#but in a. im autistic and it makes my brain happy to say. way

[natjennie]

gray is called fucking kiwikiwi. kiwikiwi. how are you not all learning this language they have words like kiwikiwi.

[tabootasaur]

...

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 2):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

Part one here.

—> SMUT!!! and copious amounts of yearning and fluff, and like maybe some angst??? I wasn’t originally going to do a part 2 because it worked pretty well as a one shot, but I really liked their dynamic (and hyper fixated on it for HOURS), so here we are— it details the build up to their relationship, and then provides an epilogue to the end of part 1.

Warnings: sub spencer, corruption kink still present (but Spencer plays into it this time, what? who keeps writing that??? they need help???), greek mythology references and endless space facts (nerds), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader always (except she still for the life of her can’t be mean to Spencer, it’s those fucking brown eyes), begging, crying (pussy remains that good), praise kink, degrading names (slut, whore, because hello??? Spencer Reid breathes and he’s a slut to me), them being total losers for each other, they’re both still geniuses and they’re both still too domestic for my sanity, alcohol but no inebriated sex (a lot happens OKAY??), aftercare always!!

— brief brief mentions of rape in correlation to Greek Mythology (male Gods are disgusting)

w.c: 8k (im not mentally okay)

a/n: i wrote the smut and then had to take a cold shower (i cry for my digital footprint). i wanted to put this out on Spencer’s birthday, but I got distracted— i think he would be happy I dedicated all of my shots to him (and then had to explain that no he’s not actually a real person but rather a fictional character)

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Prequel, the build up, (pre ‘part I’):

Spencer is barely conscious, drifting in that half-way state, all tousled hair and messy clothes. He’s dishevelled, at best, cradling a coffee (too much sugar, limited caffeine). Early start, the sun has only begun to burn by the time he reaches his desk. Torture, it’s torture the way you linger, it makes his brain distort, fracture into a tangled mess of nothing. How is it scientifically possible that one’s presence alone can reduce his mind to static? He’s not sure whether he loves or hates the abrupt decline in his IQ.

7AM. There’s bags pooling beneath his eyes, crimson distressed shadows, insufficient sleep can hinder the brains ability to regulate emotion, attention. It’s fine. He’s fine.

To put it simply, you’re terrifying. A carefully crafted figment of intelligence. He wonders if you’ve ever pressed a knife to someone’s skin before, it’s more intimate than a bullet. Hands on. It’s not a morbid thought, he doesn’t consider himself that hedonistic. Jobs in the BAU are coveted, and yet, in despite of your age, you were offered to join. No strings attached, no extensive training— nearly a year of working alongside you has proven that you’re more qualified for this than anyone could’ve anticipated. Is it cruel to say you were made to analyse, to deceive and coerce the most callous minds?

It’s demeaning, sure. But there is nothing more to you than the job. You clock in, and your personality becomes bound, restrained, kept away from him.

He’s trying. They’re all trying; to accommodate you, to ease you into the team. Drinks after hours, even intoxicated, you’re meticulous at keeping yourself away from anything inherently personal.

But right now, you’re here, and you’re so pretty. “Early,” he groans, letting his face drop to the desk. He likes that you’re shifting closer to him, that out of everyone, the rare, celestial phenomenon, moments of vulnerability are reserved for him. They’re brief, and admittedly a little sharp around the edges, but Spencer is selfish in admitting that he wants them all to himself. To hoard them and gloat, because no one has ever chosen him first before.

And you, you justify this ‘friendship’ because you’re indisputably human, because you do need someone (even if you’re too proud to ever accept that), and of course it would be Spencer. You’re both too young to be here, skipping a multitude of stages in the rise to an FBI agent, trauma bonding over the weight of your scathed experiences. Plus, you share an element of difference; your brains are abnormal, wired in unique, distinctive ways in contrast to the average human. It makes sense. It’s logical.

“Too early.” you agree, shifting to lean against his desk. “Did you read that article I sent you? The one about astrophysics and how it can shape human experiences?”

“Of course I read it,” He looks up, bleary-eyed behind his glasses, half-lidded gaze flickering across you. Maybe there should be an element of competition to your dynamic; you’re both geniuses, working alongside each other in close close (oh— close) proximity, but there’s not. For all of your sharpness, you’ve never once seen him as anything but your equal.

He turns his head, hair falling, obstructing his sight, a mess of brown, tousled and out of place. His brain is already working overtime, absorbing every detail about your appearance: your heavy, maddening eyes, your shirt (wrinkled, untucked), your watch (gold), the pen stuck behind your ear. Analytical, analytical, analytical.

“Don’t ask me about it.” he continues, “I’m halfway through an essay on my thoughts about it, expect a message tonight.”

That’s a new progression. Whenever he can’t sleep, whenever his thoughts are fervid and incessant, his mind caught on obscure facts, he’ll text you. Let you wake to paragraphs upon paragraphs of information on miscellaneous subjects. He’s never really understood ‘texting etiquette’, abbreviations and short responses.

“Can’t wait.” you hum. Oh, and you mean it.

“Can’t wait? First time i’ve heard that one,” he laughs.

He glances down at your shoes— combat boots, of course. Practical, sturdy, thick leather worn down with use. He can’t look at your face right now, not when you’re soul-crushingly beautiful, and you’re taking an interest in his quirks. But, oh your face— using the golden ratio as a foundation, you’re… well, perfect. Sure, the dark shadows pooling beneath your eyes reduce points, but he likes them, it’s a subtle, yet impaling, reminder that you’re real, that despite everything, you’re undeniably human.

It’s a mess, he’s aware that it’s an unnecessarily disjointed mess; the universe decided to torture him (painfully so), by placing the personification of perfection in front of him. Reachable distance, and yet, you still feel light years away. So far, because god he loves you— he loves you in ways he can’t even speak about. But what is love, and how does he comprehend it when he’s never been in its orbit? Not until now.

“And yeah,” he continues, adjusting his glasses. “I’m drafting a response, of course I am. You think I’d not send you an in-depth message? That would be a disservice to your knowledge.”

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Detroit, 8hr flight, mid-morning, coffee and case files, an endless haze of intentions, behavioural patterns regarding the most recent unsub. Spencer always chooses to sit beside you, it’s non-negotiable, assigned. He spends half of his time curled up in the corner, catching a few minimal hours of sleep, and the other half rambling. At this point, you know a lot about him. Months and months of knowledge, some he’s told you, some you’ve profiled: he always carries a satchel (dog-eared novels and notebooks consisting of half-finished thoughts), his favourite season is halloween (when he first came to your apartment and saw various autumnal decor, despite it being mid-July, he smiled so much you thought you were going to die), and he’s afraid of the dark. Trivial pieces of information. Unnecessary, and yet you still store them for safe keeping.

“So,” he mumbles after briefing, “It’s nearly Halloween…”

Those words. The simple declaration of a date that you were already aware of sentences your fate. Of course you’ve noticed the rest of the team deftly turning down his invites at any occasion possible, but to receive one? You’ve never been a people pleaser, in fact, if anything you’re the polar opposite. Blunt like a knife, intransigent, unwilling to spare feelings for the sake of etiquette.

But you do agree when he offers to make plans.

────────────

Pumpkin patches, seasonal harvest. The leaves beneath your heavy platforms are ochre. It’s late- afternoon when you get to the festival, even later when you manage to coerce Spencer into humouring one of the ghost-walks.

But, you got distracted, tangled up in some tangent about Roman philosophy, Plato’s symposium, different accounts of eros. Socrates and his belief in stoicism, unwavering to the pretence of beauty, turning down Alcibiades— the most desirable.

You can only laugh. You laugh, and no, you’ve never laughed like that before. It shuts down Spencer’s body, renders him incapable for a good few moments. And now, suddenly he’s gone dumb, because he wants to get lost every weekend, just to hear it over and over again until it’s firmly imprinted into his brain for good. You breathe, and he’s brain-dead.

“This isn’t funny—“ he tries.

“No you’re right. It’s not funny at all.” you lie. Straight. Through. Your. Teeth. All things considered, you’ve had fun today— which is admittedly a feat in itself.

“Don’t worry,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll protect you.“

“You do that enough anyways,” he states; it’s true, you’re a little too assertive on the field, unwilling to let him stumble inadvertently into danger. Maybe it’s just because you’re now acquainted with the knowledge of his previous missteps. Or maybe it’s because you care — not in the way he cares about you, obviously. But he’s willing to take what he can get. Anything, as long as it from you.

Spencer hates the dark (it’s common knowledge, the absence of light is unsettling) and with his flashlight wavering, stuttering in and out of use, he’s forced to stray close to you, to share your working one. It feels like the start of some budgeted horror movie he’d possibly take you to see, speaking through the entirety, pointing out the obvious scientific flaws.

“Why do you have so many layers on?” He asks, watching your face. The flashlight in your hand illuminates the small clearing around them, casting your face in a starker light. Every contour, every blemish, every freckle is more pronounced in the cold.

“You look like a burrito,” he adds, unable to stop himself.

You scoff, “I run cold.”

Pine-oak and cold, the air is sharp, plainly glacial at this time of night. It’s an amusing way to spend halloween; even though you’re currently missing out on the tour you paid for. “And, I don’t look like a burrito, thank you. Very astute evaluation, Reid. Your words are clearly so intellectual.”

“Yes, well— I am a doctor, remember? Astute observation skills are a priority on the requirements list. And actually,—“ you huff out a breath, and his forthcoming tangent dissolves before it can escape his lips. Usually, you humour the onslaught, the mess of facts— but, considering they’re directly aimed at you tonight, it’s clear that circumstances are in fact different.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles blemished red from the cold, rose shadows that match the flush to his face. “I’m glad you said yes, to this. Most of the team,” he laughs awkwardly, “Well, they usually ignore my invites. So yeah, it’s nice not to be alone for halloween.“

He’s quick to move on, to shift shift the subject. “And— as for the,” he continues, glancing down at your attire. “The excessive layers— I just meant that you look comfortable. If you’re running cold, then you need all those layers. It’s not a critique.” Another huff, and he glances awkwardly around the clearing.

“I’m just rambling.” He murmurs, “As per usual. I need to, uh— to stop doing that.” A pause. Silence.

You’re not really digesting his words anymore, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts— it’s a few moments before you speak again. You turn your gaze towards him, observing the sight of him in the perpetual darkness, profile only illuminated by faint trances of your flash-light. Swollen lips, half-bitten, brown eyes blown out of proportion, irises wide and unabated.

You know a lot about him, that’s already been established. Albeit, there’s still fragments you haven’t quite discovered yet. And sure, you shouldn’t want to find out, to unravel him completely. You shouldn’t— because that’s a direct transgression to the rules you’ve always set for yourself. But you do.

“Are you..” your face softens, “Uh, are you alone a lot?”

You’ve never been the type to ask about personal life, about the complexities behind closed doors. Sure, you can deduce his home-life through months of experience and mannerisms, but you’ve never asked specifically about his own relationships. The question catches him off-guard.

He blinks, a few too many times, and then finds his eyes are very very interested in staring at his shoes.

“Yeah.” he finally answers, “But it’s okay! I’m used to it. I don’t mind,”

“I have lots of time for my own pursuits,” he adds. “Reading and-— um, chess and stuff. And the team, of course. But— they’re not- they don’t want to, like, hang out. Outside, I mean. They have their own lives, partners. Families, so it makes sense.”

It’s not okay, and you’re uncertain why it pains you so much. Maybe because he makes the effort to arrange plans, to connect, and it goes undervalued, wasted. In contrast, you’re content in loneliness. People are overbearing, insufferable at best. You’ve never had much of an interest in an abundant social life, you’re content in your small, reserved circle. But he has no one.

And yet he has the audacity to pretend it’s okay?

“Well, if you want to like, be lonely together sometime. That would be fine with me.” you say after a moment of strained silence.

His whole life he’s struggled to fit in, to meet, to conform to the expected societal norms. Acceptance, community, humans are wired to want integration, and yet he’s always fallen short. It’s why he throws himself into facts, into research, into studies and books.

His shoulders have slackened. For a slender frame he’s remarkably tense, like he’s waiting for an eventual downfall. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d uh, also be fine with that. More than fine actually..”

No one has ever wanted him, they’ve just needed him and he wonders if there’s really even a difference.

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That’s how it starts. Inevitable, in the grand scheme of life and work and you. Spencer watches as you soften, slowly unfold protected layers over countless evenings of chess and movies, and suddenly you’re not so untouchable, so beyond conventional existence, and yeah, berate him for loving you even more because of it.

You’re restless, completely. A night in his apartment is always fated to end with you tugging him through cobbled streets, desperate to catch some air. Tonight, it’s raining. Protected beneath a ledge of a closed shop, you’re approximately 12 minutes away from his place. Spencer should hate you for bulldozing his routine, he really really should. But it’s never that simple, not when it comes to the intricacies of you, and the exhausting effect you prove to have on his sanity.

He leans back against the soaked brick, watching the rain pour over the road, greyed streets, washed out by water. Just passing 10PM, like most nights, his mind seems to be insistent on you you you. And sure, he’s longing (if that even encapsulates his want), longing for something, to connect the invisible line between you two.

“Why am I not surprised,” he mutters, “Always a disaster with you.”

The cold will undoubtedly lead to you being sick, but the sight of you under the glow of streetlights, water-stricken and frustrated— he can’t bring himself to complain. For a moment, he simply stares. At your profile, the sharpness of your features, the exasperation in your blinding gaze. You’re beautiful, in ways he can’t comprehend.

“Hey,” he backtracks, “Not in a bad way, but like, in a you-cause-so-much-unexpected-stuff-to-happen kind of way. You’re always bringing me into messy situations.”

The space between you is so minimal, but so stretching. There’s an invisible wall, one that he won’t ever tear down, can’t ever tear down, in case he loses you. He wants to reach out, to grasp at your hand, your wrist, or even your shoulder. Anything, to feel the barest touch of your skin. Something.

Touch. To feel. He’s never allowed himself to sink into the warmth of someone else before, he’s never been able to. But for all your terror, he knows you’d hold him. Or maybe that’s just what he hopes for. Maybe it’s a delusional hypothetical.

When you do return to his apartment, you’re laughing. A common sight these days, as mind-bending as that might seem. The journey back was discombobulated, rushed movements, jackets spilling over heads, drenched thoroughly, attempting to outrun the inevitable storm that now seems to consume the area.

There’s not a part of you that regrets your offer to be ‘lonely together’ because whilst you despise most humans, Spencer doesn’t seem to be on that list. No, you could spend hours doing nothing with him, and still find it more gratifying than the best laid plans.

Plus, these days he seems happier. You both do.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say as you attempt to sort your way through his soaked hair. You’re sitting on the floor of his kitchen, cold skin pressed against tile.

He grins. You’re both laughing, and it’s so good. “Thanks for the compliment. You know, you’re not much better—“

He finds himself subconsciously, instinctively, leaning into the touch, as if his body has been searching for this, as if his skin is merely wired to only ever respond to your hands. Head tilted backwards, allowing access to the tangled strands, his neck arched slightly so he can still see your face, every expression that passes by.

He has a brief internal war with himself, wondering which part of the situation exactly he’s freaking out over. Maybe it’s the cold, which will undoubtedly leave him sick for the next week? Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve initiated a touch of some variety, your hands in his hair, a moment of human connection. Whatever it is, he can’t help but sit in silence, staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars.

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Both of you are incontrovertibly devoted to work, married in some key aspects. You stay late, ceaseless over-time, covering offices with evidence and reports, rehashing cases until you’re too exhausted to function. So naturally, it’s no surprise that you’re coerced into taking time off, mandatory leave— if only to appease the rest of the team, and their wilting sanity.

Road trip. That’s the ‘logical’ solution, considering you’d both end up exasperated at your respective apartments, overthinking the cases you’ve been shut out of. The Appalachian trail. Neither of you have any interest in the hike, albeit the skyline yurt, overlooking the area, endless planes of landscape, certainly seems like a selling point. If only to keep you countless miles away from work.

November. The days are hazy, mostly due to your shared fatigue, interminable exhaustion. Spencer has abandoned his glasses now, and you try not to mourn the loss.

The drive felt eternal. Hours stuck listening to the radio, only interrupted by Spencer’s endless rambling and your sporadic requests for coffee. There’s something intimate to travelling together. Being trapped in a car, in close proximity, sharing a space.

Now, the two of you are situated in the middle of nowhere, nature, something he’s never really sought out in his life. He’s an intellectual not a lover of the outdoors. Sure, the science of it fascinates him, the endless cycle of life and death, but actually being here — in the midst of it all, amongst the trees and fog — is a foreign concept.

You’re standing beside him, eyes observing the landscape, sharp gaze tracing the outline of the horizon. He wonders if you’re thinking of the city, of work, of anything else besides the freezing air. He just wants to get inside, to feel warm, to stop shivering.

But no, you’re too busy looking at the stars.

“That’s Cetus,” he says, pointing out a constellation, “Sometimes referred to as ‘The Whale’. Cetus, uh.. he was a sea monster in Greek Mythology, sent by Neptune to devour Andromeda. Perseus saved her by turning him to stone using the head of Medusa. Medusa, who he beheaded using a mirrored shield whilst she slept.”

You hum, “It also represents the whale that swallowed Jonah when he disobeyed the Christian’s God.”

“Yeah! Yeah, because Jonah went to Nineveh instead of Tarshish.” he looks back at you, “You know, Cetus covers over 1200 square degrees of sky. But personally, personally, my favourite is Ursa Major.”

“The great bear? Cmon, that’s so basic.”

“No it’s not! What? Don’t judge my taste,” he protests, “It’s named after Arcas. Zeus fell in love with Andromeda—“

“Mhm, and Hera, his wife, turned Callisto into a bear. Zeus raped her, the Gods were fucked up.”

“The Gods were fucked up, yeah.” he agrees, before knocking his shoulder into yours. “But Ares wasn’t, you know he counts as a pseudo god for feminism.”

“Shame he was brutal in every other aspect.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You’re paying more attention to the stars than me.”

Later, much later, you end up on the floor. Laying back against cold wood, you both stare at the domed ceiling. Distorted vision, clouded by alcohol; there’s not much to do around here, and you had incautiously thought a bottle of whiskey would be a good idea— no, actually, you just wanted to see Spencer intoxicated. Beyond messy nights at the bar in D.C, when the team was desperate for a break from work, he’s never really been in this state before.

The area is vast, too big, but you were hardly going to plummet yourself into the middle of nowhere without a few prominent luxuries— you’ve always been devoted to the city, the endless drama, sleepless nights and constant futile noise.

This is… different.

Alcohol has made everything more intense, magnified, in every aspect. The yurt is dark now, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning, slicing through the sky and illuminating the area in fragmented beats. The room is cold, but he’s over-warm. Not accustomed to the alcohol, to the buzz it leaves him feeling, the pleasant numbness in his limbs. As if nothing matters.

He’s laying next to you, mid-tangent about space. “Did you know that Jupiter has 95 moons. That’s more moons than the average solar system. And that most of them are named after Greek or Roman mythology. There’s— there’s Ganymede, that’s the largest natural satellite in the solar system. It’s nearly the size of Mars..”

He turns on his side to face you, watching as you mirror his movements, “And, and,” his words fail him, “You are so pretty, — you have amazing, amazing eyes, you know that? And this laugh….” that makes me burn, “You should laugh more. I’m going to make you laugh more.”

He’s staring at you, half-lidded gaze following every line, contour, every feature. He wants to trace his hand along the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down your throat, your shoulder. He wants to touch, to feel you. He can’t tell if you’re aware of his suffering. The torment that comes with being this close to you, yet not able to touch you. How painful it is. To love you.

“Spence..” you mutter, and oh, you’ve never called him that before.

“Mhm, yeah,” he says, bringing himself back to the point; the topic of space. Ignorant to his words. “The planet Jupiter, it’s a gas giant. You knew that, right? It’s got the shortest day of any planet. And on top of all that, it has a redspot! Like, this huge, massive vortex, bigger than the Earth, and it’s just roaming the atmosphere.”

A loud peal of thunder interrupts his speech, followed by the incessant, incessant rain, pounding against the walls. “I love when you listen to me. No one’s ever really listened to me before.”

It’s not fair, not fair that you’re about to plunge yourself into the centre of the storm. That Spencer Reid laying next to you, in the middle of nowhere, would be your fatal flaw. Hamartia. The downfall of the walls you’ve kept resolute for so long. You could blame the alcohol, curse yourself for encouraging this when you’ve both always balanced on a thin, trembling line.

But perhaps it was always inexorable.

You cup his face, running your hand over his pretty profile. Pupils blown out of proportion, so beautiful it scalds. You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, from pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips.

“I’ll always listen to you.” you promise. Because if no one else has the decency to acknowledge him in full capacity, you will.

And Spencer? Oh, he’s frozen, caught in some location of suspended space. Every thought, every coherent piece of logic in his head has come to an abrupt hilt, silenced by your mere touch.

Your words sink into his skin, seeping into his bones like fire. He’s burning, burning hot and feverous under your hands. The kiss is brief, and he whines involuntarily when you pull away. “Don’t stop. Please— not yet.”

You want him, repeats like a mantra. In all universes, in the grand scheme of time, he never considered this alternative.

Suddenly he’s glad he resides in this reality.

So you kiss him again. You’re aware that you’re both a tangled mess on the floor, limbs interwoven, lips pressed against lips. You’re aware that you’re both drunk beyond comprehension, and that you’ve used alcohol to cheat, to skip time, to fast-forward to the good. Because if you were sober right now, you’d be too calculated, too rational to allow this.

And it hurts— kissing him. Because he touches you like he’s never felt anything before, like he’s been impossibly starved for the entirety of his life. Neglected, in so many ways. You’ve never been interested in caring for someone before, but somewhere along the way, he buried his way into your chest, and now, you’re hopeless to the consequences.

Right now, that doesn’t even feel half as terrifying as it truly is.

His hands are everywhere, everywhere they can reach, grasping at anything they can find, trying to bring you closer, closer, to keep the heat burning against his skin. He needs it, needs the feeling of your lips. He’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed as his tongue slides against your own, as his hands press at the curve of your waist, tracing over skin he’s only been dreaming of touching. He feels alive, incandescent with pure bliss.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles against your skin, between breaths. Between the fire. “For so long, so long,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours when you both become reacquainted with the concept of oxygen. “Don’t regret this tomorrow, please?”

“I won’t.” you say, drawing his lips back to your own.

And you do stay true to your word.

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Epilogue (—post ‘part I’):

You’re not entirely sure how to approach the situation of sex, considering you’ve just defiled Spencer Reid on various surfaces of his apartment. So, naturally, you untangle yourself from his body, and take him to see some mundane documentary on sealife. Mostly because you know he’ll enjoy it (and you’ll certainly enjoy him leaning over your seat to comment on omitted pieces of information and technical inaccuracies). Then, when it’s over, you muffle his protests on crime as you coerce him into sneaking into another screen.

Now you’re not the most inconspicuous pair, sitting in the back row, practically hidden by shadows. He has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, thumb tracing over the bone there, lost to your proximity, the warmth of your leg, thighs pressed together.

“You are so pretty,” you mutter, transfixed by the sight of him, illuminated by flashing lights. Some excessive slasher playing in the background, discarded.

“Shh,” he sighs, “Be quiet, there’s— you’re distracting me.”

You’re difficult, you know; your head is leant against his shoulder, lips dragging along his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear. He can’t focus on the screen, the movie barely registers, not when all he can feel is you, your lips against skin, leaving remnants of heat wherever they touch.

You’re aware that you’re a few meticulous touches away from giving him a heart attack, albeit it’s not like you have any interest in stifling your attraction. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.

“What was that? Oh? You want me to be quiet. Maybe you should do something about it then, because personally I have no interest in—“

His lips are quick to silence you. Ruinous, you kiss like you talk, with a sense of assertiveness, all encompassing and dizzying. He’s leaning forward to deepen the contact, to chase chase chase your mouth with little regard for etiquette.

“It’s—“ he mutters, stumbling into his apartment when you predictably get kicked out of the cinema. “All your—“ his hands are tangled deep in your hair as he silences your protests with his lips. “Fault.”

He’s lovesick, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip to stifle the contact. He feels light, like everything will be okay, all of the ache will dismantle, disintegrate if he keeps kissing you. But comfortability breeds defiance, so when you try to close the distance again, he’s laughing breathlessly.

“There’s paperwork we need to do—“ he says, and you blink. “It’s stacking up, and uh.. it’s very very important.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. Then, he’s grinning, leaning forward to press an apologetic kiss against your lips. “Sorry, sorry. Had to.”

“You’re a dick.” you confirm, hands slipping beneath his sweater to trace warm flesh. His reaction is scarring, body clattering back against the wall, torso arched forward as every part of him follows your touch mindlessly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow tolerant to you, or if it will forever feel this devastating— his swollen lips are parted and a soft oh escapes.

“But a pretty one, so maybe it cancels itself out.” you laugh, adorning his neck in soft kisses that trail, growing sharper, more biting as they begin to puncture skin, leaving behind mauve blemishes. The process is delirious, and you’re coaxing the most destroyed, whiney noises from him now.

Spencer sighs, “I don’t think that’s how it works—“ his sentence is destroyed by a whimper, something pained, when you run your tongue along a forming mark, when you deepen the burn. “I’m uh— yeah.”

You laugh at his mindless sentence, “I thought we needed to do paperwork, hm?”

“What’s paperwork?” Spencer responds, gripping your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you both meet his couch. “I’ve never heard of that— stop making things up.”

“Are you going to behave?” you ask, straddling his hips, pressing against his clothed dick, working in slow movements to intensify the stifled stimulation between you.

“No.” he answers simply, plainly. As if the answer is self-evident. Which, considering the state of him, debauched beyond reason is. His needs are conspicuous, from the scattered bruising that lines his neck to the indecent noises spilling from his throat. He grips your hips, whines when you refuse to push harder against him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you can reduce him to this state, diminished to nothing but want the moment your touching becomes calculated.

And god, he wants— he wants to trace every part of you. The shape of your collarbone, the dip of your throat. He wants to mark himself on every part of you. The curve of your wrist, the inside of your hip. Every part available. He feels like an open wound, vulnerable in ways he never anticipated he could be, desperate for you to thread the skin back together, to ease him from this repetitive cycle of desperation.

“Going to punish me?” he teases, watching the myriad of emotions that cross your features. The way you’re so intently focused on him, on his skin, the need he emanates. Fuck— he loves it, he loves how he’s the object of your attention, every thought, every sense devoted to him. No one else, just him.

He knows he’s begging, that he’s all but pleading with you to fix him, to make him whole again, because for some reason, he can’t remember what he was like before you.

“Maybe,” you answer, moving off his lap to destroy the friction, and he wants to protest, but before he can even cohesively think of words, he’s clattering off the couch to sink to his knees.

He’s looking at you now with this distinctive gaze, big, innocent eyes, pupils dilated beyond necessary reason, and you’re disorientated, undone just by the sight of him. It’s fervent, this thing that burns between you, and neither of you are sure when you got so tangled in each others orbit, but you’re not complaining, not when you’ve got him sitting pretty on his knees for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you state, drawing your hand across his jaw, tilting his head up so he can meet your gaze entirely. You let out an exasperated breath of air, “Don’t look at me like you’re innocent here,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he says, and of course he’s playing naive, utilising his lack of experience in this moment, exploiting it to spite you.

Your palm meets his cheek, and he’s gone, just staring up at you, too distracted to formulate a coherent response. He never considered himself to be a particularly ‘dirty’ person until you kissed him, and then he crumbled, evanescence of logic, sanity.

He pushes his thighs together, moaning whorishly at the friction.

And oh, that has you gripping his hair hard, earning an assortment of obscene sounds. With your thighs parted, you hike your skirt up further, allowing him to slot himself in place. He’s quick, needy with his actions, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, trailing them up up up until he meets your panties. Wet, soaked through, a prominent indication that you’re feeling this as much as he is.

He drags them down your legs with little regard, fabric discarded, forgotten about for greater priorities. His tongue, tentative at first, runs along your clit, and you’re responding, hips canting against his face– yeah, suffocate him. He could die very happily right here in this demeaning position.

Tug, he buries his face entirely into you, moaning at the taste, at the sheer concept that he’s being throughly used. It’s messy (in more ways than one), but he knows that it’s good based on your reaction, the way your thighs are wrapped around his head, digging into his shoulder, the way your hand is threaded through his hair, controlling, instructing until he’s just a mindless instrument to your desires.

“Oh— fuck, Spence, that’s it— that’s it. So good, so good f’me.”

“Taste so good, needed this so bad.” he all but whines, pussy-drunk, a little too gone for anyone’s good. He’s straining against his pants, creating damp spots that he really can’t justify, and it hurts. He pushes his thighs harder together, trying to relieve the ache with some pressure, even if he’d love nothing more than to shamelessly grind against your leg right now, to rut in the most indecent way possible. He’s squirming, and don’t come untouched don’t come untouched, focus.

You’re tight, and when the first finger slips inside of you, there’s a visceral reaction from both of you. His hands are deft, slender and long, and with a subtle curve to his movements, he finds that spot before he’s even added a second digit. He would be fairly content with staying here forever, at service to you, watching as you fuck yourself against his face, body bucking and squirming, and yeah– there you go, that’s it. Right there. When you tense, he looks up to meet your debauched gaze, noises spilling from your swollen mouth as you fall apart. Clenching to unclench, perfect.

He’s still dizzy when he comes up, tongue and fingers and mouth and chin all obscenely coated in the aftermath. Oh god, he can’t even stand it, he looks way too satisfied with himself, and he is. He is. He is. He is.

You say how amazing it was (which is sweet, very very sweet) and then you say you’ve used him like a whore. And um. Yeah. Okay. That’s good— great even. He loves being useful!

There’s his bruised knees and then there’s the couch. Stumbling movements, the way he collapses, the way you follow after, shifting to straddle his body.

“Need you. Just you— please. I’ve waited for this, want it so bad.” he mutters.

He’s painfully hard, and he’s been so good, which means he’s prone to acting out now. As you work on staining his neck with remnants of this night, he slips his hand into his pants, and yeah, much better. He could cum just like this, with his palm wrapped around his dick and your lips all over his neck, polluting skin. He should be patient, he knows but he’s so hard and the need is too overwhelming. And oh oh oh. He squirms, releases a pitiful noise that has you reacting, noticing.

After that, his hands get bound behind his back.

He probably deserves that.

He can only watch the depraved actions, the formulated process of you removing his trousers, then his ruined boxers. By the time, he’s bare, undone to your eyes, he’s a disjointed mess. Every time you touch him, the sensory nerves that formulate inside his body burn, agonisingly so, to the point where he can only melt, capitulate to you alone. You, only ever you. He’s fairly certain he was created for you exclusively.

You roll your thumb across his tip, watching as he squirms, grasping your hip, and your free hand, discernibly breaking orders to keep them tethered behind his back. You just lace your fingers together, press a soft kiss against his knuckles, before you return to the simple task of tearing him to pieces.

No. Big. Deal.

“You like that, hm?” you ask, letting out a dissatisfied hum when Spencer only nods, flushed and breathless, debasing little whimpers escaping his mouth with every stroke. “Use your words, — use them or i’ll stop. You don’t want that, do you? Because I don’t think you want that at all.”

“No—no, please, god please don’t stop. I like it— I like it a little too much. Feels, oh.. feels so good.”

Your hand is wrapped entirely around him now, and he can only shift closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck, shelter his gaze from your sight because if he looks at your pretty eyes again, he’ll finish immediately.

God, he’s loud, he’s so loud, a litany of whimpers escaping him with every cataclysmic stroke. It gets to a point where you have to untangle your hands, push your thumb into his mouth, and thankyou, something to do with himself— he just moans around the digit.

“That’s it— taking it so well.”

“I’m trying! Oh, oh… m’trying. Just wanna be good for you— please, please it’s so much.”

He’s so sensitive, too sensitive, it’s good and bad, and it’s a complete onslaught to his deprived body. He’s not sure he’ll ever comprehend how you touch him, the way every movement seems to be perfect in derailing his mind until he’s too blissed out to know anything beyond you.

He’s really trying to form words with your finger in his mouth, but it’s just a mess of saliva and he wants to tell you that he’s a germaphobe, that hands carry so much bacteria, but he’s more than willing to trade germs with you anyway, to offer himself up on a sliver platter, lamb to the slaughter. Sacrifice, he can’t even articulate how much he would renounce for you.

You push your thumb deeper into his mouth, watching as it hits the back of his throat, as he gags around it. There’s blind, unwavering obedience to his actions now, taking it all willingly, passive in a way that counteracts his previous behaviour.

So naturally, you ask if he feels like a slut right now, and yup yup yup. But, as morbid as it may appear, he has no qualms in being your slut, because it’s just you, and the thought that you’re here, that you’re with him, taking care of him in ways he was never convinced he would receive, is intoxicating. Dismantling. Self-destruction, he supposes.

You draw your thumb from his mouth, push it into your own to show him that yeah, sharing germs is not an issue. “Such a good boy for me, Spence. So proud of you.”

“Oh..” now he’s just crying. It’s formidable.

“That’s it— you’re safe. I’ve got you, gonna make a pretty mess for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, need it— pleasepleaseplease.”

You hum, “Just a little longer for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and hold it.”

“Cant—“

“Spencer.” you say, actively silencing his protests, and he can only nod, following your command mindlessly.

It’s a form of art, he believes, the way you dismantle him piece by piece, the way you destroy his cognitive function, strip him raw until he’s just a tangible mess of everything he was always deprived of. Until it’s just him, just him who you still stare at starry-eyed.

When you finally grant him permission, the bliss has him unable to form anything beyond stuttered oh oh oh’s, his back arching, his nerves ignited, and maybe he’s falling, falling fast because it’s all just a labyrinth of transient pleasure that his body struggles to keep up with.

But afterward, when he’s satiated, you’re still there, and you’re still so painfully warm and real.

There’s something gratifying about the sight of you, taking unprecedented care to clean his skin, to coax him out of his stupor when you’re supposed to be the incarnation of sharpness. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that the blade will never penetrate him, that he’s always going to be your exception.

When you’re tangled in sheets, foreheads pressed together, when it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters, he does consider luck again. And how so much sacrifice was worthy of enduring, if only for a fleeting second of this.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I have for a long time.”

And you sigh, cup his face, it feels like a solar eclipse, like something astral. “I’m not sure when it happened, but yeah. I love you too, Spence. Love you enough to deal with the insane amount of paperwork HR are going to give us for this shit.”

“Worth it.” he mutters, kisses trailing along your jaw, dipping to meet your neck. “So so worth it.”

[airbendertendou]

a small compilation of moments between autistic!reader + connor happy disability pride month <3

anon requested : hi! i was wondering if you could do something with connor and the autistic reader and like them going nonverbal and how he would handle that? You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna! :)

please do not use this as a way to self-diagnose. having one thing in common does not necessarily mean you are autistic. im not a therapist or doctor, if you think you’re on the spectrum, talk to them. <3

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

temperature irregulation ♥︎

hank was a firm believer in a cold house. when the summer season came and brought a heatwave with it, the older man wouldn’t allow anything other than a brisk, chilly living room.

it was often you’d come over to go over old cases and study with hank. interning with the detroit police department was fun — the academy, however, you could live without. you’d learned to dress warm when visiting hank’s house, having a hard time warming up once you were cold.

“here,” a thicker sweater is placed over the couch, the sleeve laying on your shoulder. you take it without thought, swapping your thinner one for the new one. connor smiles at the pattern on your fuzzy socks, the sight of your toes curling in delight at the warmth bringing something tender to his brain. “better?”

you nod with a hum, “thanks, detective.”

hank rolls his eyes, hiding the curl of his lips at your obliviousness. “anyways, as i was saying—”

[interrupted] routine ♥︎

every day at 12:10 pm, you’d wander into the breakroom for a snack and drink refill. connor didn’t mean to memorize your specific regimen — but after watching you do the same thing for a week straight, it stuck to his mind.

you loitered in the doorway to the breakroom, peeking in occassionally to see if it’d emptied out any. gavin caught your gaze, rolling his eyes at your hesitance. it was then you spotted the mug in his hands — your mug, the one you always used. your frown deepened.

connor budged his way into the crowd, bumping into gavin and causing his drink to spill. every curse leaving the human’s mouth went ignored — connor only watched as you cowered away from gavin’s angry steps as he left. grabbing the dropped mug, connor rinsed it four times before holding it out to you shyly.

you crept into the breakroom, grabbing the handle of the mug and shooting the android a thankful grin.

stimming with pressure ♥︎

hank opened the door to his house with a sigh. connor’s eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head, questioning the elder silently. hank leans against the door, “[name]’s been here a while, s’all. won’t leave my bathtub.”

a safe zone, connor concludes, somewhere small and compact ; where you could see every corner and every threat. he makes his way to the bathroom without another thought, pausing at the sight of you.

your eyes are closed, face crumpled in displeasure as you clench and unclench your fists in a pattern. connor knocks on the door, announcing his presence without startling you. your eyes fly open, “hello, detective.”

“you can call me connor, if you’d like.” the android steps further into the bathroom slowly, allowing you to object if you need to. your eyes stay on him — his thirium pump stutters in his chest. “anything i can do to help?”

taking in a deep breath, you puff your cheeks as you release the air. “maybe. if you don’t think it’s weird.”

connor stares down at you, his upper lip curled in hesitance as you lay in hank’s bed. you adjust yourself, wiggling around until you’ve splayed your limbs where you want them. you blink up at him, “well?”

“it is a little... strange.” connor tries to be nice, he really does. but asking an android to lay on you — to put their full weight on you — he’s concered. “i will crush you.”

you roll your eyes, “i have a weighted blanket at home ; it’s no different.”

“i weigh quite a bit more than—”

“are you going to lay on me or not, connor?”

maybe it was the sound of you saying his name for the first time ; maybe it was the way you looked so defeated. whatever it was, connor found himself laying on you as gently as he could. the relaxation was immediate — he could feel the breath of relief you let out ; the way your body sagged.

you fell asleep that way — with connor holding his breath and tensing up the closer you got.

sensory overload ♥︎

the scene you were going to was a lot. it was nighttime now, the sirens and flashing lights bringing everyone’s attention this way. hank leaves the car first, grumbling as he goes. the sound that leaks through his open door causes you to whimper.

connor turns his head to you, “everything alright?”

your gaze hasn’t left the window as you squint, blinking at all of the lights. you gulp before biting your lip. “i’ll be fine. this is what i signed up for.”

you’re barely out of the car and already wincing at the noise and the lights. you can’t see hank ; can’t hear or understand anything being said around you. the world is blinking in hues of red and blue, wailing sirens going off with every flash of the lights.

the sound grows muffled as soft and sturdy hands cup your ears. a thumb moves from your ear briefly, just long enough for you to hear a whisper. “close your eyes and i’ll lead you into the house. that’s where the lieutenant is.”

trusting connor’s words — a little too easily — you squeeze your eyes shut. your hands go up to cover his, sealing your ears from the harsh sounds around you. stumbling a little here and there, you eventually feel a difference in temperature as you enter the house.

letting out a sigh, your shoulders moving with the motion, slowly your eyes peel open. you glance at connor, ignoring the tenderness of his gaze. “thanks, connor.”

he lets out a deep breath, ignoring the sly grin hank sends his way. “no problem, [name].” 

verbal shutdown ♥︎

it happened so quick. your safe foods had vanished from their designated cabinet ; your chair’s wheel was squeaking incessently ; hank hadn’t shown up today. everything was piling on and you finally exploded.

the evidence locker was empty as you shakily typed in hank’s password. you hit the wrong button a few times, squeezing your eyes together at the little beeps. your breathing picks up — you hold it in your chest and shake your hands, releasing the tension built inside you.

you all but crawl into the secure room, your back hitting the wall as you sit down. your eyes squeeze shut again and you go through the motions, choosing the less destructive ways to calm yourself down.

none of them work.

when connor finds you, you’re drawing shapes on the floor with your finger. you’ve curled into yourself, not making a sound ; your usual means of comfort absent from your lips. he walks to you cautiously, “[name]? hank has returned. he’s asking to see you.”

you don’t move ; not a sound falls from your lips. connor sits in front of you, crossing his legs as he waits. from his suit pocket comes a ring of multicolored notecards — your eyes flash to his at the sight of them. connor holds them out further so that you can see them properly. “want to use these?”

a miniscule nod, but it’s enough to make him smile. “alright,” he flicks through the blue cards — feelings. stopping at your set of upset verbs, he slides the ring your way. “any of these describe how you’re feeling?”

a shaky finger hits the word overstimulated before dragging over to panic. connor nods, flipping to the pink set — solutions. “what do you want to do? go home ; nap ; have a snack ; get your puzzle book ; coloring book...” connor holds them up to you, reading out each one until you nod — except you don’t. pausing, connor speaks up again, “want me to leave?”

you shake your head. slowly, your hand crawls across the floor until it meets his. you nudge his hand, curling your fingers under his. connor holds his breath, adjusting your fingers until you’re holding hands properly. his eyes stay to the floor, “this is okay, too. let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

emotional regulation ft. lots of crying ♥︎

“connor,” your voice brings him out of his work. standing beside his desk, connor watches as you sway side to side. he tilts his head and it makes your eyes water. “i’m going to cry.”

that was his cue to take you into his arms. connor stands to do so, gathering your body against his and rocking you side to side slowly. your body hiccups a few times, sniffles leaving your nose occassionally. you seem to calm down even more as he rubs your back soothingly — connor’s led light flashes yellow as he stores that information for later.

you pull away with a deep breath, rubbing your face with the hoodie you’re wearing. connor frowns, “better?”

you nod, “needed that. thank you.”

“want to tell me what upset you? only if you want to.”

connor never knew what to expect your answer to be. sometimes you just shook your head and snuggled close to him again. other times, you did talk about why you were crying and it made connor realize the extent of human emotions. 

“no more chocolate in the snack cabinet.”

“had a nice dream.”

“hank is wearing yellow.”

“it’s such a pretty day today!”

“too much noise.”

“gavin cut his hair.”

you let out another sniffle, lips pouting in thought. “not too sure this time. jus’ felt like i needed to cry.”

connor nods to himself, his led light whirring yellow once more. “i’m glad you feel comfortable with me, [name]. i’ll be here if you need another cry.”

you grin, meeting his eyes for a brisk second before reaching out to hold his hand. you swing your entwined hands lightly, grin softening into something gentle. “i know. thanks, con.”

the detective was sure he’d implode because of you soon. just not yet — not when you’re still holding his hand.

——♥︎—— for some reason my brain tells me to only write autistic readers n pair them w connor. like?? work w me here!! anyways. i hope this was okay, remember to take your meds, drink some water and have a nice snack!! airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[mrmistakemakeroywg]

how i see "The helper" episode . (i have diagnosed adhd and autism fyi: everyone is different so take what i say with that context <3 not all autistic people are like me so please understand this is more based on my experience personally)

Really weird post i know but hear me out. When i watch "The helper " i immediatly think about having meltdowns as a little kid or just any age in general wether online or irl.

^ Like if you`re looking at it like i am, you can understand why id say it feels like hes having a meltdown / breakdown because something that makes sense to him most of the time, now makes no sense at all to him / freaks him out |

| (Being unable to help people because they do not need his help which he is not used to , thus making him react way worse then most people would sense it is something very special to him Like how people will have specific special intrests or hyperfixations etc) personally i freak out and get meltdowns when my pc is broken or needs fixed and i cannot draw whatsoever for long peroids of time. )

and how you / i would immediatly feel ashamed , nervous and guilty afterwards , or just generally exhausted or depending on the person feel like a burden on the people around you.

(also for this next part yes i know this is implied to be sylvia`s idea but it still makes me wanna tear up because it hits home way too hard) and other people will immediatly treat you as a "trouble maker" that has to be dealt with , punished or pushed aside even tho its something you cant help and sometimes cant even understand .

the dialogue espeically is a gut punch for me.

"ohh.. So this is the guy you want out of town "

" i get it " he`s hurt , and ashamed of himself. and its probably a stretch but i feel like this has happened before because of how he says " i get it . " then he tries to turn it into a positive as per usual to his character writing , thats how much he loves helping people.

its his special intrest / hyperfixation <3333 so of course he can try to turn it into something fun . and the rest of the episode goes on as he Does what they asked him to. and they immediately reward him for throwing himself out of their way .

(this genuinely makes me so mad i`m sorry fuck those towns people man you could`ve just talked to him instead GRAHHHH) and how he gets super happy after FINALLY pleasing them.

hes so silly :33

also this last bit makes me angry a little

"son"

"thanks" ( im going to eat your soul stfu /halfjoke )

"happy i could help!! "

"that makes two of us " (BONUS) ALSO I WANT TO MENTION the scene where he tries to " stop " lord hater. I feel like this is him being pushed to his absolute limit to a point he tried to do something very out of character just for the comfort and relief of "doing something good" like hes reverting to the basics of "being a good guy " just to get that comfort of helping someone again.

it reminds me of that Version of himself in "the wanders" where the piece of himself that holds his trauma / what made him want to help everyone is still not inside of him yet, and he goes on a rant about how he is going to stop lord hater

"wander are you okay ?? " "im MORE then okay "

"IMMMM PERFECT !"

"Now come trusty steed , its time to stop that HEARTLESS evil doer LORD HATER ONCE AND FOR ALL !! "

"wait what-" "stop ?"

"YES! i am a good guy , and he is a bad guy. " "AND I STOP HIM ! "

------------------- HELPPPPP.... seriously tho sorry for the long rant about this episode but it genuinely hit home so hard that i have cried multipule times unironicly because of it. Reminder that im veiwing this through my own experience of growing up on the spectrum (adhd + autism specifically) not everyone on the spectrum will be the same as me when it comes to this episode. I had to get this out of my system because it was eating at my brain sorry yall 💔💔💔

if i made any typos or worded anything weird its becuase its harder for me to write long posts plus as of writing its 01:17 on my computor clock.

[kedamonoxx]

[The way I dropped everything and went to tumblr to make my own jax headcanons to satisfy my autistic homo brain?!1?1!?!]

‼️HES 22 YALL IM GOING DOWN THE RABBITHOLE…

Literally😫 (sorry)

Okokillshutupnow ‼️MAINLY MASC PRONOUNS. BUT I CAN DO A FEM ONE LATER FOR MY BBGS<3

—

Canonically stated by the creator he isn’t fluffy, I imagine he’s like smooth, like porcelain.

Compliment this gremlin, god it’ll fuel his ego so so much.

I feel like he’d be aroace but my lil idiot self wanna “play” with the polygon rabbit so imma say he just doesn’t get around much so ppl assume he is aroace. He just gives the vibes🤷🏻

God please pet him. Just. Like little pats every so often to make him question wtf is going on.

If y’all r dating he’d be the type to like-not leave you alone. Like a puppy he’d be glued to ur side. Or like stalking you to make sure youre okay.

Has smacked kinger out of the way to see you. Kinger sat there and, delayed went: “o w.”

Calls you stupid names to embarrass you “shmookums”, “bae” , “pretty boy” , “big boy” , “S L U T” <3

Stares at you a lot. Zones out a lot to, you can tell by the staring.

If dating (and with previous consent) he’d smack ur ass randomly just for you to turn around and go “WTF- oh hi jax”

He thinks it’s so funny.

Like- so funny. Magical even.

Finds little trinkets and brings them to you, kinda like a crow. “I bring a shiny thing. For you 🥺” in a sarcastic but also like humorous way.

He blushes, and he knows when he does cause he feels warm. So he runs off to literally cool off or refuses to look at you. (Or anyone) “stfu. I’m fine just- BLUSHING?! ME??? NEVER…k maybe a little- I MEAN NO NOT AT ALL-“*flips off, but gets censored*

Still tries to cuss a lot. Even with the censor it gets his point across. (I mean you hear like the first letter- like “BI****ch”)

Lanky mf. But regardless of him FEELING like porcelain he is very squishy. (Literally rubberhose)

“Haha ur gay” y/n: “we are literally in the middle of making out what is wrong with you???” J: “oh..yeah- right. F**k”

Gives gifts to show love. By literally going into ur room and leaving a shiny pebble with a sticky note with a happy face on it -> 💎😉

Gets bored so he doodles a lot. Nothing much just…layouts of the circus so he can effectively plan pranks. :)

Its 3am imma go to bed love y’all. <3 I’ll do more later

[dr-spectre]

Im currently writing this at like 12am so bare with me for a moment. This is gonna be a vent post so if you don't wish to see it then by all means ignore this and move on!!!!!! I'm just gonna vent about my Callie rambles and analyses and what I think about them. This is not anything too serious don't worry.

I wanna ask, do you guys find me annoying? I wanna know. Like. Are my rambles just too much? Because, I've been thinking to myself, "are my Callie rambles bullshit? Is my analysis of the character just wrong? Am I wrong about the Hypnoshades and callie was just brainwashed? Am I just trying so hard to say she was hypnotised because I dont wanna accept that a comfort character of mine was in significant mental pain and I wanna soften the blow by saying she had some form of agency?"

Everywhere I turn I'm told that I'm wrong in some way. Either via official sources and other people. I feel like I'm not making any resemblance of a difference in the community. I still see the same stuff being said. I still feel like the odd man out.

I know that inkipedia has a discord server and that I could chat in there and show my many callie analyses to make some change but like... I'm too much of a pussy to do that you know? I don't wanna get put down by THE people who run the splatoon wiki. That would devastate me. Absolutely ruin me. Destroyed by the experts of Splatoon. I can't. I genuinely would not be able to cope with their criticisms and I might just stop being a Splatoon fan after that point honestly. If you wanna send them my analyses and rambles then feel free to, idc. If they change the wording to brainwashing to hypnosis I think i could die a happy man lmao. But I'm too fucking scared.

I dont know why I feel this way about this character. I wish I never discovered this franchise because it has impacted my mental health. It's gotten better but still not great. I wish my brain would just not obsess over her and just follow what others say and say she was brainwashed and move on. But no, I can't. I just can't accept it. I'm too stubborn lmao.

I don't feel the same when it comes to someone like Marina and Agent 3, characters I've known for years and they go under a simliar "affliction" yet I don't get chest pain, I don't feel sad. I feel nothing. Why is it Callie? Why her... why can't I just be normal?... I feel like I'm actually insane and spurring out nonsense to people.

I know that I have received a lot of support and that people are 99% positive as to what I have to say about Callie. I truly TRULY appreciate that. But when a single person or two says that I'm wrong? That shit stings. Maybe it's because I'm autistic or I'm just really sensitive but, idk. I might regret this post in the morning idk.

[ya-what--ya-erster]

How to Dance in Ohio thoughts for y'all

The red flags durring Slow Dancing asdjfhaksjdfah YES

Shoelaces? Books about Pangea? 10/10 flirting

I cried when Mel's boss yelled at them, I cried during Nothing At All, I cried durring Waves and Wires

I believe every actor in the show will continue on to do great things

THE ARTICLE I was gonna punch someone at that point I was so angry

Person in front of me: it's a show about autistic kids Me: The Police: so can you tell me what happened? Me: they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times.

Sad that I will probably never see this show ever again

When people cheered for Mel or Remy ever my mom got all angry and tense and it was funny

I found it in myself to cheer for kings and queens being heteronormative right there in front of my mom and she hated me but whatever

MEL AND ASHLEY SHOULD HAVE KISSED AT THE END OF REINCARNATION PLEASE AND THANK YOU

The whole performance of Nothing At All, lighting and everything, was so perfect and I loved it

Sorry, sorry, not sorry <- reminded me of Six

It was so sad/funny/lots of emotions when Drew showed up to the dance that nobody else could make it to

I am a MAN (jk I am a minor) but I would so dress like Caroline like dying my hair pink right now

"You really want to dance with her that bad?" "YES"

The disco ball was beautiful

I related hard to Mel feeling abandoned by Ashley cuz I've had those experiences before

The part Mel and Remy sing in Butterflies after kings and queens are mentioned, sort of says to me that they feel like they don't belong in the conversation, because the idea of a king and queen excludes them (im not messing this order up in my head am i?) like I just wanted to scream "AND AN OVERLORD" cuz like yes there needs to be another option

Mel and Ashley should have kissed at the end of Reincarnation

Drew's e-mail to Dr. Amigo ashfjhadf I laughed so hard like the different ways of reading it uh yes please (that's what my brain does w/ everything lol)

I wanted to hug every single actor in the show with permission but unfortunately I was too scared to ask lol so I just stood awkwardly

I got to see the real-life Caroline at stage door and it was really cool!

I am so so grateful for the existence of this show, and I want to say thank you so much!!! I felt so seen and understood, even if only for the time I was in the theater.

I was so happy about the signs by the bathrooms (though of course I still used the ladies restroom) that said to go where you feel comfortable.

All honesty, this show showed me the good in my world. All the way around.

I have officially typed way more than I should have but let me say one more thing which is that I am about to spiral into my fanfiction phase for this story so prepare yourselves guys my Ao3 is micah_loves_sweaters if you want it lol

[cowboy-robooty]

no guys see robooty itager is the slowest burn fucking imaginable. because i think that 1) italy would have to initiate them dating since germany thinks hes rejected forever after buon san valentino (my boy loves one sided crush) and 2) if they dont slow burn theyll crash and explode. because i think italy takes forever to realize he genuinely really fucking love germany and ONLY loves him and is willing to be loyal 'n treat him well to have him. Since i think italy isnt the type to really love ever since his kindergarten crush so he takes forever to recognize what he feels is genuine love (plus his love is born from a sense of entitlement but thats a whole 'nother enchilada). but yeah and because they take forever and are fully developed in their feelings when they date things are happy happy sunshine swag peace and love ❤️ they do stupid shit as bros the only difference now is they make out sometimes and japan cries himself to sleep everyday ^_^

but in a world where somehow they started dating BEFORE italy completely sorts out his feelings then OHHHH MY GOD. HELLWORLD. LITERAL HELLWORLD. because italy would totally cheat on germany and germanys heart would have youtube poop glass shattering effect explosion and italy would be #unloyal and #mean #scumgong and he would break up with germany for being so clingy and upset about him breaking his heart everyday or germany would break up with italy because everyone in his entire life (2 people: japan and prussia) is telling him that he needs to because italys making him chew glass (they take like 6 years to convince him and have to resort to saying its for italys own good if he breaks up with him). and then when they break up germany would hashtag die and explode because he obviously still loves italy but hes held back by prussia to not come back to him and tries to satiate his autistic brain by thinking "he was mean to me and told me to leave. im sorry ill leave now sorry for bothering you" and he also doesnt feel close to anybody except italy and has to go "brother....... i am.... not feeling good right now........" and cant say much else bc WE SAW IN THE ANIME GERMANY WANTED TO VENT ABT ITALY AND REALIZED HE HAS NOBODY BC HE ONLY IS CLOSE ENOUGH IN THAT WAY TO ITALY. and then cut to italy and hes partying it up because hes pissed off at germany for being on his ass hardcore every single day for the past god knows how long (hate my wife syndrome) until a while later the partying slows down and he has a bunch of moments where he thinks "well usually right now germany would do [thing]" and that builds up until he is hit with the full realization that germany is not going to stay by his side anymore. because hes run away now and hes never ever coming back. and that realization is like the evil version of italy realizing that he loves germany and wants him to ALWAYS be by his side; so much so that hes willing to do what it takes and compromise and be loyal n shit to make that happen. and now italy is freaking out because he doesnt feel this urge ever and now hes already fumbled the dude hes fr in gays with. but this realization is evil because its under a sense of panic and shit so its also motivated by italy feeling a sense of entitlement to having germany by his side and like HES SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

and from there italy would get back together with germany either easily bc he would just ask and say sorry and germany would go "well to be fair I should have been better as well. yes we should try again i want to too, i will try my best to not fail you this time." or it would be hard because germany would have his mind made up (with prussias support and urging and shit) to be like no italy we arent good for eachother and i cant (shouldnt) forgive you for doing those things to me and italy would be like Oh. and chew glass and freak the fuck out until he decides hes going to use #emotional manipulation and sob to everyone about how germany wont take him back and make everyone hate on germany and call him a terrible guy n shit to make germany feel so guilty and think hes an awful person to italy that he takes italy back. but even then their relationship is now fucked up forever because they live in perfect symbiosis thats their entire thing but now they dont because germany now has doubt of italy because of how he went into their relationship before and didnt give a fuck and italy unlocked his evil paranoia because now when he gets scared that germany will leave him he cant be comforted by thinking that would never happen because IT DID. HE WAS SEPERATED FROM HIM IT IS POSSIBLE TO MAKE GERMANY RUN AWAY. and because of that italy gets a lot more freaky about not wanting anyone to like germany so germany wont like them more than him and being emotionally manipulative and possessive and yandere shit because his paranoia is driving him to it. itager is great because it has so much potential to be evil like italy could emotionally manipulate germany so hard and all that shit but it would never happen because germany is so loyal and obsessed with italy that he never makes italy feel paranoid and like he has to. theyre like imagine if someone who has potential yandere gene in them dated a person who loved them more than anything in the entire universe and bends to their every will and never even glances at another person. that yandere gene is never getting activated bruh and at most manifests when italys like WAHHHH GERMANY YOU WONT LIKE RUSSIA MORE THAN ME RIGHT?? WHY DONT I HAVE THE MOST GERMAN TOURISTS IN THE WORLD WTF IS THERE SOMETHING ABOUT ME I NEED TO CHANGE????? but in the world where they rush things they break up and it disrupts all this homeostasis and makes them a little evil afterwards because italy has excessive paranoia that cant be quenched and germany has autism doubt because "he betrayed me once...... so hell probably betray me again *cries*"

[actually-a-fish]

The Mitchells vs. The Machines

Hello! I like watching movies. Ideas get stuck in my head while watching them and i need them out of my brain. This is my 4/9/24 viewing of The Mitchells vs. The Machines. I like cartoons :)

This will have spoilers

Without further ado... my thoughts chronologicall

PROLONGED EYE CONTACT DODODODOD

The main VA is Abbie Jacobson (aka Princess Tiabeanie Mariabeanie de la Rochambeau Grunkwitz)

this family reminds me so much of mine minus depression and a commitment to a cult :)

girl its probably a good thing you weren't at the tech reveal. be nice to the siris, alexas and echos in your life...

i kinda wanna watch that robot movie with Will Smith and hot robots now

THEY ALL HAVE STIMS GUYS

running away from your crush and saying you hate them is so real

"what are these? robutts?"

HES TAKING NOTES

I like that the new genre of villian is a tech bro and AI

I dont like this bit about wifi, we are dependent on it yeah but people can adapt pretty well. Well some I guess.

why do dads always suggest eating the family pet?

i cannot express how autistic this family is. its constant, not demeaning or the butt of a joke. just a family being a family. I have flappy hands about it.

aww dads do love to teach their kids to drive stick shift

i do like Eric and Barbara

the robots are shooting the humans into space, that's their plan and honestly i've been saying we should shoot garbage into space for a while now so im glad somone is finally doing it

there are cute edits done by katie through the whole movie and they deserve a shout out

I knew touch screen fridges were a bad idea

NOT FURBYS WTF WHY THIS IS MY NIGHTMARE

"your whole lives i wanted to save you from disater and this is the moment ive been waiting for" - Rick (and also my father)

KATIE DRAWS ON HER HANDS TOO OMG THE DETAILS. THERE IS SO MUCH STIMMING AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY EVERY TIME

This is good family bonding, but no tears yet.

unfortunately i think the family bonding was to good. The dad left a sentimental object in katies bags and now im convinced hes gonna sacrifice himself to save the rest of the family.

now im crying. :) if you watched i bet you could guess which part.

oof crying again! a Twofer!

This movie may be healing my childhood trauma. I miss my parents. They were just doing their best

THE CALL BACKS. THE CULMANATION! ITS MAKING ME EMOTIONAL IM SORRY

thank you game grumps for introducing me to the song "Walk the Dinosaur" by Was (not was)

An accurate compilation of watching my coworkers and professors use computers

uh oh they got little brother, Linda is gonna rip out someone's heart

OH MY GOD I JUST THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA GET MAD

ERIC AND BARBARA SUPREMECY

damn i need to see my family so i can remember why i hate them bc this is to sweet for me

TEAM E AND B! TEAM E AND B!

How long of a break between the entire world being abducted by robots and everyone going back to work was? Do you think this was like their pandemic

"My name is Monchi, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair"

THEYRE BASED ON A REAL FAMILY (and the whole family has "im easily overstimulated" hair cuts, its so relatable)

It's cheesy. full of stuff you know is meant for kids and that corporate made them do. but I really liked it. I know the whole bit is that the family is weird. I don't really like that they used the word weird instead of autistic but i can kinda understand why they had to do it. i found myself relating the characters constantly. The way they run away when things get overwhelming, communicate through their interests, stim when they have big feelings (they all have their own, and most of them have a couple they do) and the way the situation their in affects them. It is not perfect representation but it did a good enough job for me.

If you read all the way through thank you! If you have any formatting tips please lmk!

Also I feel the silly need to add, this is all my opinion, and my opinion is not fact! It's okay if we don't agree and if you're nice, I would love to hear about it :)

[understandableparadox]

Bottom of the barrel Isekai review

Today we are looking at the following, "The white cat's revenge as plotted from the dragon kings lap."

christ thats a long as title.

anyways, do you have a friend? no? yes? maybe? how nice, how do you treat them? how do you speak with them? how do you interact with them? while you are filling out this survey, could you be as kind as to fill out those silly little digits on that odd plastic card in your mothers purse for moi~?

no? well fuck you to.

the flowers, the painfully average looking protag, the specific notation about the eye color? we are about to dive into the live of a special young lady and her mystical adventures through whimsy and wonder.

anyways the story is that ruri, are main charecter lives a rather average life with her super importent dad and her super model mom, as the image stats, how could her life ever be distrupted in any form or fashion?

if you guess that a random girl made friends with her and followed her for most of her life until they both got sucked into a fantasy world and the kingdom decided the friend would be the priestess, then you would be correct~!

"But dox!" you say crawling out of my airvent "thats huge gap in time, what happened in between?"

well asashi and ruri had a rather odd relationship. you see, everyone fucking loves asashi, they are all in on ensureing that this random girls life is as easy as possible but at the expense of asashi. they will all work togather to do make sure asashi is happy while also bullying ruri.

do you feel that? thats the worm in my brain slowly getting into yours as more and more questions about this specific dynamic arise. some of them will be answered, but they will only be answered in a way that makes sure the worm Burrows Deeper.

first question: its clear ruri fucking hates asashi, why do i say shes her friend?

second question: Why are they friends? why hasent ruri made her leave her alone if she doesnt like her?

well to answer those questions...

as asashi is appointed the new priestiess ruri attempt to discover things about this kingdom, she learns from a priest that there is no way back home that they know of, nor are their any stories of a person summoned being Un summoned.

anyways we cant get any plot done here! we need to roundaboutly kick shit off while also makeing this asashis fault somehow!

so she ends up getting kicked from the castle, forced to wander the woods for the rest of her natural life, her mulchcore attitude persaudeing her to lay down and become one with it all...

ok no thats not what happens, she walks around a little bit, learns she is the greatest mage alive

, wanders presumably without food and water for five days, yes im screaming at the overpowered mc cliche once again just ignore it, where in she meets a old lady in the woods

who of course unlocks her

Special eyes of destiny

which allows her to see the collection of fucking creepy fairies that constently surround and are touching her at any given moment of the day.

I am lead to belive due to the daisies drawn in the back ground that this is supposed to be a moment of whimsy and joy, this image fills me with a special dread as it fullfills almost every single one of my autistic fears imagineable. night mare night mare nightmare.

anyways magic is discussed for a vary long time but oh fuck, we havent complained about asashi in five seconds, time to make a horrifying point about her!

this conclusion seems to be that no one can truly love asashi as all the love she will ever feel is artifically grown because of her magic. this also means that if you have a strong heart and a good soul you cannot love asashi because you would naturally and rightfully find her as annoying as ruri would. this is because ruri is the only one that can see her objectivly.

if you hare undergoing a string of panic that comes from the fundamental question that comes from the doubt of love from the sources in your life, dont worry, Ruri says she is annoying and bad and the story belives her to be objectivly correct so everyone belives that if they are good. you are a good person right?

growing dread aside, more plot, the fairys bend to the whim of ruri, all faries, meaning that unless you are a motherfucking wizard, the one source of universal and public magic has been cut off. all villagers that relied on water and fire magic have been cut off. farmers that need earth magic are cut off.

of course this is not her fault because again she is an objectivly good person with a good heart so she tut tuts the fairies for depriving villagers of clean drinking water and easy acess to heat and light for a week and the story moves on.

she learns more magic, she summons the fairy of time and they platoniclly flirt because ruri is a completely heterosexual girl.

the fairy of time is a simp and donates to her only dimensional space. one item of which is a bracelet that turns her into a cat, fulfilling one item on the title.

she goes to the market, her special chosen one powers make her super duper populer and people naturally want her advice and to give her money

wait a second, what time is it?

OH FUCK, WE HAVENT COMPLAINED ABOUR ASASHI IN A BIT!

SHE HAS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE OF ASASHI GIVING UP HER DREAM LIFE IN A FANTASY WORLD TO BE WITH HER, THIS IS CONSIDERED A BAD THING, IN ANY OTHER MANGA THIS WOULD BE CONSIDERED A ROMANCE TO END ALL ROMANCES

she decides to leave and go to the city of dragons because fuck it, thats a thing to do, she has to tell them she is the special chosen one with the blue eyes and blonde hair.

we cut for a second our lead.

as you can see the prince through his actions is a completely heterosexual man, one that loves Boobs And Vagina. as one can clearly Tell.

anyways the prince is creepy, he walks through town in disgues, happens upon ruri and without a second thought proceeds to do this:

gross.

anyways, the prince tells his homophobic advisors that he met a girl and they immeditly start a witch hunt for her while ruri enters the room as a cat to establish that again, she is the special chosen one of destiny.

anyways she meets the prince and nothing happens. the fairies threaten to kill everyone with the knowladge that ruri has apocalyptic plot armor.

now, to explain what a special chosen one is:

"hey dox, pre-emptivly asking a question, why would their ever be a chosen one? it seems their sole existance is to get a small scratch and make everyone die about it."

GREAT QUESTION, I DONT FUCKING KNOW, THEY APPERENTLY CAUSE PROSPARITY BUT I HAVE YET TO SEE IT, NOT EVEN A GOD DAMN DECENT 401K

anyways the prince gets Really attached to the Cat

Really Close.

this is explained through the fact that they have simalier wavelengths or similier magic types, meaning that they feel lonely without each other nearby.

the manga is astouindingly quick to stifle any comparison to asashi because remeber, asashi is Objectivly Bad and Unloveable.

Remember, Wanting to be friends with someone and not immeditly knowing if they like you or not makes you an objectivly Bad and Annoying person.

cut forward a bit, more werid cat flirting and she gets a job outside the palace... anyways she hears knews that the kingdom she was exiled from is wageing a war against the nation of dragons. this is handwaved as being something they just do when they find some cool magic shit.

but notably, the reason for the war has changed, as rumors have emerged that the priestess of the kingdom is supporting the war to save ruri who they belive to be kidnapped.

she gets sad about this and goes to the grandma to whine about it.

so we can see here a few things.

we are supposed to belive that its completely unreasonable for asashi to make the assumption that her best friend has been kidnapped.

that it is her fault for allowing a war to happen when we know that regardless of her support they would wage it regardless

ruri only considers asashi a friend when it is deemed attractive to her moral charecter.

yes this is the first time ruri has every said that asashi is anything resembling a friend to her.

she slips into the castle after some poverty porn about how evil and bad this kingdom is, we get a brief scene showing the king is planning on makeing sure both asashi and the prince die because he finds him annoying (I guess he has a strong and objectivly good soul)

"Man, isnt asashi awful, worrying about her friend like that? wanting people to help her find her? isnt she just the fucking Worse ever?"

im going insane, the worm has won, they have consumed any rational part of my brain and replaced it with the vast rot of whatever fucking bizarro verse this manga demands me to be within.

the two friends finally reunite after being seperated for so long.

we get a sob story about a time she broke her watch because again, asashis charm powers make people jealous of how close she is to asashi, so they bullied her and since asashi has literally never seen anyone ever act anything like that because again, everyone s magically forced to love her unconditionally, she doesnt belive her.

and of course she dosent belive her either but instead of just blindly saying no to ruri, she says she'll talk to them about it, when its clear ruri fucking hates that idea, and gets ready to leave with a little cryptic warning, she asks to flee with her

which again is displayed as a creepy and werid thing because she accidently uses her charm magic that we have established she has no control over. again, in any other manga the idea that while you may not belive what you hear, you are willing to give up any comfort to be with your friend, would be considered the most profound act of love. please feel free to contrast this to captian hair sniffer and Cat spooner.

I cannot add any more images so lets speed run this. asashi is shaken up so she goes to the king to ask him whats going on, he says "Mind control" which lets be perfectly clear, is an established and perfectly reasonable thing to belive can happen in a magical fucking world, asashi is shown to be dumb for belive this.

war happens and nothing happens, dragons win by a land slide and asashi gets captured.

she dosent belive the dragon princes words and all of her allies that got captured with her are placed in an anti magic zone and now hate her completely because again, without magic, asashi is completely and utterly unloveable.

ruri makes friends with another god and they learn that asashi convinced a guard to let her go because i guess that charm magic works whenever. but shes stuck in a dungeon and she may run into the soldiers who i guess the charm magic wont work on which leaves us with this haunting scene:

we are told that asashi legitamitly does not understand what the fuck is going on, she does not understand why they hate her, she just thought she was going to save her fucking friend.

Behold Your Antagonist.

it ends with that.

here are the questions.

"Is the underlying story, barring any other concept, good?" 

Kinda. its vary bland and vary generic. its a romance that does not know how to present itself a romance. it is a romance that spends more time complaining about someone then being in love.

"on a sliding scale of min to max, how much is the author using this to explore fetish" 

none, the few saveing graces.

"How many story crutches does the author use to explore the story" 

an absurd amount, from the plot contrivances to the power cliches, to the physical attributes denoting specialness to ensure we and the charecters know to treat her in a special way.

 "Is the author attempting to use the story as a way to explain why he is not weird."

yeah, if you have any fucking trouble with social interactions or cant read people, then you are an objectively bad person, and if you are somehow populer, no one actully loves you, and they are being forced to love you.

[muckyschmuck]

Hi I really want to start tshots and am wondering how much the needles hurt? I'm a scaredy cat but would rather shots than patches... Your blog has helped me build the confidence to book appointments for gender affirming care

HI OMG FIRST OF ALL THIS MAKES ME REALLY HAPPY THTA MY STUFF ENCOURAGED YUO TO SEEK OUT THE EPIC GENDER AFFIRMING CARE U DESERVE,THTAS SO FUCKING COOL EEEEEE IM EXCITED FOR U ANON WTF!!!!!!!!!! ok and i was the exact same way before starting, being scared is SO NORMAL and all the loading shit seemed so confusing too but watching youtube videos of other ppl loading their syringes n shooting themselves (that sounds so funny ok wait) helped a lot to make me unscared bc they all are so chill ab it!!!! i think it depends on pain tolerance a lot but i also think that testosterone makes pain less… painful after a bit? my first shot surprisingly didn’t hurt whatsoever. the actual needles you’ll be injecting with are SOOOO SMALL like. think a third of your pinky finger? maybe? my injection needles are not even a half inch and i barely feel them, they go in Super Easy, especially bc stomach/thigh/butt/wherever u decide to inject will ideally have a good amount of fat to cushion it,at the very most you’ll feel a small pinch, i’m autistic as fuck so blasting music or having a youtube video playing has been super fucking helpful(i used to watch sonic boom and say ‘next funny thing to happen is when i’ll put it in’) ALSO ANOTHER RANDOM THING putting the needle in fast and injecting slow is the WAY 2 GO which i’m sure you’ll see if u decide to watch videos of like medical professionals or tboys giving tips bc hesitance will make ur brain hone in on the Needle Entering You

[sigmxnd]

okay poll is saying yes so im going for it (this is gonna get very rambly and might not all connect or be coherent but oh well)

i've realized i love taking my favorite characters and putting a bunch of the same hcs to them cause i like making my favorites more like me

i know why this happens, its cause im silly and i look at these characters and my brain just goes "i like that" and then i just ARYARAYAEAGA4AYA and get rabies, but also like a lot of the time i look at these characters that more often than not i see myself in them

these stupid dumb dirt eating rebellious evil losers just exist and i see stuff happen to them for the plot and i just go "i see you. i know you. you're just like me fr" but they aren't real so they don't know i understand them but yknow

but at the same time its always an internal battle cause i percieve other people's opinions and hcs all the time, but at the same time i'm so utterly terrified of sharing most of my stuff and my own hcs that i'm not confident in for fear of being percieved and having someone else think I'M weird. and yeah i am weird but i don't wanna be seen as like. bad weird

i just recently shared that i hc mike and zeke as being autistic, cause as a peer reviewed autistic i find it extremely comforting and it makes me super happy to think of them like that, but like they're not the only ones i think of that way. it's pretty much all of them that i think of that way, which makes sense, but idk it makes me feel a lil weird

ik i can do whatever i want (within reason) but it feels almost strange to do all this when i currently don't even have access to the rest of the td seasons AND there's not a lot of hc differences between them, and it feels cringe or something idk

but anyway i love making jokes about how i am absolutely INFATUATED😍✨️‼️ with both duncan and scott and i hate courtney with such a burning seething passion. she was so mean to both of them, i can fix them (or also make them worse. i could do that for funzies)

tl;dr: I'M CRAZY I'M OFF THE WALLS I'M NUTS I'M BONKERS I'M SILLY I'M GOOFY I'M WACKY I'M SO UTTERLY GOOBERISH (i'm scared to talk about all of my hcs for my favorites out of fear of people looking at me with their EYES, and probably something else. sorry guys my own post doesn't even make sense to me)

sigmund silly sessions will happen again, this was fun to just vomit my thoughts

[screampotato]

as a transmasc whos had a complicated relationship (haha ship boat ship) w hearing people talk about objects w the same pronouns as they talk abt me, and also more primarily as a transmasc who likes to think HUGE, why dont (or moreso, why cant we now) refer to boats (at least/relevant thing for rn) as he? i mean the huge brained thing would be designing neos for your boat (id love to hear the discourse between marine workers abt what pronouns the boat would have. can you imagine) but idk, whatd happen if you he/him'd a boat? would your peers take the change in stride after thinking about it? would there be some sort of strange peer group split about people deciding he/him should be valid vs staying she/her?

anyway sorry if this is insane im autistic but instead of only failing social situations i also think of novel insane social situations. i think we should just have more fun w weird pronouns in situations like that. the "being out at sea for too long" generated pronouns would go really hard i think.

Hi there! This is a more elaborate version of a question a lot of people have been asking. The reason boats are she is steeped in a lot of (most likely sexist) history. These days people in the marine industry are not thinking of the pronouns in that way, really, or in any particular way, except as a way to vaguely personify the boat, because that is just how we see them. It's not explicitly granting her feminine characteristics, it's just respecting her totality, as an individual (very few boats or ships are identical to another, they tend to be unique) and as more than the sum of her parts, and from my point of view as a designer, sort of arguing for the need to respect her as an integrated whole where every system affects every other system, not just an assortment of independent systems.

Could you call a boat "he"? You could. I remarked in a couple of other places that if you wanted to make it stick, you'd have to actually make it part of the name, like "Empress Sophia (he/him)". Actually register him like that and paint it on the hull. It would be hilarious. Whether people would respect it or not I don't know, no doubt some would, others might try but forget because the she habit is so ingrained, others would just ignore it altogether. You might run a risk of people just reverting to "it" in confusion.

If I personally just started using "he" for boats in a professional setting, people would find it very weird, but also funny, and would eventually put it down to a personal eccentricity, of which there is no shortage in this line of work. They would be unlikely to follow suit.

As an aside, the fact that calling a boat she doesn't confer feminine characteristics also means that you can say amusingly gender-bent phrases like "she's a big lad" if it makes you happy.

[kinaesthetiqueer]

You've more or less single-handedly altered my entire perception of Nora as a character, and I mean that in the best way possible, making me enjoy her so much more every time I rewatch RWBY (which I gotta do again at some point, but that's neither here nor there)

However! This leads to my question :3 I noticed you had a few fics about her, and that she's also a very present character in your brain space, I kinda wanna know more about Satya Vaswani (which I now know her name is!!! Which is so cool!!!) and specifically your thoughts about her, what about her appeals to you, basically sharing as much as you want to!

I had a mild overwatch phase some years ago, so I know some Basic lore, but I always love learning and hearing about people's favorite characters :3

Oki thank you byeeee!~

aksnskajdhskanjs WONDERFUL QUESTION AND THANK YOU THIS TOOK DAYS TO WRITE BUT IT WAS NICE TO BE REASSURED THAT I DO STILL LOVE HER (AND HER GIRLFRIENDS, BY PROXY).

quick psa below for anyone who follows me for overwatch; otherwise, you can skip to the blue text & read more for sym gushing

im gonna preface this by saying my knowledge of overwatch ends in about mid to late 2019, which is right around the time i finally and miserably acknowledged that i could no longer play sym in the game because i could not adjust to sym 3.0. (for context, when blizz announced her 3.0 rework in 2018, i crawled under my desk and cried; there are pictures). while i also played rein and lucio, my real joy was playing sym and once i could no longer do that, i basically stopped playing. i'm not good at fps. there's a lot going on. i scream a lot. i cannot aim. overwatch remains my first and only fps. i just couldn't handle letting my friends down as a bad support-turned-dps as i cannot aim (even though they insisted i did not let them down) plus eventually a lot of other folks stopped playing, i got busy, blizzard continued to suck ass, etc. sym 3.0 was a personal death knell for my SI in overwatch

SO the last thing i read was the bastet short story and the last new chara i cared about was baptiste. i got soured on the fandom and the shipping base and crawled out of it into a perfectly happy ot3 isolation bubble. i say all this NOT to sound unhappy about this question, but to set up for the single boundary that i MUST enforce when it comes to overwatch:

i do not want to know anything about ovw post 2019!

this may sound harsh but i don't care about overwatch lore anymore!this is simply to prevent my brain from just absolutely self-imploding. i have a clear and complete outline for the take to the skies series and i only care about that series (and the demons/witch au) and a few other things that ive written; i do not want to corrupt that. i've heard whispers about sym lore updates and im simply not engaging with that. i don't need to know nor do i want to! thank you, good night! i'm content to willingly live in denial.

you see, my satya "symmetra" vaswani lives safe and sound in my brain. blizz can't touch her.

satya vaswani, also known as symmetra to her teammates and also her enemies, is a character near and dear to my heart! i knew nothing about her until i stumbled upon the fact that she was intentionally written as autistic. this was at a time in my life where i had recently discovered i was too, in a fun (not) series of events, and so i latched on immediately, not to mention when i started playing her, i found a niche and became a rather successful sym (which to me means being helpful, getting kills, STAYING ON THE FUCKING POINT, and not getting in the way). i don't remember what my hours ended up being on her but im pretty sure it was well over 100 and since the servers are gone??? i'll never know? im not downloading ovw 2 to find out. it's probably on my old blog. GAH. im not here to be be salty about blizz.

SATYA.

satya, much like nora, is a side[ish] character that i have taken every scrap of canon lore and extrapolated to the stratosphere. i acknowledge that i have surpassed canon and inserted my own, especially when it comes to her childhood.

that being said

here's canon:

After she was identified as one of the few capable of becoming a light-bending architech, young Satya Vaswani was plucked from extreme poverty and placed in the care of Vishkar's architech academy, never to return home. Isolated and lonely in her new life, Satya immersed herself in her education and training. She quickly grasped the applications of the technology and was one of the top students in her class. Satya approached hard-light manipulation differently than her peers, with their more procedural, mechanical constructions, instead weaving her constructs in the motions of the traditional dance of her homeland.

and then i, to recap practical ghosts to some extent, made it worse. she was singled out for a scholarship by the vishkar academies who intentionally sought out young kids with high compatibility with hard light tech. she has an older brother aditya and a younger brother krishna and her mom karishma. her father died when she was three; she is, at the time of pick up, eight.

she's taken away to the fledgling vishkar town of utopaea where she atends the prestigious vishkar dawn academy boarding school. fairly quickly she takes to HL. it just makes sense to her and she loves it! never mind that she's without her support net for the first time ever. higher up staff order her teachers to excuse her 'problematic' behaviour because they don't wan to damage the prodigy in the making. her mother fights to have satya come home regularly and succeeds in making sure she gets to visit. the higher up staff even court these wishes, hoping that karishma will see the good in vishkar's training and ABA therapy but satya's mom sees her daughter's personality changes and misery and the way she talks about her autism now, the bullying she receives from both adults and students, the way she only seems to focus on architecture. she doesn't like it one bit. and after four years of this back and forth fight between vishkar execs and karishma over the 'budding jewel' of vishkar, karishma finally finds another school closer to home and begins to make moves to take satya out of vishkar academy at the end of the school year.

in response, vishkar ensures that satya has no family left to go home to. they also make sure that not only it looks like an accident but a specific architectural failure that galvanizes satya's single track minded drive to make the world a better place in which no one ever loses their family to a building collapse again. she becomes a ward of vishkar through a series of legal dominos vishkar had in place; she's only twelve. she never finds out that vishkar is the one who killed her family (except for in this little riff i did on twitter that may or may not load). ALSO funny that i named it indomitable, bc i didn't know what rwby was when i wrote that XD. anyways i have all my tweets downloaded but it's not that important.

practical ghosts is a fun narrative because it's told completely outside of satya through documents about her (with the exception of three little chapters at the end, only one of which is from her POV) it's my fave of my satya vent fics. PG is in line with on the run from tomorrow and thursday's daughter's genre of 'no one asked me to go this deep with canon plausible backstory but i did anyway!'

satya NOW though. she comes to the watchpoint, essentially surrendering her vishkar insider info in return for asylum, and proceeds to have the meltdown of a lifetime the second no eyes are on her. she throws herself into discovering how much of her life is a lie (her first comic, where she begins wondering, inspires much of this, as it obvs happens before; while i have read her 2020 comic, i don't use it at all except to smile because it did not contradict my HCs or if it did i ignored it; i was made vaguely aware against my will that she has history with LW but again, i don't care)

she's sassy, she's deadpan, she's devoted, she's practical. she loves dance and cooking and all forms of gymnastics, skating, and ribbon arts. she'll take you to task for doing stupid shit and explain how you should fix it in the same breath. she's ruthless when it comes to making other's take care of themselves. she's harder on herself than anyone else dares to be. she likes birds. she likes making new ways to stim that aren't obvious. she has reclaimed her arm and her relationship with it. she's done an absolutely stellar job of reinventing herself in the wake of everything she's done and been involved with. she's taken all of vishkar's tech and made it better and more accessible. she prefers rebuilding missions more than combat ones. she loves drinking tea with ana. mei was her first human friend outside of vishkar; athena was her first friend at the watchpoint. her and lucio actually get along fine eventually. she is fearlessly devoted to those she loves. she's an early riser and early sleeper. she still cries sometimes when she allows herself to stim unhindered. she is a huge fucking demiace lesbian. she doesn't give a fuck about gender. she wears heels so she can discretely toe-walk and dresses because they're easy to move in. she can and will talk your ear off about her special interests but only if she loves you.

NONE OF THIS IS CANON

last i checked in canon, and based on voicelines, satya hasn't even LEFT vishkar. she's just doubting. she's still there under their thumb and i mean sure yeah that's fine but that was the great of overwatch HUGE sandbox, no plot, WOMEN, and oh my gods an autistic woman of color with the most wonderful voice and voice actor ever (hi ms bhimani i hope you're having a LOVELY day)

i took to sym because i wanted a more hopeful future for myself and i am awaaaaaaaare ive projected on her very hard but i gotta admit the fact that i turn 28 (her age) this year might have actually just made me grin like an idiot because oh my god i could NOT imagine that when i first got into overwatch in early 2017. jesus fuck i was twenty, i could barely see past my own nose. i REMEMBER tho, being like heeheehoohoo one day i'll be satya's age that'll be wild. complete hypothetical. ANYWAYS

i don't think im really answering the question here.

haven't even got to my favorite fuckin head canon. i SCREAAAAAAMED SO LOUD when i realized this. fuckiing rip to my friends bc i was in game and i was playing with a skin i had just unlocked and i noticed something incredible-

satya has a prosthetic left arm. she has two skins though where she looks more like she's wearing a school uniform. i think they're called architech and utopaea? but hey. hey. hey you know what she doesn't have in those skins?

her prosthetic.

SO. my second saddest and most favorite headcanon is that as an 18th birthday gift, when satya technically became an adult and thus could leave vishkar, vishkar offered her a choice. to quote 'nothing here to run from':

Just shy of her Academy graduation ceremony, an offer was made to officially cement her place in the Vishkar Corporation. “We only offer to the best and the brightest, Satya,” Sanjay had said, grasping her left hand in his right. “Wouldn’t you love to be the perfect architech, ready to change the world at a moment’s notice?” By the time she was eighteen, Symmetra only had room for perfection.

BECAUSE YEAH

i heavily headcanon vishkar to be just as bad as talon, since they are heavily intertwined. i would not put it past them.

so yeah, heavy heavy heavy disclaimer that i love satya 'symmetra' vaswani a normal amount but due to the inherent need to extrapolate a million things from a game that initially had three rubber bands and a paper clip worth of lore for her, i humbly recognize that the version of her that i love does only live in my head. and im okay with that!!!! but i love her canon self too, otherwise i would have never gone so feral about her to write over like 100k of her being loved, growing, living and learning!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gods i need to write her again.

also she has the best skins in the fucking gaaaaaaame she's so pretty and i am GAY