannie in her Sunday best glory. She also greeted me with an expression of pride and joy. “Papa would be so proud,” she said. I smiled and I look to the front door to see if anyone else was here. No one was here. Dad was not here. I felt a sinking feeling of sadness. I do not understand. He said he would be here. My mum walked over to comfort me. “It’s okay, Talia. He called to let us know that he was stuck in traffic. I told that if we leave before he arrives, he would meet us at the graduation hall.” I felt a wave of relief. Natalie gave me a knowing look of sympathy. She and I both know how unpredictable he can be. As we all get into Natalie car, I think back to rare conversion I had with Dad.

It was one of my most recent trips to Dad’s home. We had stopped at a petrol station to for a pee break and an early breakfast. Dad stocked up on his fourth cup of coffee, and I stocked up on a litre of orange, four hash browns and a box of ‘Krispy Kreme’ donuts. As we got into the car to continue our rural road drip, Dad and I began to talk about my neurological difference.

“I’m starting to realise that Kylie was right about you being autistic. I notice that you are a little quirky sometimes, but that’s not a bad thing. I should’ve known it wasn’t a bad thing. I guess that’s why I didn’t want to accept it. You’re doing alright for yourself, going to uni and all.” He said with an apologetic smile. This surprised me. This was the first time my Dad admitted to all the hard my Mum did for me. I saw this as a good step in the right direction. I let him speak some more.

“Some of the things you do, like the day dreaming, and the fidgeting, the overloads, and your introverted streak; they’re all the things that I do. It’s weird because the doctor said that those things are what make you autistic. It’s got me feeling a bit unsure.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I looked at him with a knowing smile.

“You know there’s a good chance my Autism didn’t come out of nowhere? It’s never too late to get the paper work, if you catch my drift.”

A cloud of silence filled the car, and I saw my Dad show an expression of deep thought as he kept driving. He glanced at me with a sense of nervousness.

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be a slap to my mum’s face?”

“I don’t think so. I think the only thing she would want is for you to be happy.” His face suddenly brightened.

“You think you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

As I was sitting in the audience, waiting for the Dean to call my name, I turn to check the crowd for my Dad’s face. This sense of hope turned to sadness when his face could not be found.

“Talia Steward,”

The Dean calls my name, and I start to make my way to the stage to accept my Bachelor degree. I walk towards the Dean and I take my hard earned reward. I take one last look at the sea of people and a distant waving hand catches my eye. I see my Dad! He made it! I am overwhelmed with joy. He is standing next to where Mum, Natalie, and Dannie are sitting. He is in his best shirt and pants. He waves his phone at me mouths the word “Phone.” I take my phone out of my robe pocket and I am overjoyed by the text that I see. It is from Dad, and it says;

“I got the paper work.”

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I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if it needs anymore content warnings :)

#language cw #cw ableism #cw sensory overload #cw character death #cw autism denial #cw internalised ableism #writing #short story #fiction

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