#even if I end up not being autistic this is such a relief

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

GUESS WHO’S GETTING EVALUATED FOR AUTISM

[moe-broey]

I had to take poor Lulu to the vet and I love how in part of Lulu's treatment/dispatch notes it says "Please keep Lulu quiet, rested, and inside for the next 7-10 days. There should be no running, jumping, or playing" as if I can realistically control any of these things except one (she's indoors by default) LIKE...... LULU PLEASE........... Lulu the doctor saiid you need to be on bedrest........... Lulu STOP TRYING TO CLIMB ON TAHT ‼️‼️‼️‼️ DON'T JUMP YPU ARE THE EQUIVALENT OF AN 80 YEAR OLD WOMAN WITH ARTHRITIS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ PLEASE

[itneverendshere]

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake. You knew it the moment you walked in, the thumping music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

But somehow, you’d caved, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right. Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room. There were people everywhere—laughing, dancing, chattering loudly in clumps—and the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

So, you did what you always did in these situations: you found a place to hide. After walking through the drunk college students, you eventually ended up on quiet nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study. Blessedly, it was empty. With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the noise of the party changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word. He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled hair and a loose, easy grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

Oh, God. You knew him—well, of him, at least. He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Until now.

Then his face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, somehow managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he seriously calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed. Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls practically draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out like he owned the place.

“See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face “What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looked almost sober. “Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class. “Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk. This didn’t mean anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

But then, his eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair. Within seconds, he was snoring. You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter. You were just getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends. But it wasn’t.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he said casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like this was completely normal. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You stared at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, all cocky charm. “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

And for some reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

But Rafe just leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least. Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing. Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look as if daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice low and teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit. 

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy. 

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle. 

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying? 

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?" 

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance. 

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?" 

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

[atiianeishaunted]

blue writing is lance's notes fyi anyway uhh character bios below !! long ass writing warning but worth it i promise chat pspsp | no notes version AND the transparent PNGS down at the end!

character bios:

Allura [???] | A lone princess who is burnt out and stressed out her mind, her only solace/stress relief being the garden she has where she can have peace and quiet, shutting her brain off while she does the tasks of tending to her precious plants and bugs. She tries her best to remain as friendly and optimistic as possible, if not for her own sanity, however thanks to the stress and pressure put on her, she has a tendency to lose her cool and sometimes shut down entirely. She has a passion for commanding and loves honing her fighting skills as that was one of the ways she bonded with her father. She more often than not can be seen in comfortable clothes, she doesnt mind dresses and does enjoy dressing up but will only do it when shes going out the castle or theres a meeting. | this gal couldve been an burnt out autistic queen DREAMWORKS, YOU COUDLVE MADE HER ICONIC .... let her be a dorky nerd whos a hater sometimes, pretty please

Takashi Shirogane | A garrison commander (no one is really sure of his job title to be honest with you..) who's insanely passionate about his job, to the point where hes willing to sacrifice it all if the garrison wills it. Anything to serve. He tries his best to fit in and be hip with the kids, he tries to come across as the 'chill' teacher, but students of his have reported that after a few months, any amount of chillness is thrown out the window. If not that, hes often not even in class, too busy doing missions he wasnt assigned to. He's intense. Very intense. Knows his way around words though for the most part, can be very convincing and a bit maniuplative, very goal driven. He means well though? Thats what he says. He always throws a quick sorry if someone brings it up with him, so that must mean something. | sorry in advance if you follow along with Sonder's story... unrelated but dreamworks wrote a banger antagonist without even realizing!

"Keith" Kogane / "Morse" | Unknown origins. He was a talented garrison pilot who could practically fly with his eyes closed, a jack of all trades, short tempered and prone to losing it but all things considered, the perfect cadet for the garrison's goals, he came out of nowhere practically, just poofed in like a ghost and wiped the floor with everyone. He really just needed a good guiding hand. No one is quite sure what gender he is, his androgynous appearance and tendency to respond to anything besides being called a girl have people baffled to say the least. He's very clearly not all there in the head either which goes hand in hand with his odd bursts of ego and then odd bursts of whining, these bursts often include talks that could only be described as cult-ish. People have their theories. Beyond those bursts, hes mostly very deadpan and quiet. But despite his strength and that intense feeling of fear and dread people get when they're around him, he's.. popular, somehow. Admired greatly for his devilish good looks. A universal appeal if you will. He doesn't seem to notice. Or perhaps doesnt care. Either way he's far too busy following Shiro around and treating him like the second coming of god to really indulge in romance for now. Lance's self proclaimed rival, Keith is also unaware of this. | also sorry in advance for this one if you follow sonder's storyline Lance McClain | A former Garrison cargo pilot who moved up in rank when Keith got kicked out. Keith is his rival and also all that Lance can talk about, even after the guy got kicked out and left for dead (Lance overheard some things while sneaking out past the teacher's lounge). He has a very noticable personality and loves to be the center of attention, hes still finding his footing and figuring out what he wants to do with his life and who he wants to be. Despite his many claims, hes not all that popular. He can't really flirt with girls all too well. His general goal is to be so well known so he won't ever be forgotten, hence why he begged his mom to let him dye his hair and get piercings (if he used Keith as an argument, thats none of your business.) (he saw keith dying his hair once or twice and instantly wanted to copy, its a bad habit.). He loves LOVES taking care of his appearance and is fairly vain, he has extensive routines and will freak out if he can't follow them. His ego and overbearing confidence is all to drown out his deep insecurities and fears. He tries his best to come across as a suave, cool, charming, awesome, any positive adjective really, person but in all reality he's a mama's boy, a dork, a loser if you will who has a love for the retro and is a huge gamer. If he must admit, he and Keith'd get along great actually, Keith ticks alot of boxes and honestly Lance deeply admires him and wants to be like him. | dreamworks dropped that lance was a gamer and loved retro stuff and then never talked about it again. sigh. Hunk Garrett | Hunk has many passions, mainly inspired by parents, he mainly specializes in cooking and mechanics, he enjoys tinkering with things, taking them apart to see how they work and working from there to see if he can rebuild it with 0 instruction, hes gotten good at it. He's Lance's childhood best friend, they're extremely close and are often seen constantly poking fun at eachother. Its all in good fun though. Hunk struggles extremely with anxiety and has a service dog back home that he left at home when heading to the Garrison as he worried he couldn't take care of it while studying. Despite his anxiety, he quite enjoys talking to people and sharing things he enjoys with them, he often tries to get over his fears by branching out and | I looked up his name from the old show because he deserves an 'actual' name, free my boy, he was done so dirty, also i remember when we all thought hunk had two moms (or was that just me ..) and i live by it tbh, two moms and a dad whos still active in his life, 3 whole parents for the greatest fella ever

Pidge Holt | Not much can be said about Pidge, they keep to themselves and don't share much about themselves. Just like Keith, their gender is often up to debate and when asked, Pidge will never give a consistent answer. They're a major tech wiz and with their talents, they're a complete menace. Pidge is prone to being mischevious and pranking others, often taking jokes a bit too far. They're egotistical and find that robots are their preferred companions in comparison to humans. | loser chronically online 13 year old who would tell you to kys, matt probably has to take away their electronics all the time LMFAO purposely made their outfit look a bit strange bc , theyre a kid whos a NERD /aff let them dress a bit stupid and let them cringe at it 5 years later ty

No notes version and PNGS below :-)

im insane about this reboot!! please reblog and im willing to elaborate if anyone wants me to <333 hrgfhrfg i really want this to take off bwaa

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Bucky Barnes

Summary: After your mother's death, you're adjusting to life with your autistic younger brother. Thankfully Bucky, your most regular customer, can brighten your day.

Warnings: Caretaker stress, Insecurities, Mentions of death. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You head out the front door of the building, Bucky trailing behind, begging you to stop and talk. You stop long enough to take a deep breath of the fresh air before turning around to face him. His face is contorted into a pained expression, his blue eyes filled with panic, bordering despair.

"Talk," you order.

"I know I said I was giving you my number because we were friends," he starts. "I know I brought you here under the guise of a friendly gesture. I should have been honest from the start and said that I wanted to ask you out but...I could never bring myself to do it. You're so sweet and pretty and patient and kind and you deserve someone who can take care of you. I thought, at the very least, I could be a friend to you."

"Then why did your friend, Steve, think we were dating?"

"I...I never said we were dating. He knew I had a massive crush on you and I told him that I gave you my number. It was stupid of me, but I swear I did it to get him to talk to his girl, not to push the idea that you and I were dating."

"So, you told a lie of omission to your friend?"

"Yes."

You both stand there for a minute. Him fearfully waiting for what you have to say and you trying to figure out how to say what you need.

"I've been lying too," you finally admit. "I...I pushed the idea of just being friends because...because you deserve someone better. Someone who doesn't work a dead end job. Someone who doesn't have to take care of their family ahead of taking care of you. Someone who has a lot less baggage and a lot more...potential."

Bucky chuckles, "have we really both been so insecure this whole time?"

"I think so," you nod. "Which is a damn shame. We could've been doing so much else this while time."

Bucky moves close and puts his hands on your hips. "Well, how do you feel about not wasting any more of that time?"

You look into his bright blue eyes, now filled with cautionary hope. "I think that sounds like a really good idea."

He smiles, relief washing over him, and brings his forehead to yours. "How about a proper date, then? Not an office party."

"So long as it's not a coffee place or a ritzy one."

"There's a diner I sometimes go to for lunch?"

"Perfect."

And it really is kinda perfect. The two of you are finally talking, finally on the same page, and it just feels right. The only thing keeping it from being the first date of your dreams is that you have to keep an eye on the time. You try to apologize to Bucky but he isn't having it.

"You're looking out for your brother. That's admirable."

"I'm glad you think so. Not everyone appreciates it."

Bucky furrows his brows, "who would give you trouble about it?"

"My boss," you confess. "He's...the previous owners were really understanding but the new guy in charge, the one who decided we should switch up the fruit fillings and whatnot? It's not that he's on the warpath but he's definitely focused on getting as much profit as he can."

"And that means he schedules you when he wants, not when you need?"

"Pretty much. I'd love to get a different job, one with better benefits, but it's just never been in the cards for me."

"Why not?"

"I can't afford school. And now, even if I had the money, I don't have the time."

"That's fair," he nods.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"A lot of times, when I talk about these things, people will tell me I'm just making excuses or not trying hard enough. So thank you for not being like that."

He places his hand on yours, "as much as I want to say 'your welcome' I feel like you really need to hold higher standards for others. You definitely deserve to be treated better than that."

"I work customer service, I'm grateful for whatever kindness I can get," you retort with a chuckle.

He smiles at the joke but gives you a serious look, "don't ever be afraid to call me out if I ever treat you less than you deserve." You chuckle but he doesn't. "I never want to treat you like you're not the best thing to ever happen to me."

"I believe you," you affirm. "But people can make mistakes. Look at us earlier tonight. I won't hold it against you if you slip up from time to time."

He pauses at that. "I'll admit, you're far more forgiving than I'm used to."

You smile at him, "then I guess it's not the only one to call out the other if they're being treated poorly."

"Thank you for that," Bucky whispers.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlis

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly;

@stellar-solar-flare

[aidenlydia]

hey ho!! the 09 simon sh anon here (what a weird title. anyways) first of all, thank you for replying! didn't know you hc simon as autistic, which makes him, in a way, even more relatable to me <33

i have another question, this time about simons and johnnys relationship. you mentioned that johnny helps simon cope, especially with his aggression / sh. do you have any specific headcanons how simon does that? do they have any specific rituals for when simon starts struggling? and also, the other way around, when johnny starts struggling with his OCD and depression?

cw: self-harm

Oh boy do I have a lot of thoughts about this. But first some definitions for those who are unfamiliar:

Autistic Meltdown - a intense response to overwhelming stress or dysregulation, leading to loss of control over behavior and difficulty calming down. Common signs include crying, yelling, rocking, pacing, dissociating, intense stimming and aggressive or self-injurious behavior (hitting, biting, kicking).

Shutdown - a form of meltdown where a person becomes extremely still, silent and withdrawn rather than outwardly aggressive.

Stimming - repetition of certain physical movements or vocalizations that autistic people use to calm themselves down or express their feelings.

Intrusive thoughts - unwanted thoughts that pop into one's mind without warning, at any time. They're often repetitive and can be disturbing or distressing.

Obsessions - intrusive thoughts that are hard to manage, get stuck in one's head and have a negative impact on daily life.

Compulsions - repetitive things one feels they have to do (mentally or physically) in order to reduce distress and anxiety caused by obsessions (to make things feel right again). One might know that it doesn't make sense to carry out a compulsion, but is unable to resist doing it.

I think the first step is being patient and not judging each other.

The way Ghost feels during and after a meltdown is complete loss of control, accompanied by shame. That's why SH is so easy to fall back to. It re-establishes some sense of control, which can be both a relief and a punishment at the same time.

Similarly with MacTavish, when his intrusive thoughts get the better of him and he starts spinning his wheels (getting stuck in compulsions and increasingly agitated) he knows he's both out of control and unable to stop it while probably being judged if witnessed.

It boils down to not being understood and feeling like everyone thinks you're crazy. Your self-esteem and sense of belonging take a massive hit. But having someone witness you at such a low point and support you through it, without thinking less of you afterwards, already makes a huge difference.

I don't think MacTavish knows he has OCD, he's probably only aware of the stereotype (obsession with being clean and organized) and thinks of his own symptoms as "a weakness" he needs to hide and overcome by sheer willpower to be able to keep his job and the respect of his colleagues.

Ghost isn't blind to it, he notices a lot of MacTavish's quirks and insecurities that others don't. He takes them seriously, wants to understand and help.

Part of MacTavish's depression is connected to his OCD - it makes him very anxious and tired. If anything goes wrong his depressed mind will find a way to blame himself and his compulsions get worse in response to his new intrusive thoughts/obsessions. Anything can become an obsession and the excessive misery caused by it makes him feel even more depressed. And on it goes.

At first Ghost falls into the trap of wanting to help and relieve MacTavish of some of his distress by accommodating one or more of his compulsions - it seems to make him feel better. However the more you give into compulsions, the stronger they get and end up making the symptoms worse in the long run.

The key to truly support MacTavish is to help him resist his compulsions. Ghost learns firsthand that endorsing the behaviors does more harm than good, including giving reassurance, which is a common symptom of OCD (and the most heartbreaking for both parties. It feels like a rejection to MacTavish and Ghost feels so mean for doing it, but it is for MacTavish's own good).

You can read more about it here: If You Love Someone With OCD, You May Need to Stop Reassuring Them That Everything Is OK

Of course Ghost can still validate his feelings, recognizing how upset it makes MacTavish and remind him to be patient and compassionate with himself while also staying consistent in his encouragement to keep resisting. Instead of trying to make the distress go away, Ghost helps him to accept it and ride it out together. Sometimes while in the thick of it they resort to distraction (doing something else to take his mind off it, which isn't exactly the best go-to coping skill) and physical affection (for emotional support). During a crisis situation Ghost will usually fold and let him give into a compulsion, he still has to learn how to deal with those.

Another thing that helps MacTavish a lot is when Ghost starts telling him about some of his own intrusive thoughts (everyone can have them). It makes him feel less alone/more normal, helps him open up more about his worries and reaffirms his belief that Ghost doesn't think he's crazy or a bad person. Remember, he doesn't know he has OCD yet.

I'm not sure Ghost would know or even suspect he has Autism either, autistic afab kids don't fit the "typical" stereotype and are often overlooked. He probably got called weird and off-putting his entire life, as well as being bullied without even realizing it. He only knows he isn't like the others and prefers to be alone because everyone understands the world and communication in a way he just doesn't.

He embraces his weirdness instead of hiding it, doesn't care if people think his mask is corny or that they should keep their distance from a freak like him. He's tired of not being understood, so he isolates himself and doesn't try to change anyone's mind anymore.

Nobody really gets him until MacTavish. He tends to leave a negative first impression; being perceived as rude, aggressive and disrespectful because of missed social cues. His meltdowns are mistaken for childish tantrums or manipulation. MacTavish can tell he's definitely odd, but he appreciates Ghost's straightforwardness and blunt honesty instead of being offended by it. Ghost responds well to MacTavish because he needs very clear and direct communication without it being condescending and patronizing, which MacTavish is naturally very good at. No mind games, no reading between the lines.

It's also why Ghost doesn't mind taking his mask off in front of him, not only does he trust MacTavish enough to be vulnerable, but he doesn't fear being off-putting or having his facial expressions (or lack thereof) misunderstood. They are similar in that regard, MacTavish has resting angry face and is often mistaken as aggressive, intimidating or confrontational because of it. Ghost sees there's a much more sensitive and thoughtful man underneath the hard exterior.

MacTavish doesn't have much experience with meltdowns, but can tell Ghost isn't escalating on purpose. It starts with Ghost showing signs of anxiety - pacing, rocking or becoming very still and quiet. He tries to calm himself down by fidgeting/stimming, bouncing his leg, grinding his teeth or biting at his lip. Sometimes he will ask repetitive questions, seeking reassurance, or become increasingly nonverbal. He is easily frustrated and has difficulty communicating or expressing himself clearly.

Meltdowns can be triggered by many things at once, a mix of distress intolerance, emotional regulation issues and sensory overloads. Meaning lack of sleep, stress, too many unexpressed emotions, change in routine/big life changes, too much noise, being touched too much, bright lights (that's why he wears sunglasses), too much smell, not getting enough air, ect. It can be completely overwhelming.

MacTavish responds by staying calm and quiet, not talking over Ghost and moving slowly. Any additional stimulus makes the overload worse. He gives Ghost space, doesn't touch him without permission and never punishes him for "losing it" during his meltdown or afterwards. He gets Ghost into a safe, quiet room or place until it's over. Things that help Ghost calm down is silence, a cold compress on his forehead, noise canceling headphones, laying down with the lights out and MacTavish's entire weight laid on top of him or something cold to drink.

After meltdowns Ghost feels exhausted and either needs some time alone to recharge or becomes very clingy for a while. He often doesn't remember what exactly happened and is very self-critical, but MacTavish won't allow him to be ashamed of himself or engage in his typical SH behavior, opting for calming affection and distraction instead.

If Ghost's urge to SH is coming from a place of anger they tear paper in little pieces together, go for a run or exercise. If it's from sadness they hold each other, listen to music, let MacTavish massage him or get out into nature. If it's from feeling numb, he's allowed to flick an elastic band on his wrists or hold ice cubes.

To prevent a meltdown or SH the trigger needs to be recognized early enough to be either removed in time or given a coping strategy. They develop a code sign for Ghost to use when he feels unstable, so MacTavish can help him regulate or get him away to somewhere quiet where they can properly communicate. The more Ghost trusts him, the easier it is for Ghost to communicate and disclose his distress. When Ghost becomes nonverbal they either write or speak in sign language to navigate the situation.

After leaving the military they struggle more with their relationship and gain a deeper understanding of each other by finally getting diagnosed. They end up going to therapy together where they learn how to properly manage MacTavish's compulsions and get him treatment for depression. They develop relationship strategies and identify Ghost's meltdown and SH triggers as well.

I think this is a good place to stop for now. Perhaps one day I'll get into my DID Ghost headcanon/ideas, but my fingers hurt from typing so it will have to wait lmao

This is a continuation from a previous post

[luna0713hunter]

Can you do an established relationship Zoro or Sanji x autistic reader? If you don't want to thats totally fine, I just don't know if there's any out there and I NEED one so bad.

Author's note : hello darling!!so about this request,i must say i had to ggl up everything so i really apologize in advance if this doesnt turn out the way you wanted it to be!and also,its gonna be Zoro x reader cause i dont write for Sanji. Hope you enjoy it!!

Where the light goes

Zoro Roronoa x autistic!reader

Summary : having autism was never easy. Ever since you were small, you've been struggling with this disorder. But growing up,you learn from the man you love that its not something to be ashamed of

Warnings : none i think,reader has autism,gender neutral,hurt/comfort, insecurities,panic attacks and such,mention of eating habits,fluff and happy ending

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

The streets were awfully busy today.

As you walk alongside your crewmates,you hug your bag close to your chest and try to make yourself impossibly small.

There were so many people. Too many loud voices. Everything was too much

And when someone bumps his shoulder to yours for the third time that day,you swallow down the lump in your throat;this was exactly why you always chose to stay back in the ship , where there would be no loud voices or people around. So when Luffy suggested that all of the crew go out for lunch and give Sanji some well-deserved break,you had no choice but to comply.

And gods above,how much you regretted that decision.

Ever since you were small,you had trouble with crowded places; being diagnosed with autism when you were only 4 years old,had turned your world upside down. Playing with other kids,being called weird and other humiliating names,and not being able to walk the streets in daylight without breaking down into a full panic attack,were only a few problems you'd to deal with daily.

Your life felt short, cramped and suffocating. The way your parents would fuss over you when you did the smallest things had you crazy. So when one faithful night,you stumbled upon the StrawHats, you gave yourself a chance to live. The best decision of your whole life, specially since joining them,you immediately fell head over heels for your crewmate.

"hey,you alright?"

The same man who always seemed to know exactly how you felt.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod.

"y-yeah. Thank you."

Zoro stares at you in the way that you know he doesnt believe you. You try to give him a wobbly smile but it only makes his lips pull down into a frown.

He leans down,and talks in a hushed voice so its only you who hear him.

"wanna ditch lunch?we can go back to the ship."

You glance nervously at your loud crewmates and look back at your green hair crush.

"are you sure?"

"i wasn't a fan of the whole idea of 'eating out' anyways," he says with a shrug and folds his arms against his chest, "I'll gladly ditch it to go back."

You give him another smile,brighter this time and giggle.

"you just want to go back so you can drink."

"your point being?"

And when Zoro informs everyone that the two of you will head back to the ship,they oddly enough let you go.

Once you step inside the ship and the quiet hits you,you let out a sigh of relief;you were finally home and away from the busy street.

You sit yourself against the back of the ship,where Nami's tangerine trees give you some peace of mind. the feeling is so relaxing,that you dont even notice that Zoro has arrived to where you're sitting. He clears his throat and knocks on the wooden wall to get your attention;to which you sluggishly turn your head to. He raises his brow at you and jerks his head toward the front of the ship.

"you're not hungry?"

You shake your head;your eyelids oddly heavy.

"no,not really."

"your eating habits acting up again?"

"maybe," you smile bitterly,and start to chew on your nail, "today was...a bit too much.to be honest, I'm kinda sleepy ."

To that, Zoro nods and after that,doesnt say anything. He just...stands there,and stares so intently that has you chewing on your nails harder.

Was he disgusted?was there anything wrong?did you offend him in any way??

You could've never read people's emotions,and the emotionally constipated Zoro?

It was an impossibly task.

Just when your thoughts were getting out of hands,a heavy weight suddenly drops on your lap.

The action has you jumping a bit and you let out a surprised squeak.

"Z-Zoro?what are you doing?"

"what does it look like?" He grumbles and opens one eye to stare up at you, "I'm taking a nap."

Your eyes soften at his answer,and tentatively,your fingers start to comb through his soft locks.

And when he lets out a satisfied groan at your action,you swear you'd died and went to heaven.

"aren't you hungry?"

"no. Just sleepy."

You smile and nod your head understandingly.

"then sleep."

Zoro slowly shifts,until his face is buried in your stomach and you can feel his hot breath through your thin shirt when he speaks next.

"tell me next time,when you're not feeling well."

Your heart warms,and you lower your head to drop a loving kiss on his hair.

"will do. Thank you."

When Zoro dozes off in your lap,you own eyes watch him for few more minutes before you're falling asleep yourself as well.

And when the crew comes back later that day,for once in their lives,they decide to keep it down and not wake you up.

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘P.S : Zoro doesn't eat or sleep unless you do so as well :) i hope you liked it,dont forget to leave comment

[thissortofsorcery]

@intothedysphoria has inspired me to write about autistic!harringrove, and my own experiences with autism... Max, this is for you! I hope you like it!

tw for anxiety and sensory overwhelm, but it ends fluffy, I promise.

---

It started as a normal day, but it quickly derailed from there.

An asshole at work approached Billy from behind and clapped his hand around the nape of his neck, despite Billy having told him several times he didn’t like that.

Billy didn’t like being touched at all, by most people. And some people had no concept of personal space.

A horrible, painful shiver cut through his spine, icy cold and almost slimy, and Billy held back a shudder. He broke out in goosebumps, and only years and years of practice, of putting on the charm let him pull away from the dickhead graciously, laugh at whatever he said and keep himself together until he could hide away in a bathroom stall.

Billy presses his fingers to his closed eyes hard, seeing stars, and rubs the back of his neck vigorously, trying to replace that cold shiver with something else. Tears spring to his eyes, and he feels so fucking frustrated.

Finding out you’re autistic in your twenties is an experience. A lot of things start making sense, and a lot of things you pushed down and convinced yourself weren’t a problem spring back up like a jack-in-the-box, a hundred times worse.

Like the touch thing. It’s not that Billy doesn’t like being touched. He just doesn’t like being touched by people he doesn’t know, and for no reason.

Like, his physical therapist, when she was helping him regain dexterity in his hands after Starcourt, that was fine.

Some dude in the office touching his neck, even casually, not so much.

Billy takes a deep breath, tries to remember the self-care workbook he and Steve filled out together a couple months ago. Tries to calm down.

Three ways I can distract myself when someone touches me, he’d written, glancing back up at Steve with a smile. Happy they were doing it together.

Loud music + puzzle

Hot drink

Yelling

Steve laughed and shook his head (“it’s very you”) when Billy wrote down the last one, but it really did help.

Billy gives himself a few more moments in the stall before he slinks out, heading to the sinks and splashing cold water on his face. The sensory shock helps a little, the cool, pleasant feeling helping balance the sensation of something crawling under his skin.

He checks if the break room is empty before he goes in, and it thankfully is. He doesn’t want to run into anyone. Doesn’t think he has it in him to mask right now.

Billy makes himself a mug full of scalding hot coffee and hurries back to his office, avoiding eye contact with anyone who throws out a hello. So what if they think he’s angry. Maybe he is pissed.

He manages to spend the rest of the day locked in his office, headphones on, and only comes out when it’s time to go home.

Of course, all he wants is to see Steve, wants his comforting presence, even if they’ve been dating only three months. When he walks through the door of Steve’s house, he sees Steve sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, wearing his ugly vomit green socks with raccoons on them, that he’s had since he was 15 and won’t get rid of.

A wave of relief crashes through him, nearly leaving him dizzy. He breathes deep, catches the smell of his clean house, laundry, and Steve.

“Hey baby,” Steve calls, laying his head on the back of the couch to look at him, making his glasses just a little bit crooked. “Bad day?”

“Does my face look that terrible?” Billy grumbles, taking his shoes off at the entryway before he steps into the living room.

“Your headphones are around your neck,” Steve points to them, a smile ticking up the corner of his mouth.

Oh. Billy forgot to put them away. He doesn’t need them in the car.

He sighs and throws himself down next to Steve, a careful, deliberate distance away.

“I’m just ‘whelmed,” Billy mumbles.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Not anymore. Just whelmed,” He says, sighing again. His body sags, melting against the cushions. He doesn’t feel shivery anymore, but he feels tired, like he’s on the bad end of an all-nighter.

Steve puts his hand on the cushion between them, palm up, not touching Billy.

Billy takes a deep breath, watching Steve’s hand. He knows that hand intimately, knows it to be warm and soft and kind, knows how its skin feels against Billy’s, the friction making the shivers good instead of bad.

He puts a tentative fingertip on Steve’s pointer finger, and all Steve does is press back, smiling gently.

Billy slides his fingers in between Steve’s, laces them together, holds his hand palm to palm, and feels the touch of his skin like they’re buzzing together.

Billy knows he can change his mind, and all Steve’s gonna do is smile, sit on his side of the couch, and continue the conversation.

“How’s that book you were working on going?” Steve asks. He rubs his thumb over the back of Billy’s hand once, and stops. When Billy squeezes his hand, he resumes the movement, sending pleasant tingles up Billy’s arm.

“Good. The writer was receptive to what I said. They sent me a couple reworked chapters today,” Billy says, moving closer to Steve, so their arms press together.

As the conversation goes on, Billy presses closer and closer, at his own pace, and Steve accepts it crumb by crumb.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve Steve, or how Steve is so patient with him. Steve loves physical contact. Billy does, too, but he’s so particular about it that sometimes he wonders if he’s even worth sticking around for.

Billy ends up lying on top of Steve, chest to chest, nose tucked into his throat, breathing in his warmth and his scent.

“Don’t touch my neck, okay?” He asks, hunching his shoulders a little.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says, easy as that. “Can I touch your hair?”

“Yeah.”

Steve turns his head and kisses Billy’s head, right on the hairline, pulling a deep, content sigh from him.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Billy says, squeezing his ribs just a little tighter. “For doing this for me. Being patient.”

Steve looks down at him, frowning slightly.

“‘Course. You shouldn’t— You don’t have to thank me,” He says, earnest. “It’s not a chore, Billy. You’re not…” He licks his lips, trying to think. When he looks at Billy, it's like he's telling him a secret. “You make me happy. All of you.”

Billy’s smile is wide, stretching his full lips and showing his teeth, and Billy only drops it so he can kiss Steve.

They keep it chaste, an unhurried, soft press of lips, enjoying their intimacy and their closeness and their familiarity. Simple as it is, it's one of the best kisses he's had. Steve's the best person he's ever met.

When Steve touches him, he feels safe. Billy wants to keep him.

[cowboycherry]

☆ || pain in my teeth!

summary! // tasm! peter parker x autistic! reader who has some very prominent and unfortunate sensory issues regarding a certain super suit.

inclusions/warnings! // gender of reader is not specified. reader’s sensory issues make their teeth hurt to a point where they have to use a stimulation (in the form of a rubber straw) to make it better, peter feels guilty about it which then causes reader’s empathy sensitivity to spike, reader says i love you and peter says it back, i don’t know how to end a fluffy blurb!! <3 no use of ‘y/n’ but uses of baby, sweetheart (for reader) and pete, petey (for peter) i wrote this based on my personal experiences with autism, so it may not be something that every person experiences!

not proofread! // please let me know if there are any mistakes/things that i should work on! and my inbox is open for any requests, or just a chat!

possession! // all of my work is my own. do not copy, translate, or repost any of my writing.

word count! // 700+

enjoy my lovelies! <3

。 ♡ 。　　♡。　　♡ {peter’s version}

peter honestly wasn’t sure what had happened to get to this point.

about 3 seconds ago you were fine, basking in his spider-man awesomeness and doting on him being the “coolest and best boyfriend ever!” and now you’re making a scrunchy face and uncomfortable noises.

because of his spider senses (but actually because he is the best boyfriend ever and knows what you’re feeling before you can even comprehend it), he jumps into action. as he moves closer to hold you and ask what’s wrong, what had suddenly changed to make you upset, you hold a hand up to stop him.

he frowns slightly, “are you okay? what happened, baby?” you shake your head in response.

“i’ve never felt your suit before.”

he completely stops, confused for a moment as to why that has anything to do with this and then it clicks. the texture.

you’ve always been super irritated by textures: velvet, corduroy, silks, and many many others. while you aren’t quite sure what horrendous type of spandex fabric peter’s blue and red superhero costume was made out of, you know that it hurts. badly.

“just made my teeth hurt really bad, ‘s okay, though. ‘m okay now, pete.” you try to smile widely at him to let him know that it’s fine but you cringe and purse your lips again as you watch him as he removes the suit hurriedly, ridding the thing causing you to not touch him.

“no! i, ugh! i should’ve thought about it and let you feel the suit a little bit first before i hugged you like that, sweetheart, i’m sorry.”

you shake your head fervently, mumbling assurances that it’s fine as you begin to bite onto the silicone straw in your cup to reduce the aching of your teeth. “really it’s fine! it just… threw me off. y’know how i am, pete. but it’s better now! my teeth aren’t even hurting anymore!” they definitely were, but you can’t stand to see him feel so guilty about something that isn’t his fault.

he throws a t-shirt over his head (one that he knows you never have a problem with) and he strides towards the bed. “i still feel bad, though. ‘specially ‘cause i know you well enough to know that they’re still hurting.” he grumbles as he lays next to you, covering his face with a pillow.

you reach behind you, still chewing on your straw, to rub a hand across his stomach. “really ‘s okay, peter! i’ll be fine in a minute. just please don’t feel bad.” your voice sounds a little strained with worry and that makes him feel even worse knowing that he’s affecting your empathy sensitivity as well.

“okay. okay, it’s fine. you’re okay. can i touch you, please?” his voice is dulcet as he whispers to you. you nod, humming in relief when you feel his hands settle on your hips.

your teeth finally rid of their ache after a few more minutes, and you turn to peter with a frown on your face. “no, no baby, why that face?” he pouts, rushing his hands to cover your cheeks and try to rub the frown away.

you mimic his pout, mumbling through his palms, “oou wor ‘sposed to tae me to swang frew da cidy!”

he giggles and removes his hands, “one more time?”

you crack a little smile, still frowning slightly.

“you were supposed to take me to swing through the city, petey! and now you can’t because ‘m sensitive!” you throw yourself dramatically onto the bed with a wail.

“oh.” he pauses for a minute as he turns to face you. “well, we could… go without my suit? like to somewhere where there aren’t many people or we could go at night! or! i could just wear the mask, then you don’t have to touch the whole suit!”

your heart swells at the boy in front of you. he’s so so sweet and you know that he’d do anything for you, and you would do the same for him.

“i think that sounds really nice, peter. i love you, by the way. thanks for always putting up with me.” you snuggle into his warmth, wrapping you fingers into his hair as you kiss little pecks onto his skin.

“yeah, ‘f course, baby.” you can hear his grin through your kisses. “i love you too.”

[minniiaa]

another lawlu hc related to that: law has sensory issues with eating sometimes because of his autism and it makes him internally scream and go to an empty room to cry. luffy realizes law has been giving him too much of his food recently. after finding out why, luffy gives him all the comfort and love he deserves and it causes law to eat a little more 🥹💜 (this sadly happens to me in real life as an autistic person. I NEED A SPOUSE LIKE LUFFY AAAAAH)

Yes! This is actually so sweet. Law's autism could totally explain his very particular eating habits. You inspired me to write the below headcanon based on this. I have had people in my life who are autistic but I do have it myself so I hope I could do the experience justice in the context of Law and his personality. I just love the idea of Luffy finding out and making sure Law gets whatever he needs because he's the best partner anyone could ask for <3

Law is very self-conscious when it comes to his eating habits, as he is with most of his peculiarities and it's nearly impossible for him to bring himself to ask to be accommodated when others are cooking even though he knows people will do so even when he doesn't tell them why. He accidentally blurted out that he doesn't like bread and ever since then Sanji has always made him his own special dish whenever he is serving bread dishes to the others. He appreciates Sanji's understanding but he feels like a burden for making him create something entirely different just for him.

Law's food preferences don't just end with bread though, and he can't just refuse to eat what he's being served, that would be rude. Luckily, he has a very hungry partner who is always eyeing up his plate for scraps so he can generally just give him the things he doesn't like but recently it's been getting worse to the point that Law is barely eating because his sensory issues have become overwhelming.

Law thinks he's pretty slick but Luffy knows him better than he knows himself most of the time and one day, he confronts him. Luffy asks Law if he's okay and why he hasn't been eating virtually any of his food recently. He tries to play it off by saying he just hasn't been hungry but Luffy calls out the fact that his stomach has been growling and he's clearly hungry. He demands Law to tell him what's going on and if he's sick, he'll figure out how to make him better. Law, knowing he can't get out of this without telling Luffy the truth, explains that he has a condition where specific food textures make him feel extremely uncomfortable and he can't eat them without feeling like he's going to either throw up or explode.

Much to Law's relief, Luffy immediately understands. "That's okay, everyone is different, Torao! You should have told me before so I can make sure you get all the yummy food you like! Now, tell me all the things that make you feel gross and I'll make sure you never have to eat them again. Food is the best thing in the world and you need to eat so you can be nice and strong!" he says and Law has to hold back his tears. He's been struggling with this for so long and he's always been afraid to tell people because he doesn't want them to judge him and just assume he's annoying when he can't help it.

He's not sure why he didn't just tell Luffy this before, he's not the best at expressing himself. Emotions and connecting with others are hard for him. He's already so much of a burden on Luffy as it is even though Luffy constantly reassures him that he loves him, he's never a burden, and he just wants him to be happy.

After that day, Luffy makes sure that Law's plate never has anything he doesn't like on it. If anyone dares to call Law 'picky' he yells at them and advises that Law is artistic (Law has corrected him and told him it's autistic but he doesn't seem to listen) and he can't help it and that he'll beat them up if they make fun of his Torao. Law wonders every single day what he did to deserve such a loving and understanding partner who goes out of his way to make Law's life easier in whatever way he can.

[thatdogmagic]

As before, if you don't know what's going on, and aren't up to speed on Tumblr nonsense, you are totally allowed to go do something else. It will be a much better use of your time.

So, yeah.

I know the logs going around. I know how they come off if taken at face value, from the author's 'I did nothing wrong here' point of view.

Disclaimer up front: what I'm about to say isn't excusing aggressive behaviour, or saying that everything I said is wonderful and/or justified. Even if I think HaliteaTiger et al are going out of their way to heap all their responsibility on to me, like they were just innocent babies who couldn't make decisions for themselves, I don't think anyone deserves to be in the blast radius of an autistic meltdown (required viewing), especially of the Fight variety.

Talking about that is how Haligren and I bonded, in fact. Even before I knew it was autism, we talked about our mutual issues with explosive and dissociative anger.

All this is to say, I am not going to lengthen this post even more by pausing to say, every time I defend myself, that I'm aware of my own bad behaviour. Which I know is going to rub some people the wrong way/serve as 'proof' I'm just as bad as they think, but honestly? Don't care. This post isn't for you. You've decided based on vibes-based posting and cherrypicked logs you don't like me, and that's your business. You're welcome to leave now. I haven't given you any method of knee-jerk replying to this anyway.

For everyone else, the tl;dr is this: it should strike people as odd that I am the only person taking any real responsibility for a situation so prone to blowing up (friends working together) that it regularly shows up in every sitcom known to mankind.

To me, it is the height of irony that my main detractor decided to post me saying the r-slur about myself as an indictment, when 'look at this r-slur' has been the thesis of everyone's posts ever since this started. And no, I'm sorry, they know that's exactly what they're doing.

I can say that with confidence, because each one of them was informed, very clearly, and very early on, that I, as an at-the-time 41-42 year old, was going through some serious struggles with a recent autism diagnosis. In the case of HaliteaTiger, she even ignored photographs I'd taken, physical evidence of what meltdowns could do to me in my younger years.

They know this is explicitly attached to a disability, and they're going on record saying they can't possibly believe that's the case. That I must be lying for my own benefit.

In short, that I'm too smart to be that (r-slur). I must simply be malicious, manipulative, abusive instead.

Which is exactly why the word is so easy to reach for in those moments of meltdown.

Doesn't make it right, of course-- not only should I not use the word, I should really be kinder to myself. But I have a hard time being angry with myself for repeating what people have been saying to me for pretty much my entire life, even if they're not saying it outright.

So. Let me be blunt: I am not taking responsibility for other people deciding that they can "handle me," in spite of a downpour of warnings, disclaimers, and full-blown discussions. It can only be my fault for so long that I am exactly who I say am.

What I can take responsibility for is moving too quickly. It was taking that feeling of 'oh this explains everything' that the diagnosis brought with it, and thinking that relief could translate into control. I wasn't in a rational space for how things went with HaliteaTiger - and I was as clear about that as I could have been - but in the end, I was the one who said 'yes' to working together. I was probably the one who had the idea to work together in the first place. And I genuinely thought I could handle it. Obviously, I couldn't, and I meant every apology I gave when that became evident.

(aside: since people will rightfully ask, I have footnoted why I agreed to work with Jackal/Trish in spite of saying I learned from this bad experience with Haligren; if I go into it here I'll veer off track again.)

When I say this is where my responsibilities begin and end, I'm not writing that off as a small thing. I know now that, that soon after diagnosis and reorienting my life, I was going through a kind of 'skill regression.' Whether I knew it or not - that I was effectively a loaded weapon that could go off at any time - it doesn't change the outcome. Besides that, I knew full well what I was capable of. I had years of experience telling me it was probably too soon. 'Wishful thinking,' and the myriad other reasons for poor impulse control, doesn't clear me of that. I'm not going to ask, never have asked anyone to forgive me for it, either.

That said: it is where my responsibilities begin and end.

Keep in mind, Haligren herself posted what was more or less, 'she did exactly what she said she'd do and I can't accept that maybe I had a hand in this by not bothering to listen to her. Again.'

And the same goes for Jackal, albeit to a far lesser extent. We've already covered the fables she's invented for this.

You know, I know I've said it before, but I feel like it's worth pointing out again that this is all this needed to be. 'I thought I could handle this and I couldn't' was all it needed to be, from everyone. There was and is no shame in admitting that. And admitting it to ourselves didn't need to be all bad, either. It certainly hasn't been for me.

ex: It's allowed me to set much clearer boundaries for myself and others; it's let me see a lot of weak points that need the most work; and it's allowed me to just exist more comfortably with others.

There are things outside of my control that can still trigger me, but I've gotten better at pulling back in time, and if not pulling back in time, then lessening severity. Which sucks, sometimes, because it often means pulling back from things I'd rather be doing, because they're too overstimulating. ex: I often have to stop playing flashy video games because the visuals can exacerbate any ambient tension I already have.

It's where 'ah yeah this why this is a disability' realizations come in. Having to literally lay in a dark room to get your nervous system to shut the fuck up. Which I didn't know, couldn't have guessed would be a requirement for getting my Everything to calm down, any more than I could know that certain types of treble played at higher volumes could make me start feeling panicky and fucked up. I didn't even know 'dark room + reading' would work for me until sometime this year.

With all that in mind, I've been trying to be a lot more mindful about surrounding myself with people who I know for sure know exactly what's going on. Who take it seriously, and understand that I'm still learning a lot as I go, making up for a lot of years to a point where I sometimes feel like I'm relearning how to walk, or tie my shoes. They understand that just the process of de-masking is difficult, either because they've done it or are in the process of doing it, themselves.

I will not hold it against them if they witness a meltdown and decide enough is enough. Which is part of this I don't think Haligren et al ever realized:

I don't want people around if I'm genuinely too much for them. Because, and I know this might come as a shock but, I don't want to hurt people. I never have and I never will. I don't get any kind of fulfillment out of the sound of a telephone, or some random visual overload, sending me into an absolute rage and that coming out at someone I care about. That's not cool or comfortable or fun, that's stupid. I don't get any joy or reward from that. There is nothing that has ever positively reinforced it, and until I knew what it was, every single method I could use to fix it just fell completely flat.

I've spent much of my life feeling completely hopeless about it. Which is something else Haligren and I talked about. Something she experienced herself and sympathized with (which I can say is true; funny enough, she took the reactions to some of her own random explosions and posted them as 'proof I'm just mean all the time'). I have my theories as to why I suddenly lost that sympathy - I wasn't 'fun' anymore when my struggles were real, for one - but that's for later.

Still: everything that happened between us, she already knew was possible. That it was a matter of 'when' not 'if.' That it was not me giving myself permission, it was me telling her, this is a thing I struggle with constantly, it does take a certain type of person to work this closely with me on projects I feel this strongly about.

For reasons only she can say, she decided she was that certain type of person. I did not strongarm, goad, or pressure her into that role. I did not ask 'are you sure?' in some bizarrely nuanced way that inferred she had no choice.

Example: I was in what I can recognize now as that 'pre-meltdown' state when she approached me about using Clip Studio's comics formatting. For whatever reason, I snagged on having found the tool confusing in the past and lost my fucking mind about not wanting to use it. I apologized because it was undeserved, at best random and out of nowhere.

I feel like that should have probably let her know what was going on/its severity.

I would check in (or try to check in) with her after stuff like that and I know at least once initiated the 'are you sure?' conversation about working together, if not twice, in response to not catching myself in time. Long before she let me stick my neck out publicly and announce the collab we were working on.

IDK what she thought I was saying there. With any of that. Which was another problem in and of itself but we'd be here for actual pages of text if I had to go into how many times I was willfully misinterpreted as playing 4D manipulative chess or whatever.

So, yes, to say, 'I knew it could be bad but not this bad!!' is plain bullshit. It's bullshit. She knows that. And she knows I have logs of all of it.

Here's the thing tho: I don't *want* to fucking post any logs. Not least because I don't want *my* personal business out there for everyone to see, but I frankly don't want to be known as someone who posts someone else's, esp wrt mental health. Also:

I don't want to continue a slapfight that will only lose us all friends and colleagues, and may even create fractures in the actual community.

Because, let's be clear: that's the *only* endgame here. That is the best possible outcome of all of this: we annoy our peers and our community with a mountain of shit that will only ever boil down to 'we did not work well together, for a variety of reasons, and we all got messy about it.' That is all anyone will come away with after all the logs are posted, and all the shit is slung. Because there is no tell-all beyond that. There are no juicy secrets.

If you guys ('cause I know it'll be copy/pasted to you anyway despite blocks) want to die on that hill, that's your business. I *am* genuinely sorry anyone had to sit through my meltdowns; I truly don't want to have them, ever at all for any reason, and I don't want other people around me to take the heat of them. But that's the only thing I can really apologize for beyond 'I'm sorry it didn't work out' and whatever other *actual* mistakes I made.

We all made plenty. We all lost an opportunity we wanted in each other. We all lost out on telling our own stories quicker, and on telling new ones with one another. Pointing to one of the only people willing to take any responsibility for their part, and proceeding to dump *all* responsibility on their shoulders, will not fix that. Burning me in effigy won't save you from yourselves, either, because if you can't face this, you'll have all the same problems with other people later on down the line. You just will. There's no avoiding that.

As for me, as I said, I pared down who I work with quite a bit, to people who do take me seriously, and understand - really understand - what they're signing up for. Who won't look at me saying 'I don't take hints well so please just be up front with me' and disregard it as nonsense because I'm clearly too smart for that to be a thing.

It does 1000% require being around people who are willing to talk very frankly and openly about every conflict and confrontation. Which are, it should be noted, *not* people who are pathologically driven to pat your ass and say 'it's ok it's fine' when they clearly meant something different.

...

I'm not sure anything good will come of me posting this.

When I say the posts about me have been pretty much nothing but Jackal, Trish, and Haligren saying 'look at this r-slur,' I really do mean it. People gawking and engaging are joining in to do the same. Me making this post just invites even more of that, from them and from spectators.

Nothing good has come of me staying quiet, though, so it needed to be said.

Their disbelief that I could ever be 'that bad,' their unwillingness to listen to me when I talked about my limits, when I gave clear examples of where I might need additional support... I am not taking responsibility for that disbelief, no matter how many internet randos get sicced on me. Not from Haligren and definitely not from Jackal.

So, yeah, sorry/not sorry. I know someone having a visibly 'fight' response is easy to shit on, but, nah, no. I'm not going to apologize for saying I was *owed* an apology from Haligren, either, because I was, and she knows exactly why. She's just not willing to talk about the context of that moment, because that'll take all the wind out of the 'she was abusive and lashed out for no reason!!' sails.

It'll mean taking responsibility for her part in ruining the opportunity I represented for her and her work. Which is probably an uncomfortable thought to sit with, and clearly has been for years, considering how eager she was to jump in on behalf of someone who knew ahead of time that she held a grudge.

I'm sure that'll work out well for her. I wish them well in their future collaboration. Maybe I'm wrong and absolutely none of the problems they had with me will ever surface ever again with other people ever, and everything will be fine.

ps: Going on public record to say someone who told you, more than once, 'I have no interest in you romantically' indicated they actually had a mutual crush on you is rich. 'The thought crossed my mind' =/= 'I have a crush on you too,' so we're clear. If Haligren weren't playing a game of hate-telephone with someone prone to exaggerate, she'd have known that this assumption is part of the problem I had with her.

Same w/ the constant 'I'm not into women' reminders, like I'm incapable of remembering/might fall in love with her at a moment's notice because I happen to be attracted to women and femmes. Which might just be her being awkward but like, PSA: don't do that to your queer friends, it's weird and gross to just assume that kind of thing.

Especially when, in spite of that, it felt like sometimes I was being treated as a surrogate boyfriend on an emotional level. Which is pretty much what she posted outright, so-- thanks for clarifying that for me, I guess. ;p

pps: The only reason I even considered taking a risk on working on something more intense w/ people again, re: starting up with Jackal and Trish at all, was because I got laid off from my job, had severance, and unemployment. I had a window of time I could work hard on big projects and still be pulling in income. They were both given a pretty detailed account of what had triggered them w/ Haligren and also that they had happened/would probably happen, given how new everything was.

It was still a decision I knew could easily go sideways - and tried to account for that - but took the risk anyway. I knew what I was doing, which is, yes, where I explicitly fucked up, and my way of owning that isn't something I can put on display. I can only prove it with how I act and with whom, and that's what I intend to do.

ppps: I'd say more about whatever it is Trish is going on about in all of this but she and I barely spoke personally which makes her going scorched earth honestly pretty laughable and not really worth addressing.

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

I Will Write A Fic For You If You Donate to the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund!

I came across the super cool organization Fandom Trumps Hate just recently (as of this post actually), and unfortunately I learned of its existence too late to apply to be one of the writers for this year. Since I don't want to wait a whole year to do some good with my love of writing, I'm holding my own little auction! Let's use that autistic special interest for good!

How Much I Will Write: 1K-5K words (if I end up writing more, well, yay for the lucky auction winner I guess, but that's what I'm willing to commit to)

What Fandoms I Will Write For: Baldur's Gate 3, The Dragon Prince, Good Omens, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Loki (just... the character. I will write so many things involving that character)

What I Will (and Will Not) Write: Character x Character, Character x reader, Character x OC even if you can give me enough about your OC, are all good! Not into shipping? No worries! I love the platonic and I can even just write a character study or a songfic. I am willing to write up to M rating for this, so some spicy stuff, but not pure smut. Any of the Main Warning Tags on AO3, save Major Character Death (gotta love that angst), are off limits. If you are worried that I can't write your idea before you want to bid, go ahead and shoot me a message before you bid and I'll let you know! You can also check out my pinned post for my masterlist of past fics. I have written all the examples I have given as requests before.

How to Bid: Place the dollar amount (in US $) of your bid in the replies of this post! The bidding period begins at the time of posting, March 3 2024 12pm ESR and ends March 10th 2024 2pm EST.

What Happens If You Win: When the bidding closes I will message the top bidder from this account here on tumblr. From there, you have 48 hours to send proof of your donation. I'm giving myself a deadline of a month to have your fic ready for you.

If the winner does not send proof of donation before the time period is up, I will contact the first runner up.

Additionally, I will match the winning bid in my own donation up to $100

AND A FINAL WARNING

The purpose of this endeavor is for fun fic writing and most importantly, doing a little bit of good for the Palestinian people. Any bigotry done on this post will result in the perpetrator being blocked and disqualified from receiving a fanfic.

[cyanide-latte]

Honestly the most gratifying thing about my undercut that doesn't have to do with gender is that now I actually get genuine compliments on my hair.

I have naturally very curly hair. It is also very dark but has been steadily turning white since I was 15 (I'll be 35 in October.) I've had it long before, and most often in my life I've had it cut very short in a boyish style.

And my entire life, the comment I heard most was "is your hair naturally curly?" (always said with a dubious tone even when I was little, because I guess other 5-year-olds must have been getting perms) And it's usually always followed by "I wish I had hair like that, I'd kill for your hair" or some variation thereof.

I was told this was a compliment. As an autistic child who hated my curls for the longest time, this frustrated me. It never sounded like a compliment, it never felt like a compliment, and if they wanted my hair so bad, they ought to find a way to trade with me.

As I got older, into my late teens and early twenties, I made peace with the curls, even though I still got those same "compliments". But since I'd been getting increasingly white hair since age 15, they were now accompanied by people criticizing my "highlight job" and my choice to "mix in blonde". Looking people square in the eyes and saying "I don't have highlights, my hair's just been going white since I was 15" usually got semi-gratifying results when people backpedaled like hell, but a lot of them also would then criticize me for not dying the white to hide it.

I was constantly trying to alter my style for my hair my entire life and I don't even like styling my hair, but it caused me no end of upset to hear these things. I figured I was always doomed to be miserable about my hair. My body is already sensitive as hell to so many things I can only use specific products on my hair safely, but it hurt that my mother and grandmother tried so hard to help me understand people did like my hair, when the comments I heard sounded like criticism and an insinuation that other people deserved my hair.

And then 2020's COVID lockdown meant I couldn't get my summer cut to shorten my hair so I wouldn't overheat. At least, the person I usually went to couldn't do my hair.

So between desperation to find a way to keep all the weight of thick, heat-trapping dark curls off my neck and shoulders, and the desire to try something new as a subtle means of better expressing my gender, I decided to try an undercut. My partner and I looked up photos for reference, used an electric razor that was typically reserved for his hair, and decided what to do. Several layers underneath in the back would have to be shaved off completely (more than we initially anticipated, believe it or not,) and I wanted the shave to come around my left side. Just shave the left half of my head, because for some reason heat would constantly get trapped there as well as at the back of my neck. (Dunno why that didn't happen the same way with my right side, but hey, we've established I'm pretty odd.)

It was a relief, both physically and in terms of gender euphoria when I looked in the mirror and heard my partner's loving exclamation of "oh! there you are!" And it was also a relief when my mother and grandmother loved my new hair, especially when my grandmother said "that suits you best of all. You should always keep your hair that way." (Grandma passed in February of this year, and she never wavered in her love of my new hairstyle.)

But then, it started happening. Not just with family, friends and coworkers, but random strangers, at least once a week, often more than once a week. Someone would come up to me and say "I LOVE your hair! It's so cool!" I'd never heard that before.

I have quickly learned an added benefit of the undercut is that, with the left side of my head being shaved, it's incredibly easy for people to realize that my hair IS naturally curly, and to see my white pattern where my hair is growing back in on that side. And I've gotten compliments on that too! Both people talking about how dynamic my curls make the undercut, and several others telling me that my white pattern is beautiful and they hope I never think to dye it.

It's slowed down a bit since then but it still happens every couple of weeks. A little while ago at work, a regular [teen] patient came in with her mom, who approached me to ask about my undercut because she (the mom) has been hesitant to let her child try an undercut, but on seeing my hair, she changed her mind and wanted to know about my experience. Said kid still doesn't have an undercut yet, but they've been changing up their hair and presenting more queer in their dress, and they've started shyly waving to me when they see me. And yesterday, during grocery shopping, as I was waiting for my partner to get back from grabbing something, an older lady slowed down, came over to me, and just said "Excuse me, pardon me, you just have the most beautiful hair. That style is so striking, and your curls are wonderful with it. That's all. I just wanted to tell you you have gorgeous hair" and then she left.

It's so strange how that impulsive choice to take a shot on a new style not only became something I love for me and my personal expression of self, but is the thing that finally, truly has brought me compliments on my hair for the first time in my life. Real compliments that make me feel good.

So I guess what I'm saying in this overly long ramble is 1: I'm forever grateful this has happened and is happening to me, 2: for anyone struggling with similar, this is a reassurance that things can and will get better, 3: change can be terrifying but this is a very good example of a drastic change that wasn't going to have harmful repercussions for me personally, and the fact it turned out so well is both a confidence- and courage-booster. It's worth taking a shot on, because so far it's brought me nothing but joy. Sure, it requires frequent maintenance to keep up with the shaving part because my hair grows fast, but it's a small price to pay for a cooler head (in more than one sense!) and the positive interactions that have resulted.

[dungeonmeshi-confessions]

I wanna do more kabumisu positivity following that other anon. it really brightened my day so much.

bc really I dont want to bash other ships to lift mine up!!! and I actually also really love and respect labru, and know the majority of labru shippers arent Like That, just like most kabumisu shippers arent Like That. every group has some annoying, loud, opinionated people and they dont represent the average person who likes the ship, you know? I would love to see some labrus follow suit and send in some positivity as well!!! If the positivity keeps going I will come in here and post all my fave things about labru, labru art, and labru shippers as a kabumisu. lets ditch the bitching and hold hands instead!

anyway, some reasons I really love kabumisu

- as a neurodivergent disabled person dating another neurodivergent person, this is like. THE couple to me. and like its not just about mithrun being taken care of. taking care of mithrun actively helps kabru be more mindful of his own needs. In my life, I may struggle to feed myself, but I can make breakfast if my partner is hungry. other times she may do the same for me, it depends on who is doing worse.

-they both struggle with insomnia also

-from everything we've seen, pre-dungeon mithrun wasn't entirely dissimilar to kabru (high masking people pleaser) and thats Fascinating to me.

-kabru's job seems pretty stressful (no matter how much fulfillment it brings him, its a lot of responsibility for one person!) so I feel like coming home to that one guy he can take his mask off around and not even have to try and impress must be such a huge relief. also add mithrun with cooking experience to this, making kabru a nice meal after a long day of work.

-Mithrun is actually very perceptive and sees straight through kabru's bs multiple times and doesn't hesitate to call him out. Laios isnt the only character that forces kabru to be honest. ("unless theres someone else?" "theres someone you want to tell that story to.") mithrun is also the one who gives kabru the information he's been seeking this whole time.

-I am very interested in exploring mithruns whole desire situation. what desires does he gain? I think it is probably a lot of little ones that weave together. oh also I think sometimes things may seem more mithrun centric bc in any story where he is going to end up in a relationship he is going to have a much more dynamic arc than whoever he is paired with. literally dynamic as in like. he requires a lot more growth to achieve the outcome. and there are ways to skip it or gloss through it but. a lot of these stories require that in some way you show the progress has happened.

-to me, kabumisu is more often queeplatonic than romantic. but Im aroace so that could just be my aroace glasses. ALSO kabru is vaguely aro to me. you mean the guy thats super desirable that doesnt really seem interested in anyone particular outside of pursuing friendship? that guy? (also the way he did rin omfg)

-random but I dont think kabrus PTSD is talked about enough and also like the extent of his trauma. its not just utaya/monsters/his mom dying; its being raised by a single mother, its his blue eyes, its being adopted, its being raised by an elf, etc!!!! a lot of things he does bc of ptsd get attributed to autism (I also hc kabru as autistic, and some is symptom overlap. but it is secondary to the ptsd! he is traumatized first and foremost ty) I really love kabru so much. ty for the ptsd rep <3

-also out here to say I know an amount of kabumisu content is mithrun centric. I will tell you from my pov specifically though its bc I deeply relate to mithrun (as someone who once told a therapist many years ago I desired nothing and truly meant it. she said I was like a puppet without strings. of course I saw mithrun and was like. oh.) and Im in love with kabru. kabru reminds me of all the people who gave me a reason to pull through. people who saw good in me and treated me like a person when I didnt feel like one. I also really relate to kabru though as someone with complex trauma, even if my traumas are not the same. thats why I say I think not enough is attributed to his ptsd. anyway, once I just opened a notebook and wrote kabrus name over and over again with hearts. I have never done this to mithrun. so dont tell me kabumisus dont like kabru !!!

-kabru and mithrun are both so gender. Ive seen so many variants on their gender and gender expression in the ship. some people hate this and insist they must be one way or the other. I think theyre neat lots of different ways. I love when theyre both feminine men. I love when mithrun is super masc. I love when theyre butch4butch. I love when theyre both trans. and so much more. its all beautiful. a very good variety of food. the other day on my dash I had a tallman art of mithrun with the biggest tits imaginable and the very next post he was like a little porcelain doll. keep up the good work guys. I love you.

.

[focusfixated]

in my quest to archive old fandom works i have been peeling through old livejournal entries to find links to fics and fanart, and i came across this entry dated july 2007, when i travelled way out of town to meet some fandom friends:

the reminder struck me that i used to refer to my anxiety disorder as "my adrenaline", because i had no knowledge at the time that it was a disorder, or what being anxious even was, except a word that came up in the thesaurus next to "nervous" or sometimes "keen".

all i had was the experience of what felt like high levels of adrenaline pumping, needlessly, around my body. i would notice the tight stomach, the tight chest, the way my fingers would go cold. i knew what an adrenaline rush felt like, so i called my anxiety the same thing. a big burst of adrenaline that made me feel shaky and strange.

it's interesting to me. because i don't think i necessarily saw it at the time as something connected to psychological or mental health. by not having the language to describe it as a disorder, i simply made a pretty bang-on assessment of understanding what was happening in my body - an excess of adrenaline that would sometimes "go fucking crazy", that i was aware of and simply had to live with.

i guess my observations from this are twofold:

this is, demonstrably, evidence for the concept that we do not have "more" people with various disorders these days, but that the language to describe the disorders that had already manifested has evolved, and both become standardised enough to be a recognisable descriptor, and also nuanced enough to cover a range of experiences.

there was certainly an interim period when i discovered i had an anxiety disorder, where the ability to label it as such and both seek support from other people and allow grace for myself was an incredible relief and extremely useful. however, i do often think about the sentiment outlined in this post, as below:

depathologizing your own responses to things means no longer worrying about which symptom matches which diagnosis matches which branded treatment model and instead practicing gentle non-judgmental curiosity about what you’re going through

that is, having gone through the labelling phase (for multiple things, "becoming" - i.e. finding the language to describe myself as - neurodivergent, autistic, nonbinary, genderqueer, a person with anxiety), i feel like the end result of leaning on the label as an explanation for what i'm experiencing is no more practically useful than simply describing how it felt.

saying now, "the reason i find this difficult is because i have an anxiety disorder", while comforting initially, can kind of engender a give-up response. whereas, "my adrenaline is off the fucking charts right now" also asks, "well, why? can you do the task anyway? do you need a sit-down first? maybe we can try again later."

(to be clear: these are personal observations and not universal statements about anyone else's experiences at all. i think there are mixed positives and negatives around these concepts, and it's more an observation of being subject to the changing trajectories of science, language and culture, rather than really trying to discover the correct practice.)

[stupendousghostswan]

EDIT : I leant of the ship they pushed upon the fans. I am not laughing anymore. FUCK CANON. Arf, I really think it but will need some time. Emotions are high. (respect to their shippers. Ship and let ship. It's that they pulled it in canon like that that bothers me.)

Gonna be honest : that tua has such a bad ending is a relief in a way. It really finally not just takes the show down from its pedestal but burries it deeeeep down. And it makes it so much easier to say "fuck canon". I was stressed before this s4 , if it was good I would have struggled with saying fuck canon and dare to finally post things. Cause it means that I would have faced backlash and had to potentially face pple and get into arguments. Which with my social anxiety and extreme fatigue I just didn't feel like doing. Maybe it's a poor excuse to some but I struggle a lot with social interactions...

Now I just don't care. (I am sorry though for the people that still really cared about the show. For me this show sinked in s2. It fell out of its pedestal back then for me x). So I made my peace with the disappointment... mostly.)

And... I've been eating at myself since I fell into Fiveya/Vanya and it became my main special interest -which any other autistic I think will understand what being THE special interest means.-. I was struggling, terrified of potential backlash and thinking I'd never get to post and share anything, also that this side of the fandom was dead or dormant forever and would always stay so. I felt very alone, I really felt like I couldn't share, due to the fear of backlash. I couldn't even bring myself to try to give a bit to the fandom myself. (I know a big big big part of it was my own imposed limitations. Also I could have maybe dmed the pple I guessed where still in this ship, etc. But I have very bad social anxiety and extreme fatigue and other things so I can't fight the very bad social anxiety for this on top of... dealing with the rest of my life.)

But now I feel such relief and freedom suddenly. I care but also I don't... idk.

So me laughing at this shit ending - as I've been doing for a few hours now - is half a laugh of relief and... bc seriously to beat both GOT and supernatural?!

Now I am not saying I am actually gonna post anything anytime soon. I am excited and under lots of endorphins and dopamine here. But my social anxiety and lack of confidence might catch up very soon 🙈 (spoiler: THEY DID). Plus, I still find my ideas pretty uninteresting and still struggle to finish stuff and struggles a lot with confidence sooo... (and still scared of backlash).

ok also sorry but not posting this on main. I don't have this courage. This is a side account (not side blog, but full on account. I set it up months ago, waiting to either become brave or for the general fandom to die.)

I am already feeling anxiety coming back and itching to write a 3 thousand words disclaimer and explanation of certain things 😭 So i will force myself to do it quickly : I love Viktor (and fiktor) but also love fiveya and Vanya. For me they are separate paper dolls. When taking the Viktor paper doll, that is a trans man, it means obviously taking the trans experience. aka he was always there, etc. But the "existence" of his doll for me doesn't negate the "existence" of the Vanya doll. They don't really exist. It's fiction. Purely fiction. It's not one real person. The Vanya doll was used then they decided to create and use the Viktor doll.

Ok I stop there. I do not come back to edit. I do not come back to edit and/or delete. I post it and not let it lie in my drafts and have eternal regrets. Go on. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

(I have already spent at least two hours typing and editing before getting the courage to post it...)