#for that one i went with ‘did you know i’m autistic too!’ followed by pretending to be confused every time he tried to explain himself and

[ocpdzim]

tbh my advice to other disabled people is Don’t Be Afraid To Be An Asshole Sometimes. like not unprovoked but if people are bothering you. you may think “he probably doesn’t mean anything by it” and maybe you’re even right, but if you’re enough of a pain in the ass about it then people learn not to be ableist next time and it doesn’t actually hurt them any aside from momentarily feeling horribly awkward. grill ME on why i’m sitting down at an event where most people stand up and you get my whole medical history in painstaking detail loud enough for everyone nearby to hear our conversation. and the bonus of this is it flips an interaction that would otherwise be upsetting and embarrassing to you back around onto the dick who tried to make you feel that way. it’s your turn to feel like you’ve personally fucked up the vibe at the whole party now, dipshit

[boldlyvoid]

New Romantics | Part Three

18+

Summary: She needs help studying for her Case Exercises at the Academy, He needs a date for the annual Banquet... they just so happen to be neighbours who aren't afraid to lend a helping hand, or in this case, a helping kiss.

Categories: Fake dating, neighbours, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, Angst with a happy ending, Smut *as selected by my poll on what you wanted to read*

Warnings: Season 9 Spencer (no Maeve arc), Angst, kissing, drinking, police training mentions, case details, canon typical violence, self-doubt, autistic!spencer, age gaps (24/33), FWB relationships, period mentions, anxiety attacks, crying, misunderstandings,

Word Count: 4.7K

a/n: this chapter covers the whole week from Monday to Friday, thank you @awrfhi for making the gif I used here <3

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Monday morning she’s in his arms still, and then again on Tuesday; he basically lives with her when he’s not on a case. They make dinner together at night and they drive in together every morning, and they have had sex all over her apartment… and he loves her but he was tired when he said it and in a post-orgasm haze and he’s her best friend.

But he loved her— just not the way she loved him. She was sure of it.

Tuesday morning at 10:53 am, she cracks her fake case. They’re apprehending the unsub by Noon and then she has the rest of the week off. So she heads to the main Quantico building, she gets a visitor's pass and she takes the elevator all the way up to the BAU.

She walks through the bullpen doors and Spencer is sitting at his little desk with his head buried in a book. Penelope sees her first, wrapping her up in a hug that gets everyone’s attention as she rocks her back and forth while telling her how much she likes her.

“You are so pretty, and nice and cute, and your hair smells so good?”

“Thank you, it’s Spencer's shampoo,” she laughs as she holds her back, “I just wanted to come and see him really quick?”

He’s standing beside her and she doesn’t even know until Penelope releases her from her grasp. He wraps her up next, “why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

She kisses him right on the mouth, holding his face in her hands she has missed him too much to wait till they are alone again, “I caught the unsub.”

“No way?”

She nods feverishly, “yeah remember I found that stray hair on the crime scene? Everyone was fighting over why there wasn’t a sexual aspect and I was trying to convince them she was a women unsub when the hair came back matching our victims best friend, who also knew victim number 1.”

He’s so happy, his smile is the biggest any of his teammates have ever seen, he lifts her and twirls her around and no one can believe the sight. Spencer Reid the uptight, overly smart, always following proper procedure, Doctor at the FBI; was spinning his girlfriend around as he kissed her cheek.

“You are a genius,” he compliments her as he sets her back down and places another kiss on her lips.

“I know,” she laughs, “I beat your score by one day.”

“I hate you,” he kisses her again and by now they don’t realize they have an audience. It’s incredibly convincing to everyone except each other.

“No, you love me,” she whispers, kissing him again before they hear someone clear their throat.

“Do you want to help with ours?” Derek asks, jumping into the moment and reminding them that they’re in public. “We’re just doing non-urgent consults today.”

“Am I allowed?” She lights up.

Derek nods, “I don’t see why not, as long as you just tell your ideas to us and don’t file anything then I think it’s legal?”

So she helps and it’s the most exhilarating thing since having sex with Spencer. She’s in her element, looking at small details and making connections that even leave Spencer humming and ha-ing. She has a younger insight than the rest of the team, she’s exactly why they hired Spencer in the first place and now she was shining brighter than him.

But he loved it.

Every time she made a connection or she had a suggestion that helped one of them on their own train of thought, Spencer would smile at her like she hung the stars in the night sky. He was proud of her in a way she hasn’t seen in many people before, filling her heart with warmth and hope that maybe he can love her for real one day.

—

She was possibly the love of his life and the more he saw her work and the more he knew her mind; the more he fell. She walked around his office and talked to his friends as if she was always meant to be there, and a part of him really wanted her to be.

He snuck away to go talk to Hotch, closing his office door as he sat down, “what’s wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t really my girlfriend,” he whispers. “She’s pretending so I could get everyone to stop bothering me about dating, and I understand it looks like she’s using me to get close to the team but I really do think she would be an excellent asset to the unit even if she was just in the office—“

“Reid,” Hotch cuts him off and a smile builds. “I already sent her an offer to take Anderson's job while he’s out on paternity leave.”

“Oh,” he smiles to himself. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“It stays in these 4 walls, don’t worry,” Hotch smiles back, “but you should tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not,” he lies, “really, I do love her but I’m not in love with her, there is a difference.”

“I know,” Hotch reminds him. “Did you know that I only joined the school musical to get close to Haley? I did whatever I could to get her to fall in love with me and didn’t even realize it when she did because I was so worried she didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Hotch nods with another smile, “you don’t have to tell her until you’re ready, obviously, but you should tell her before it’s too late.”

“I will,” he whispers. “Thanks, Aaron.”

“Why don’t you guys head out early?” He offers, “we could all use a day off with the people we love.”

When he walks back down from Aaron's office, Y/N is with Emily and JJ discussing how she caught her fake unsub at school that morning. She doesn’t brag, she loves to mention her classmates by name and verbatim explains how they helped her. She is a team player, a genius, beautiful, kind… she really is the love of his life.

“Hey,” he places his hand on her lower back as he slides into the conversation. “Hotch said we can all leave early if we wanted?”

“Sure,” she smiles, “actually, did you want to come with me to buy a dress for your thing?”

“That would be fun,” he agrees, wrapping his other arm around her so he can rest his chin on her shoulder and hold her. “Remember I’m buying it so don’t stress about the price.”

“You’re too nice to me,” she replies.

“I just love you,” his voice is as low as he can make it but everyone still hears.

She holds him back tighter, in a silent ‘I love you, too’ and they hear JJ and Emily swoon.

They’re quick to get their things and head out, she hands Spencer her keys and lets him drive to the mall so she can relax, she’s done a lot today.

She’s so quiet on the drive, she holds his hand like she always does and she just looks out the window, she’s peaceful and content with the nothingness of spending alone time with Spencer. They were always just quiet together, sometimes they laughed till they cried and sometimes he could make her scream but most of the time they were quiet.

“Have you checked your email?”

She smiles as she turns to him and her grip on his hand tightened, “what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I just told hotch the truth so that he could offer you a job, but he already had before I went in there but he’s a good secret keeper, believe me.”

“Oh,” her smile disappears. “So he knows we’re not really dating?”

He nods, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I guess we’re going to have to find a convincing way to break up for them and still be able to hang out all the time,” she worries aloud. “Because I don’t want to stop this any time soon, I hope you know that. I really like spending time with you.”

“I feel the same way,” he agrees. “I promise, we can just tell them we work better as friends and they might believe us?”

“I don’t think they will,” she frowns again. “JJ told me not to break your heart today, but I feel like if we break up I’m going to break all of theirs.”

“We could have a fake ugly breakup, and not talk to each other publicly for a bit and then be friends again?” He suggests, “Penelope and Kevin did that.”

She nods, still frowning. She interlocks their fingers this time and she holds his hand instead of just anxiously fiddling with his fingers. She really doesn’t want to let go, and he’s almost convinced she feels the same way.

The banquet is on Saturday, she has one last week of school before her graduation and then they’re done. He thinks about asking her, about what would be the best time to tell her he was in love with her and ask her to be his real girlfriend.

Maybe he’ll do it after the banquet? Maybe he’ll do it after her graduation? He just really wants to do it before she meets his mom. He wants his mom to meet her as the love of his life and his best friend.

He hated many things, but as he kept glancing at her as he drove he realized he hated one thing most of all. He hated that he couldn’t love her as much as she deserved, at least not yet. He wanted to shower her in love, he wanted to protect her and care for her, he wanted to show her off and make love to her and never leave her side.

It hurts, his heart physically aches as he thinks about that. If he had to feel like this to know his love was real, then the pain was worth it. She was always worth it, and he would hurt as long as possible, forever even, if it meant he could be around her just as long.

He held her hand tighter in the silence which made her turn to him, he had no idea he had been crying until she leans over and wipes his cheeks, “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” he smiles but he can’t keep the conversation there, he’s feeling trapped and so he changes the topic. “What colour dress were you thinking?”

The quick-change makes her laugh, “probably black.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, “I don’t need to stand out beside you any more than I already do.”

“What does that mean?”

She bits her lip, “some of the people in my class are saying that I’m only doing so well because you’re helping me cheat and that I’m just fucking you to get a job… just like I thought they would.”

“At the end of the day, we have a friendship they will never understand, we have great sex because we want to, you’re smarter than me, and the BAU wants you… so who is the real winner?” He’s always going to be her number one cheerleader.

“You’re right,” she smiles again finally, “as always.”

—

He convinces her to get a red dress.

She hasn’t had a pretty dress like this one since her prom and that was 6 years ago. She hasn’t been to a party or mingled with people in just as long, she didn’t realize how lonely she had been while chasing her dreams until Spencer came along.

He was one of the dreams. She saw him talk once, years ago on a school trip, and she fell in love with him a little, even back then. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be him or be with him back then, doing everything in her power to get into the criminal psych degree at her local college, she just wanted to be like him.

Now she’s liked by him.

Every night he goes to his home across the hall and he does his own nightly routine before coming back to her apartment for the night. She’s too emotional to sleep with him today, she knows that if she has sex with him she’s going to say something stupid or cry after because being this close to him without being honest with him is killing her.

Something in him has changed too, he’s less scared to initiate contact, he doesn’t jump anymore when she hugs him or when she smacks his bum as she passes him. Now he’s wrapping his arms around her while she cooks dinner, and he kisses her cheek randomly when they’re in public.

He tells her that he loves her.

She’s confused and she has no one to talk to about it.

She lays back against her pillows and closes her eyes, she knows she’s going to cry soon, and she doesn’t know what to do because she doesn’t want to cry in front of him and he would be upset if she told him to not come back tonight.

The stress of the situation just makes her cry more as she stresses herself into another anxiety attack, much like the first night she talked to him. She just lets it happen, the anxiety in her stomach builds and the tears slip past her eyes and suddenly she’s sobbing into her pillow hard enough that she doesn’t hear him come back.

She jumps at the feeling of his hand on her back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “what’s wrong?”

She just sits up and hugs him, and he hugs her back and they stay there like that for a while. When she calms down, she pulls back from him and wipes her eyes, “my period is coming.” She’s not really lying, and he believes her.

“Does it normally make you this emotional?”

He’s never really experienced her mood swings, he has no idea what he’s in for, she nods. “Yeah, and I have really bad anxiety which just gets worse around this time.”

“And you’re not on anything?”

She shakes her head, “I’m waiting to get onto the good healthcare when I get a job with the bureau, I can’t afford to work and go to school, I’m glad I had enough scholarship money left to rent this place long enough to go to the academy.”

“Oh.”

She just nods, “I’ve never had much money like my parents have been saving for 2 years to buy plane tickets to Virginia so that they can see me graduate. They started saving before I even got in. I went to community college on a scholarship and I get a lot of money from applying for bursaries.”

“Are you going to take the CARD job or the BAU offer?”

She shrugs, “I’m not sure yet, but probably CARD.”

“Why?”

“I can’t work with you,” she whispers. “It makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be there like I’m using you and that all my work isn’t that great. I’m just Doctor Spencer Reids girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, imposter syndrome is a leading factor in depression among child prodigies, once you reach a certain age and you stop receiving awards for your work, it’s hard to believe that you’re still doing a good job.”

She knows he gets it, he has probably said the same fact to himself to calm down before. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

She nods, pulling back the covers and moving over so he can snuggle in beside her. She holds him, resting her head on his chest and taking a deep inhale of his cologne, this was the love of her life and if this was as close as she was ever going to be to him, she was going to take it.

He kisses the top of her head and holds her in his arms at just the right pressure to calm her down. She feels so comfortable with him but she still feels like shit, she doesn’t stop crying, and he just holds her through it.

“Do you want to tell me what’s really wrong?” He whispers after a while, he sounds worried.

“No,” she whispers. “I can’t.”

“Is it about me?”

“Yeah,” she cries again, “and I don’t have any other friends to talk to about us and now you’ve told hotch and I have no one to talk to about how this is kinda stressing me out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his voice is still scared and she knows he’s going to panic regardless and just send them around in a circle of constant anxiety. But his tone is more apologetic than one fuck up.

“Who else did you tell?” She sits up, “I thought this was just between us?”

“I needed advice, the same reason you are reacting right now, you’re stressing me out,” Spencer finally talks back with passion and she knows they’re about to fight for no reason.

“I never said you were stressing me out. I said our situation was, but I think I need to sleep alone now, Spencer” she’s confident and stern even though she’s crying.

“We can’t go to bed mad at each other. You even said the mornings are the worst, we can’t hate each other for no reason tomorrow,” he starts to cry, not knowing where he went wrong and she can see it on his face.

“I just don’t have what you have, and I’ve always been trying to copy you…”

“What?”

She sighs and wipes her tears, “I have had a big fat, fan-girly, crush on you since I was 18, I came here with my class to watch you do a talk on philias and phobias and then I knew I wanted to get into the academy and I wanted to beat your record and join the BAU, and I just thought; one day I’m going to be friends with this guy and catch bad guys with him and now I am and I’m so alone.”

“You have me?”

“I know,” she tries to smile, “but I only have you and I can tell you almost everything. Like my biggest stressor right now is that if just looking at fake crime scenes for 3 weeks has made me this anxious; what if I’m not cut out for this? What if I get to a real crime scene and I pass out or—“

“That’s only human,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly, and very Spencerly. “If you didn’t feel like this job makes you hate the world and untrusting of everyone around you; then I would think you’re crazy.”

“How do you do it?”

“I open up and let people in, but I typically wait till I’m at my lowest; crying in my friend's arms because I don’t know what to do anymore,” he smiles again, wider and toothy as she smiles back.

“Thank you,” she can’t help but tilt her head and smile as her heart settles and her brain calms down a bit, “I love you.”

“Can I kiss you or is that too much right now?”

She gets in closer to him, laying back down on the pillow and looking at him. They’re closer enough to kiss, and she just takes a moment to look at him, resting her hand on his cheek as he wraps around her waist and pulls her in closer.

“We’re okay?” He asks with his lips right against her, his breath is hot and he smells like toothpaste.

“We’re okay, but no more talking tonight, okay?” She whispers.

He nods, leaning in and kissing her finally. She knows she shouldn’t be kissing him, she knows that she should be mad at herself, but she also knew that even just pretending that he loved her back was good enough.

—

He gets called away to a case on Wednesday morning, he’s too busy to really call her and he doesn’t text back. He feels bad about it but he knows she wanted space to think anyway, what he didn’t expect was for her to reach out to Penelope.

She’s in the office with her on Friday, tired of Spencer ignoring her so she went to the one place he couldn’t avoid her; Penelope’s office.

“How can I help you today, my fine furry friends?” Y/N answers the phone with a smirk, copying Penelope’s line perfectly, they can hear them high five through the line.

“Y/N?” Spencer is the first to catch it, “what are you doing there?”

“I came to meet Anderson and see if I’d like to take his job or not,” she teases, pretending she wasn’t there just to bother him.

Hotch cuts in, asking the question he needed to ask before hanging up, “not sure what’s going on at home but we’re too close to cracking this case for schoolyard games.”

“Yes sir,” he nods and looks away, retreating to the other side of the room to stare at the map and pretend to find connections.

“Crack this and you can go home to her,” Derek whispers with a smile, thinking he’s helping the situation.

“That’s not where I want to be right now.”

“Woah,” Derek catches it, “what happened?”

“Nothing,” he’s quick to get him to stop it but he really wants advice, “she’s stressed out and she took it out on me and I wasn’t very nice back.”

“You said sorry and you pretended you were over it, didn’t you?”

He turns away from Derek with a nod, he wants to come out with it and get it over with and he’s so mad and embarrassed he just starts to cry a little, “I don’t want to lose her.”

“How could you?”

“You have no idea,” he rolls his eyes lightly and scoffs, confusing Derek.

“And I won't unless you want to talk to someone about what’s really bothering you, but you’ve been happier since you met her and I like seeing you happy, and Savannah likes double dates,” he scolds him with a smile, patting his shoulder lightly. “now let's crack this and maybe on the plane you will tell me what’s up?”

“Sure,” he says, but he doesn’t want to.

However, Derek Morgan is good at a lot of things, and one of those things is getting Spencer to calm down enough to tell him anything. Everyone is asleep on the plane, it’s just the two of them at the back together when Spencer finally feels confident enough to say it.

“I lied to you, a long time ago… and it’s just the first one.”

Derek doesn’t look angry, “okay, explain your thought process. I need to know how this pretty brain of yours works.”

He smiles a bit, “I slept with Elle the night before she shot that rapist in Ohio.”

“You did not?” Derek's voice gets a little too loud and they stop to make sure no one woke up.

“I did, but you still always made jokes about finally getting me some lovin’ and it bothered me for a while and I never told you, instead I offered to help my neighbour with her homework if she pretended to date me,” his voice lowers as the words continue and he only stares at the table between them.

“Spencer, I’m sorry,” Derek apologizes first. “I didn’t know I was upsetting you, is there anything else I do that upsets you?”

He shakes his head in a silent no, still not looking at him, he can't.

“What happened between you and Y/N?” He jumps to the main issue, fine with what happened because he feels bad for causing the issue in the first place.

“We started sleeping together.”

Derek sighs, “you have such a big brain, you can remember everything she’s ever said to you and yet you can’t see that she’s in love with you.”

“She’s good at pretending,” he pushes it away.

“No she’s not, because she’s pretending she doesn’t love you right now; the same way you are and you’re both fucking it up for each other,” Derek gives it to him straight. “You have always been loveable, but you have a very hard time accepting it, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” he starts to cry a little more.

“Go home and talk to her and tell her the truth,” it’s the best advice he can give and Spencer knows it. “What’s the worst that can go wrong?”

“She does love me back but in a few years, she realizes I’m too much and she leaves me,” his voice is the saddest Derek has ever heard it.

He gets up from his seat and hugs Spencer, sliding into the seat beside him and wrapping his arms around him, “you have never been too much. You just surround yourself with people who aren’t good enough to love you for who you are.”

“She’s better than me.”

“Which is exactly what I mean, she’s not going to leave you, believe me, once you love Spencer Reid for who he really is, it’s hard to stop,” he speaks from experience, thinking of what could have been between them if either of them had tried harder in the past.

“She’s the love of my life,” he confirms, “I’m never going to love anyone else the way I love her.”

They get the word that they’re going to be landing soon, Spencer wipes his tears and buckles in for the descent, avoiding everyone’s stares and questions on the ride back to headquarters. He’s nervous to see her, he knows his face is puffy and she’ll be there waiting for him with Penelope, but he has to do it.

“Would you wait here, I need to tell her now and she might not give me a ride home if it doesn’t go well,” he asks Derek before heading to Penelope, “she was already mad at me for telling Hotch the truth.”

“Okay, sure,” Derek smiles, reaching out a hand for Spencer, “come to me when you need me next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees with a small smile, heading out to find his fake girlfriend.

She’s not with Penelope, no she’s in the filing room with Anderson and the other temps all talking and laughing, and it sounds far too interesting to interrupt. He waits outside the door and smiles at her laughter until he hears it.

“So be honest,” Agent Camden asks, “are you sleeping with Reid for this job?”

“If I was sleeping my way to the top, don’t you think I would have picked Morgan? Or Prentiss even?” She laughs and it’s like someone stabs a knife through his heart.

He turns around and heads back to Derek, “take me home.”

“Okay,” he doesn’t pry, he just grabs his coat and keys and follows Spencer to the garage.

—

He’s really ignoring her.

She finds out from Emily that Spencer left with Derek, and that he looked rather pissed off when he asked for a ride. It breaks her heart a little and she doesn’t know what to do next, she just drives home and finds herself knocking on his door.

“Let me in, please, Spencer!” She begs from behind his door.

He opens it and looks at her with a puffy red face, tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips, he’s been crying for a while. “What?”

“What did I do?”

“You slept with me,” he whispers, “and I told you I wouldn’t react well.”

“Is it my fault you’re crying?” She asks softly and he nods, “do you want to tell me?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, “are we still going to the banquet together tomorrow?”

“I really fucked up,” is all he can muster, crying again as he closes the door and goes to cry in his room.

She just opens the door again and follows him inside. Kicking off her shoes she crawls into bed beside him and wraps herself around him, “you don’t have to tell me but I am here for you, always.”

“I love you,” he says it like it’s the problem before he rests his head in the crook of her neck and holds her back for the first time in days.

“I love you, too, Spencer,” she cries along with him. They cry until he’s asleep and she’s just there holding him in her jeans and she’s really uncomfortable but she loves him too much to let go.

“More than you will ever know.”

Permanent tag list:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @blanchardsbk @idonotexiste @measure-in-pain @dreams-in-blxck @doc-padfoot @nomajdetective @xoxomgg @mggswhorificlover @dinonuggets1967 @meganskane @gubeskneescrew

New Romantics tag list:

@bunny-script @ficsrecsforhrnybitches @ne--yo-pets @rexorangecouny @valerieweasley @beepbooptoop @coldlilheart @andiebeaword @anonymous-reading

[whumpmatsus]

Hi I’m a silent fan who loves your work:) I’m too shy to say it directly but I do! I have possibly an odd request if you’d like to write it but you don’t have to if this is too out of your zone ;__; I headcanon ichimatsu as autistic because he displays a lot of behaviours I have with autism as well (low monotone voice, doesn’t really emote a lot,shown to be uncomfortable with being touched sometimes, difficultly saying verbally and directly what he means, even the way he sits with his knees right up to his chest LOL) I was wondering if you could write something to do with that if you wanted to! It could be anything like hurt comfort (have you ever seen the scene from the osomatsu game dead or working where ichimatsu and osomatsu get a job together and osomatsu yells at their boss for making ichimatsu feel bad that he’s not able to naturally smile and speak as expressively as his brother is by saying “that’s just how he is!!” ..I thought that was so sweet😢 maybe something along those lines but with any brother you want! But my personal favourite ichimatsu relationships are with kara, jyushi and oso lol)

Sorry that this is such a specific request you can reallt do whatever..I love your writing so much! Thank you!

hiiii, I'm so glad you like my content!! if you ever wanna come talk directly, I'm 100% okay with that, but as someone who's kinda shy myself I totally understand that it's not easy 💜

as for the request!! I don't know if this is a headcanon I'd subscribe to personally in my usual writing of Ichimatsu (my headcanons for him right now are depression and anxiety, social anxiety, and avoidant personality disorder) buuuuut it's definitely an interesting one to play around with, so I enjoyed exploring it, and I can absolutely see why it's a headcanon you have!

I'm not autistic myself (at least not that I know of; tho I do have some anxiety and maybe possibly undiagnosed ADD, but again, that's only a possibility so idk) so I hope I portrayed it ok, at least the behaviors Ichimatsu would have!

this is technically Allmatsu because DUDE all the brothers are so supportive of him, but it does skew a bit toward Parkamatsu because... well, I haven't written a lot of Parkamatsu here yet XD

I hadn't seen this scene before because I've never played the game and had some trouble finding English subbed videos of people playing it, but I found an English subbed one of this scene this morning and AUGH MY HEART, OSO IS A GOOD BIG BROTHER FIGHT ME!!

I hope you enjoy!!! I tossed some brief NPCs in there too because I thought it would be cute lol

-

As far as the Matsuno sextuplets are concerned, even though Osomatsu can be a dumbass and a jerk sometimes, he’s the eldest. That gives him a little more (unofficial) authority within their little group. If he says something that’s not totally ridiculous, the rest of them listen. They follow his lead when it’s reasonable. He doesn’t know best all the time, but some of the time.

That ‘listen to the oldest brother when he’s not being a stupid ass’ effect is probably how they all ended up working in the same restaurant.

It’s a good idea, and Osomatsu made sense when talking about how they should all apply there. Maybe they could work in different departments, but if they’re all working in the same place, they can keep an eye on each other. It’ll be easier to talk to each other on lunch breaks… and maybe they can pull a couple silly pranks on their coworkers, pretending to be each other like they did when they were younger.

Besides, it’s time they all got jobs anyway, even if it’s just part-time. They’ve gotta start somewhere, after all. It’s been about a week since they started; they’re settling in pretty well. Osomatsu and Choromatsu are doing great as bartenders, Karamatsu and Jyushimatsu are hard at work in the kitchen, and Ichimatsu went along with Totty to be a server.

Everyone else seems to be doing pretty great. Ichimatsu, on the other hand, is half a step away from hating his job.

It’s not that he isn’t putting effort into it. He’s doing the best he can, and jobs aren’t supposed to be fun, sure, but… this goes beyond him simply not liking the job. It’s not a good fit for him, he thinks. His brothers are all enjoying their jobs, and meanwhile he’s struggling to get through a whole shift without running to the bathroom to cry.

In the single week he’s been here, he’s had so many customers complain about him. He doesn’t engage, he isn’t friendly, he speaks quietly and sounds like he’s bored, he slouches, he doesn’t laugh at people’s jokes… the list of complaints customers have about him is endless. Every day it’s something new.

He’s always been a little different from his brothers. He has trouble with anything social, and his face has never been as expressive as them unless he’s really feeling something ― forcing an expression onto his face is difficult for him. Even though he tries to work his life around it, and it doesn’t bother the people who love him, it’s a huge obstacle to his new job.

Every time Takeda-san, the general manager, tells him that he seems not to be doing well, Ichimatsu tries to defend himself by saying he’d be more comfortable working in the kitchen. He’d switch places with Jyushimatsu in a heartbeat, even though it would mean working with Karamatsu.

And every time, Takeda-san tells him no, he’s just not trying hard enough, that he has to do better at this job. “There’s no job-hopping around here, so just try harder,” he says, so Ichimatsu tries to double down on the effort he’s putting in.

It doesn’t really work, though. He’s already trying as hard as he can to do a good job. There’s really nothing wrong with his performance. He’s polite and doesn’t give customers attitude, he brings everyone the right food and corrects mistakes if he makes them, he tells everyone to have a nice day when they leave. It’s just that he doesn’t usually have a smile on his face, and his voice is a little flat, and he doesn’t connect in a personal way.

Seriously, what does Takeda-san expect? He’s doing the best he can. If he wasn’t trying as hard as he could, he’d have already given up on this bullshit. Even though it’s not the best job for him, he’s still putting in as much work as he can.

At least he and Totty are a pretty good tag-team working together. The restaurant is on the small side, so they share the main section. If one of their tables is ready to leave and whoever served them in the beginning is busy with another table, the other one will tap in to finish things. Right at the moment, Ichimatsu notices that Totty’s currently trying to get everyone at one table their food, while the table he got earlier looks like they’ve got their check ready.

At the moment, he just put in orders for his own table, so those won’t be ready for a few minutes. “Hey, Totty,” he calls as he steps away from the kitchen doors. “Want me to get the check from table 4?”

“Ah! Are they ready to pay? Sorry, this food just came out… yes, please, if you don’t mind!”

“Yeah, no problem.” He walks over toward the table, doing his best to collect himself; he can feel Takeda-san’s eyes on him from behind the cash counter. Table 4 is a young family with a couple of kids, and although they’re entertaining themselves, they also seem to be patiently waiting for someone to take their payment. “Hey, guys… sorry about the wait. You’re all set?”

The woman smiles and reaches to hand him the tray where the check is set. “It’s okay, hon, we haven’t been waiting long!” With her other arm she catches the whining child who presses himself into her side, laughing. “Yep, here’s the check and my card. Could we just get a receipt after you run it through?”

“Sure.” He takes the tray from her and moves to step toward the counter, then an afterthought pops up in his mind. “Oh, uh… there was nothing wrong with anything for you guys, right?”

The man, with the more energetic little girl clambering in his lap, beams. “No, no, everything was great. Our server was really attentive.”

Ichimatsu nods. “Okay, good. Be back in a minute.”

Practically as soon as he steps behind the counter to take care of the check, Takeda-san is grabbing him by the arm. He freezes up, only able to look at his boss in fear for a moment, then tries to pull his arm back. “Takeda-san? I’m just taking care of this…”

“Yeah, no. I’ll take care of it, because apparently, you can’t even follow simple instructions right.” The check and the woman’s card is snatched from his hand, and as Takeda-san processes the payment, he continues to scold Ichimatsu. It started out just loud enough for him to hear, but now the whole restaurant can hear it. “You just don’t listen, do you? Are you lazy? I get so many complaints about you, it’s unreal! I could just have your brother do your job, and it’d work out better. He actually knows how to smile and be friendly to people.”

When he steps out from the counter toward table 4, Ichimatsu can’t do anything except follow, looking and feeling a little lost. (Actually, what he feelsis two inches tall. This is nothing new and he hates it all the same.) “I’m not paying you to have that resting bitch face, to talk as if a little bit of work and serving people is an inconvenience for you.”

“But it’s not…” he mumbles, quickly looking down to avoid any eye contact his boss might try to give. “I’m trying my best.”

“Well, maybe your best just isn’t good enough, right?”

That sentiment makes Ichimatsu’s heart sink. As much as he gets nervous in social situations, he thought he was doing an okay job no matter what Takeda-san said. All his brothers are proud of him, and proud of each other. It’s not his fault that Takeda-san put him in a department that doesn’t quite mesh with his personality and strengths. “I could… go try being a dishwasher in the kitchen. Maybe I’d be better at that.”

“You’re joking, right? You’re so incompetent, I wouldn’t even trust you with that! If you can’t get the hang of something as simple as smiling, you’re a lost cause at any job!” Takeda-san sets the check tray back down on the table so that the customers can take their card and receipt. The action is coupled with a smile that looks so fake, Ichimatsu wonders if Takeda-san knows everyone can see right through it. Totty’s fake smile is better than that, for fuck’s sake. “I apologize for the service you received just now.”

With that, he turns back to Ichimatsu. “Listen, if you’re not more happy and welcoming by tomorrow, Ichimatsu, I’m going to have to let you go. If you can’t follow orders, there’s no place for you here.”

The woman in the booth, now trying to calm the clearly overstimulated child who’s still attempting to hide his face in her side, looks up at Takeda-san with a confused expression. “H-hey, what do you mean? There’s nothing to apologize for. He was just fine.”

Before she or Takeda-san can say anything else, suddenly Osomatsu is walking over from the bar area ― looking angry, with Choromatsu still behind the counter wearing an expression of shock. “You can’t fire him just for not smiling and shit! He’s not giving bad service; people just think they’re allowed to be jerks because he didn’t bend over backwards to be a happy robot for ‘em!”

Takeda-san’s face contorts in displeasure, even though he’s never had any issues with Osomatsu before. “Osomatsu, get back to your station. This isn’t any of your business.”

“Are you kidding me?! You’re being a dick to my baby brother, that’s the definition of my business! You’re mad ‘cause he doesn’t force himself to smile and he doesn’t talk all peppy, but he doesn’t need to do any of that to be good at his job! That’s just how he is!”

Takeda-san is having none of it. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but if that’s just how he is, then he’s not going to be here much longer, and I’d be surprised if he could find a job anywhere else.”

By this point, Totty is far beyond done serving his table and has gravitated toward the scene. “Hey, that’s not fair! Ichimatsu-nii-san is doing a great job. Whoever’s complaining about him probably just wanted something to complain about in the first place. I mean, didn’t you see how he noticed my hands were full so he came to take care of this table? He could have just ignored it and let me deal with it, but he was trying to take care of our customers.”

Ichimatsu shakes his head and takes a step back. “Hey… it’s okay. Osomatsu, Totty, don’t worry about it… if I get fired, then…”

“Ah, no!” Osomatsu reaches up, taking his uniform tie off before tossing it in Takeda-san’s direction. “You’re not gonna get fired, because you know what? We all quit! You’re not gonna treat one of us like crap and expect the rest of us to just be okay with it! Ichimatsu’s a good worker, and if you’re gonna fire him just because he’s not super smiley, then you don’t deserve any of us!”

He storms over and takes Ichimatsu’s hand. Despite feeling a little embarrassed by the scene, Ichimatsu can’t stop himself from shuffling closer to his oldest brother’s protective presence. “We’re outta here, Ichimacchan.” He turns his head toward the bar area. “Choromatsu, let’s go!”

As Choromatsu scurries over, giving stammered apologies to the customers he’s just served at the bar, Osomatsu marches himself and Ichimatsu toward the kitchen doors. “Karamatsu! Jyushimatsu!”

Both of them poke their heads out of the kitchen; it looks like the two of them are covered in flour from whatever they’ve been working on. “Ahahah, what’s up, Osomatsu-nii-san??”

“C’mon, we quit our jobs.” Osomatsu gestures for them to get over here with his free hand. “Takeda-san thinks Ichimatsu not smiling and talking in his normal voice is worth firing him over. So we’re all leaving.”

Karamatsu and Jyushimatsu’s aprons, along with Totty’s apron and Choromatsu’s tie, are thrown at the manager’s feet. “I suppose it was inevitable,” Karamatsu sighs dramatically, draping an arm over Ichimatsu’s shoulders. “We were never destined to stay in one place of employment forever. So as the winds of change blow, so must we be carried with them.”

Ichimatsu manages a soft chuckle, though a smile doesn’t come with it. “Ow… painful…” But he turns his head in against Karamatsu’s shoulder anyway, thankful for one more wall of protection.

“You lazy NEETs have been here for a week!” Takeda-san hisses. “Good luck if you think you’re getting a reference from me! If this is all it takes for you to walk out of a job, none of you will ever amount to anything!”

Jyushimatsu hurries behind Ichimatsu to ‘guard’ him from that direction, throwing his arms around Ichimatsu’s middle. “We will so, because we stick together! Ichimatsu-nii-san deserves a nicer boss than you, anyway!”

“L-let’s just get out of here, can we?” Choromatsu mumbles, hurrying up to join Osomatsu’s other side. “Sorry, Takeda-san, b-but… but you treating Ichimatsu like that is… r-really out of line. We can find somewhere else to work.”

Osomatsu scoffs and starts the walk out. “Yeah, that’s right! We can find a better place to work, and we don’t give a shit about your reference. But as for you, good luck not shutting down during the dinner rush when you just lost two-thirds of your evening employees because you decided to be an ass!”

Nothing more really needs to be said, so the six of them are out the door.

It’s already dark outside, and when Totty shivers, Ichimatsu immediately pulls him in for a hug. The youngest sighs as he cuddles into his big brother. “What a night. I didn’t know he was that bad… you don’t talk to your staff like that in front of customers!”

“You don’t talk to them like that ever,” Osomatsu huffs.

“Well, yeah, true. But definitely not where customers can hear you. Double bad boss points.”

Choromatsu frowns, patting Osomatsu’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. “What’s his problem, anyway? S-sure, Ichimatsu isn’t Totty levels of friendly and sociable, but he was giving pretty good service.”

Ichimatsu continues to try and hide against Karamatsu’s shoulder, earning a deep chuckle and a tighter embrace from his older brother. “You guys didn’t have to do that…”

“You didn’t even like that job,” Jyushimatsu hums. “He should have switched you and me, but he was being stubborn and mean! We’ll find an even better job. Maybe you can be an official kitty-petter! That’s a thing, right?”

This time when Ichimatsu laughs, his lips quirk upward a little. “I wish.”

A small part of him hates that just because of his own incompatibility with the job, his brothers all don’t have jobs now either. But… he sort of gets where they’re coming from, why they quit with him, because he wouldn’t want to work for someone who treated one of his brothers the way Takeda-san treated him.

The six of them stand there in the chilly night air for a moment, then the restaurant door opens.

It’s the family from table 4, with the man holding the little girl and the woman holding the little boy. As soon as they see the sextuplets, the woman’s face lights up and she races over toward them. “Oh, my God, I was hoping you guys hadn’t left yet! That manager… what kind of person treats other people like that??”

Ichimatsu stiffens up a little, shifting his eyes down. “Uh… I’m sorry.”

“For what? That was him being a horrible person, not you.” She shifts her child around for a moment to fish in her pocket, and Ichimatsu notices that the little boy seems to be avoiding eye contact the same way he knows he does. When the woman looks back up, her smile softens. “I don’t mean to pry, hon, but… are you, you know… autistic?”

Ichimatsu lets out a quiet hum and nods. “Yeah. I think that’s why I’m not…”

“Super expressive?” She returns the nod, gently bouncing her child. “This little one’s autistic too. His face doesn’t get that expressive either, and I know when someone tells him to smile or cry or ‘talk normal’, I get so mad. People shouldn’t treat each other like that. There’s no reason to just not be nice.”

Her other hand reaches out to him, pressing several bills into his palm. “Here, you deserve a little something extra after having to put up with that crap. I know it doesn’t make it okay, but… I hope the rest of your night gets better.” Her smile turns brighter as she looks toward everyone else. “And hey, if nothing else, there are a bunch of people who wanna stand up for you. Looks like you’ve got some pretty great brothers.”

Ichimatsu glances from the money toward his brothers, then back to the woman. For once, he manages a small smile of gratitude; it’s not big, but it’s noticeable, and the fact that it’s there means he didn’t have to force it. It’s real. “�� Uh. Yeah. Thank you. I… hope you guys have a good night, too.”

A moment later, the young family has disappeared, presumably heading home to let their son decompress from the overstimulation. It was… nice of them to stop and say anything at all.

Everyone is silent for a moment, then Osomatsu grins as he ruffles Ichimatsu’s hair. “Alright! Drinks are on Ichimacchan! Let’s go get some beers, then we’ll find better jobs tomorrow!”

The group seems in agreement, so off they go down the street toward the nearest bar. Although Takeda-san’s words and treatment are probably going to stay with Ichimatsu for a while yet, he can shove them away with the memory of how fiercely his family defended him.

… I do have some pretty great brothers, don’t I?

[desktopdonnie]

OK so my guys in TMNT and artists in the fandom you need to hear this.

There is a person called @hamsterandturtlesoup and @hamstermastersamster

Who is 40 something year-old.

They pretend they're younger and post a TMNT fanfic comic. On it's own I think that's not a big deal. Like maybe they're a super autistic dude right needing a outlet? But the plot thickens.

So the deal is I joined tumblr last year and through the Rise TMNT fandom I came to follow this hamsterandturtlesoup (HATS). In like a week after following I got an ANON message saying to avoid them because they're not whom I think they are. Curious yes? Someone has there eye on HATS and is warning people off following. Why?

I guessed this was spam. I ignored it until September 2021 when I got way too curious after school restarted. Yeh I were bored....

So.... I read the anon message yesterday and it got weird. That's where I read that HATS is middle aged. But it's worse. There's a load of screen caps and reddit history to put together, but I got reading and here's the plot:

The TLDR deal is they (HATS) went loopy in covid 2020 and had a psychological stress meltdown. They took out there angst on a friend of 20 years who was in hospital during covid (not clear if it was from covid). HATS axed the person from there life because HATS didn't like being inviting to online socials (during covid). Like what a crime lol. I don't understand if the friend was still in hospital at the time but it is weird to go mental at a friend when they're fresh out from major surgery....just because HATS was upset about a discord server the friend invited them to. I read the screen caps and you got to assume that HATS is mentally ill or deeply autistic because they really go all out on there bud's ass for inviting them to an online party.

No big deal you think? Personal domestic. But it gets weirder.

The person that HATS axed was a good artist that drew loads and was good friends to HATS for many years. They swapped art on deviantart for like 15 years. And the guy was pretty busted up over this weird behaviour by HATS so they posted for help in dealing with it. They're thinking HATS was needing mental help. The reply from reddit was to reach out to HATS to see if they were in mental crisis.

But by Jan 2021 that friend died after another big surgery and didn't get to speak to HATS again over the lost friendship.

This choked me up big after I looked at the art they made. Knowing they had surgery they made beautiful art in honor of Qinni but then died soon after themselves. It's kind of like they knew they were going to die....

So what happened next with HATS?

@hamsterandturtlesoup didn't care and didn't go to the funeral and acted like nothing happened. Twenty year friendship. RIP. Didn't react. On there deviant they even deleted the friend's name. That's damn savage af.

You might think they grieved privately?

I doubt. They then blocked everyone who ever asked about it. If you ask them they block you. Seriously try to ask them and you will get blocked!

Like no one knows the real reason these friends broke up. Is there a real reason? If the reason really is because of an online invite then I think HATS is not normal. I would never axe a friend over a discord chat. A twenty year friend is family.

Then HATS deletes everything online except the TMNT obsession. That's all they do. TMNT stuff on tumblr and deviantart (like who uses that anymore except millenials?).

Are they a predator?

It doesn't sound much when you break it down, but I read so many screen caps and stuff from so many different people on this. I had a session with two people who both confirmed HATS was middle aged and in a kind of denial about the death. It was mega dark reading how they behaved. Combined with HATS sadistic TMNT fic, they come off as really sinister.

I'm guessing HATS freaked out over more then just being invited to voice channels. Like why didn't they want to talk to other people online? I'm thinking because they wanted to hide there age or gender and predatory behavior. I think the dead friend had some sort of dirt on HATS that HATS wanted to stay hidden. Because who just deletes there online life and friends but keeps there creepy TMNT comic obsession?

HATS does.

Why cut all ties and people linked to them and there behaviour if not suspect?

Something is going on here that's deeper.

I think HATS might be one of those predators you're told to avoid by your teacher?

Before I get cancelled I did ask HATS what there side of the story was. They said nothing but blocked me in seconds. Seconds guys! So I guess I'm on the nail when I said they're kind of like a predator mingling with my GenZ in tumblr. They were chatting me up, but when I ask about em being 40 and the dead friend....I'm blocked.

I dunno what they're doing in there private chat history. But 40 years old and pretending to be a teen on tumblr isn't normal and I think it's gross. Erasing a good bud is gross. Not paying respects at there funeral is scummy. Blocking people who ask is sus.

Is this a true predator? Be careful who you talk to in the TMNT fandom.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 4: Anxceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 4: There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been.

Content warning: parental death from heart attack (none of the sides), homophobia, religious themes regarding said homophobia, concert, minor sensory overload (Virgil is technically autistic but it’s not explicit).

Word count: 3.3k

The last thing Janus Natter had ever wanted to do was return to his hometown. 

It only held bad memories that stemmed from living in a small town, of homophobia and school bullies and dirty looks from neighbours. Granted, he’d never actually been kicked out of his home after coming out, but word spread like a wildfire and the people in his neighborhood weren’t the most open minded. His mom didn’t talk to him; she blamed herself, and there were all too many nights he walked past her room and heard her praying and crying for the repentance of her baby boy.

So the moment he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Waved goodbye to the woman who stiffened every time he tried to hug her and moved halfway across the country, starting a new life for himself in a rundown apartment and a minimum wage intern job and not regretting it for a second. Everything seemed better for a while. A promotion followed a couple years after, and his apartment was upgraded to one that actually had a separate kitchen and dining room so he wasn’t eating on the counter anymore. Until he got a call from one of his aunts at three am, four days after Christmas.

Obviously, he cried when his mom died. He broke down as soon as he hung up the phone, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the news slowly integrate into his system. Sure, they hadn’t had the best relationship, but she’d been a great mom up until he admitted the truth that drove a wedge between them. And he’d never really blamed her, knowing his own internal homophobia would only be heightened in her. But it still hurt that she hadn’t reached out whatsoever when she was put into the hospital after the first heart attack. Maybe he would have been there when the second one hit and been able to save her. Or at least say goodbye.

The funeral was rough. None of his family bothered to talk to him, and the one little cousin that ran up to give him a hug was swiftly pulled away. Not like he was expecting much else, but c’mon. It’s not infectious. At least no one commented on him crying again. 

He was on the first flight back out, and after a couple days off work to recenter himself, things seemed to back to normal. It wasn’t as if any part of his daily routine was disturbed. He wasn’t missing any motherly catch up calls, no little packages, no life advice, that he’d never gotten before, so it was almost easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Until he got another call. 

This time it was his uncle, calling in the middle of his work day, to tell him that he needed to come back home and clear out his mom’s house. He was reluctant at first. Why couldn’t someone else do it? What was so important that he had to do it? But the family seemed determined to distance themselves from the house as much as possible, and when his uncle insisted that “we’re all still in mourning, Janus,” as if to imply he wasn’t upset at the death of his own mother, he hung up the phone with a curt agreement to come back as soon as possible. He later got a text that stated the house was going to be put on the market in the coming week, so he needed to get there soon. 

That’s what led to him exiting a cab three days later in front of his childhood home, suitcase in hand, with a disgruntled expression. The house was much less threatening than it had always seemed when he lived there, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other houses on the block, but the memories of lonely nights of crying himself to sleep and craving a hug from his mother were at the forefront of his mind. You’re never going to get another hug from her. He quickly snapped out of it before the tears could rise, thanking the cab driver and walking up to the front door. 

His mother had taken his key when he left, claiming it was to give to a neighbour to water her flowers when she went on a cruise or something equally far fetched, but Janus figured she just wouldn’t want to be surprised by him visiting. This was, afterall, the first time she’d been free from his disappointing presence in years. Luckily, they’d always kept a spare under the plant by the door, now wilted and crusty and dropping leaves when he leaned it over, hand slapping the concrete underneath.

Nothing.

He picked it up off the ground entirely, sweeping the ground directly under it and then scanning the surrounding area with growing irritation. Had someone taken it after the funeral? How the hell did they expect him to get into the house? Oh yeah, come clean the house but we’re gonna take the key! Fuckers. 

A loud crash from behind the door startled him enough to drop the plant, the ceramic pot smashing on the stairs. Whoops. Another sound from inside, something that sounded like a chair scraping on the tiled kitchen floor, and Janus realized with mounting horror that the front door was open a crack. His family had all claimed to not be able to even come near the place, so… Fantastic. Someone had broken into a death house and he was going to have to deal with it. 

The wise choice would have been to call the police. 

So Janus pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the sudden flurry of memories in favor of following the source of the noise. 

“Hello?” Yeah, smart, Janus, that always works in the horror movies!

Another scrape in the steadily approaching kitchen, accompanied by muffled swearing. As an almost last thought, Janus picked up the first small object he could feel on the entry table, acknowledging its heft and hoping it would be a suitable weapon without taking his eyes from the hall. Here goes nothing.

Then, in a move to top all stupidity, he turned into the room in a whirl, hoisting the weapon above his head, ready to beat down on whoever was rifling through his dead mother’s drawers. Only to freeze.

“Remus?”

“Janus, what the fuck!” The statement was said with a surprising amount of glee. Remus was the only person he knew who could turn swears into something joyful. 

Janus turned his gaze to the floor and the chair Remus was standing on, surrounded by a pile of glass shards. It looked to be the remnants of the entire glass collection, if the amount was anything to go by. Remus gave another shuffle of his chair, the loud shriek sounding again, as he tried to scooch closer without stepping on the shards in his bare feet.

“Why are you holding a banana?” 

It took him a solid second to process Remus’ question before he looked down at his own hand, his fingers curled around the metal banana from the decorative fruit bowl in the entry. 

“No reason. Why are you in my house, destroying my dinnerware?”

“Help me not step in glass and I’ll tell you.”

Finding a broom was easy; it was still in the same place it always had been before he left. Cleaning the glass took longer, what with Remus’ flurry of questions and Janus’ focus between answering him, sweeping, and not whacking Remus on the head with the broom handle. Apparently it didn’t take long for him to become annoying again.

Still, the grinning man had been the one and only reason he’d had trouble saying goodbye to the town, the only person who still gladly befriended him after coming out. He hated to admit how much he’d missed him.   

When the floor was clear, Remus hesitantly stepped down off the chair, wiggling his toes on the ground.

“Why did you take your shoes off when you came in? It’s not like anyone’s gonna be pissed if you track mud in anymore.”

“I didn’t wear any.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Remus shared a softer look with him, the manic smile drooping, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Was Janus’ incredibly eloquent response. He shook his head, and Remus accepted the subject change with no questions, “So why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you were coming to clear the place out eventually, so I thought I’d get here early and start. Help you out.”

“And…”

“... And snoop around a little bit.”

“There it is.”

“Not like, bad stuff! Just… I don’t know. Deep, dark, family secrets.”

Janus sighed, taking in the kitchen for the first time since entering. “The biggest secret this family tries to hide is me.”

“Dark.”

“Mmhm.” He gasped as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the most physical contact he’d had in… years.

“Welcome back, Natter.”

“Yeah, well,” He cleared his throat of voice cracks before continuing, “I only got two days off work. So I’m not staying long. I somehow need to completely clear this place out in 48 hours,” He ran a hand down his face, pulling away from the hug reluctantly, “You wouldn’t actually be interested in helping, would you?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Remus ignored it completely. “You’re only here two days? Inconceivable!”

“You’ve been watching Princess Bride again.”

“We gotta hang out!” The pleading expression on Remus’ face was almost enough to sell him on the idea.

“Weren’t you listening? I literally don’t have the time.”

“I’m going to a concert tonight in Brookton. Come with me!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just one night, Jan. Pleeeease? I’ll even come here and help you the rest of the time.”

With an affectionate snort, he shook his head, “As fun as that sounds, I’m broke.”

“I can get you in.”

“You’re not paying for me.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, though it was more like how a parent would scold a child than surprise. They’d always gotten into trouble together as kids, and this was just… a level up, in a way. Not that he condoned it.

“I know one of the security guards. He’s one of my hookups, and he happens to owe me a favor or two.”

  Wait. “You’re gay?”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?!” Remus shrieked, grabbing Janus’ hand and dragging him to the front door, key waving in his face, “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. C’mon, it’s an hour drive.”

Well, looks like he didn’t have a say in it. And he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t missed hanging out with his old best friend… or just a friend at all, really.

“Fine, but you’re stopping by your place to grab shoes!”

-----------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t a small venue by any means. It wasn’t Beyonce big, but enough to know that if he lost track of Remus, he’d be fucked. In his rush out the door so soon after a morning of traveling, he’d forgotten his charger and his phone was conveniently dead. Janus kept a careful eye on Remus, following the bob of his neon green and black jacket through the crowd and only distantly wondering what band they were actually about to see. The gremlin kept pushing through, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he shoved, leaving Janus to hastily apologize each time as he followed in his wake.

When Remus slowed just for a moment, stretching on his tiptoes to find a good spot over the sea of heads, Janus lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The taller man raised an eyebrow.

“As fun as it would be to get lost, I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah,” Remus’ eyes settled on a spot near the stage, one that Janus couldn’t see being a head shorter than him, “Good timing. Hang on tight.”

And hang on he did, because Remus fully embodied the physicality of a snow plow and plunged back into the crowd with new ferocity. Janus just closed his eyes and blindly let himself be led, letting the bubbling breathiness of a laugh escape his mouth. It had been too long since he’d just been able to have fun like this, without the threat of work and bills in his peripheral. The chatter was deafening in the best way possible, drowning out his worried thoughts, and the flashing lights that were still visible through his closed eyelids was invigorating. The promise for more elated him. 

When Remus finally stopped, Janus didn’t get the memo on time and ran into his back full force. He grunted and opened his eyes, focused on his throbbing nose, before realizing how close to the stage they really were. The taller man was staring down at him, grinning maniacally, seemingly impressed with their placement as well. 

Then a flash to the side caught his attention, and his throat went dry.

“Remus, look me in the eye and tell me you see that.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion before he followed Janus’ line of sight, seeing nothing but the dense crowd. “See what?”

“The light, the light trail…” Janus inhaled sharply through his nose, grip on the other’s sleeve tightening, “It’s my soulmate. He’s here somewhere.”

“Your soulmate? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, fuck! You’re welcome, eh, Natter? I told you you should have come!” He gave Janus’ arm a light punch, smile widening. “Go find him!”

Janus seemed hesitant, eyes flickering between Remus and the deep purple light trail, weaving between the people and heading towards the back of the venue. “How will I find you again after?”

“That’s a problem for future you. Go, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going! Just don’t leave without me!”

He was off before he could hear Remus’ answer, ducking under raised arms and trying his hardest to follow the quickly dissolving trail. Now that he had his eye on it, it had decided that it was time to disappear, and he was quickly losing sight of it. 

No, scratch that, it was definitely getting brighter now. And more concrete around the edges, instead of fading out. Was he close? He weaved past another small group of people, eyes following the purple line until-

There.

Holy shit.

He was stunning, that was the first thing Janus noticed. The purple trail stopped at him, covering him with a faint lilac aura before fading completely, content with it’s work. At first he thought the slight tint to the other’s hair was left over from the soulmark, before the lights switched and he realized, no, his hair was dyed purple. The most eye catching thing, though, besides his makeup, was the bulky pair of… were those headphones on his ears? At a concert? Granted, it hadn’t started yet, but still.

Apparently he was standing in one place for too long amongst the constantly moving hoard of people, and his stillness got the attention of the boy in front of him. He gasped sharply when they made eye contact, shocked from what Janus assumed to be the soulmark that probably surrounded him. And then he started hyperventilating. Bad.

“Shit! Okay, hey, calm down, okay? It’s fine-”

He was cut off by a loud riff of an electric guitar, almost immediately drowned out by the screaming fans that surged forward like a tidal wave. The boy in front of him curled in on himself, hands pressing into the headphones around his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Despite his more cautionary side, Janus reached forward and took his arm, guiding him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go outside and talk, alright?”

Maybe following a stranger outside alone wasn’t the smartest idea but… Virgil had seen the soul mark, a gentle yellow glow around this man that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man sharing an equally shocked look on his face. So that had to mean he wasn’t totally bad, right? Either he was his soulmate or some kind of guardian angel, and neither of those were necessarily bad options. 

As soon as they stepped outside the main arena, it was as if the tight band around Virgil’s chest loosened. Not gone completely, but enough that he could catch his breath. He reached up and pulled his ear defenders off his head, relieved that the quiet was enough that he didn’t need them anymore. They were definitely a life saver, but sometimes the way they muffled noise was indescribably uncomfortable as well.

The man noticed his immediate relief, letting go of his guiding arm and slowing his pace so Virgil could walk beside him. 

“I’m Janus.” 

“Virgil.”

In a blur, they ended up outside the venue, sitting on the curb directly outside the main doors. Virgil was fiddling with his ear muffs, eyes trained on the inky darkness surrounding them. Besides the dull resounding of the bass echoing from inside and steady stream of traffic just out of their view, it was reasonably quiet.

“So, you live in Brookton?” Janus finally broke the comfortable silence, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah. Not for long, though.”

“Oh?”

“Planning to get out soon. Don’t know where, don’t know how. But I’m not much of a ‘small town’ guy.”

“Brookton counts as a small town?”

Virgil hummed, finally placing the head gear down beside him and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of fast food from the variety of food trucks around the area. It was a strange cacophony of oil and salt, oddly enticing even if just the scent was enough for his skin to break out. 

“What about you? From around here?”

“Sort of?” He explained his story in as few words as possible, flying over his mom’s general unacceptance and her death, and the fact that he had to clean out her house in two days. “Less than that now, I guess. One and a half. It’s gonna be hell.” His head fell into his hands, fingers rubbing at the temples as if to soothe the headache he was expecting.

Virgil was a good listener, nodding along to the right parts and avoiding those stupid sympathetic looks he was so tired of. It was a nice relief to actually feel listened to, not pitied. 

“My parents are kind of similar. It doesn’t feel like I have much to complain about, though, because… I mean, they didn’t kick me out. Don’t openly hate on me. But it still sucks. They don’t even acknowledge me half the time.”

“Exactly! And then you see people who have it worse, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit for feeling upset!”

“Good match, universe.” Virgil flopped onto his back, purple hair splayed out on the concrete. “It’s the subtle homophobia for me.”

“Ah, you’re a ‘meme person’.”

“Sucks for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ll manage,” Janus joined him on the ground, suddenly disgusted that he was still in the same outfit that he’d flown in today. He hated the smell of plane, and he must reek of it. But Virgil didn’t seem to mind his general disheveled appearance as he made an abstract comment about the moon being full today, and how that generally meant bad things. Janus made the mistake of asking him what he meant, which turned into a full blown lecture on mythology and cryptids, one that Virgil didn’t have the capability to control. It made him smile though, seeing the emo so utterly delighted to explain it, and he realized with a start that he was going to get to enjoy this man for the rest of his life. Two people who could talk, matched with a person who loved to listen equally as much. Virgil had been right. Good match, universe.

[collecting-stories]

Yellow - JJ (Outer Banks)

Request: No just me being self indulgent. 

A/N: I started writing this the other day because I had an anxiety attack. I based a lot of the reader on my own weird stuff so...it was a little tough to get through but honestly kind of cathartic too? 

Summary: During an anxiety attack at a party JJ calms you down and from there a relationship begins to form between the two of you. Autistic reader. 

Warning: Descriptions of an anxiety attack and mentions of mental illness. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

You sat on the side of the house, stiff as a board, breathing so rapidly you thought you were going to send yourself into an asthmatic attack. No, that was nuts, you weren’t asthmatic you were just having a panic attack. But you couldn’t catch your breath and your head felt like you were 25 feet in the air but trapped on the ground at the same time. Your heart was beating in flutters, hands shaking, you were aware that you were crying but you didn’t know how. You couldn’t feel the tears, but your eyes stung and your vision was blurry, were you wearing your glasses? You couldn’t see anything.  

You heard someone’s voice, tinny, like they were calling to you through a tunnel, were they far away. Something touched your arm and you flinched, pressing yourself further into the side of the house. Where were you.  

They kept talking, voice a distant memory but it was happening right now, in slow motion in front of your face, someone’s mouth was moving.  

“Call my mom.” You managed, voice much less clear than it sounded in your ears. It was hoarse and your words mixed with sobs as you anchored yourself into the grass with your fingers.  

Whoever was there took your backpack, rummaging through the pockets until they found your phone. “Passcode?” They asked, holding it up to show you the lock screen.  

The glow of the phone bounced off of every surface and you leaned forward, choking back the sudden urge to throw up. Whoever they were placed a hand on your back, just below your neck. Not too much pressure, it was gentle but it was there and you felt yourself following the motion of their hand running circles in your mind.  

“Alright, okay, your safe. Your safe.” Was all they offered, unsure really, what else they could possibly say in this situation.  

Your fingers stopped digging into the earth slowly, the tension leaving them first. They ached. Next your shoulders, still crying but no longer sobbing, you could hear your heart beat but it sounded like a heart beat again. Not drums banging in your ears or thunder breaking in the sky. Your shoulders sagged beneath the weight of their hand and you felt them grasp your arms, guiding you into a more comfortable position. They sat behind you, arms wrapping around your body while you leaned into them, your whole weight using them to stabilize you.  

When it was over, when the attack on your entire being subsided and your brain could function once more you would be embarrassed, you would practically send yourself into another panic attack trying to apologise. Your body was too tired to comply with your brain right now though. Everything felt heavy, like you were anchored down to the earth. And you felt lips pressed against your temple making you close your eyes as the person holding you placed a kiss against your cold skin.  

“You’re safe,” they promised. When you tried to move they shushed you, hand brushing sweaty hair from your forehead. “It’s okay, you don’t have to move.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, more because you didn’t think you could move even though you wanted to. You wanted to get up and run away, hopefully never see whoever was holding you in their arms. Tan arms, plenty of bracelets, a few rings. You leaned your head against their arm, warm skin soothing yours.  

“It’s okay.”  

-

You’d fallen asleep there on the side of someone’s house in a stranger’s arms, exhausted from an episode. You had woken up with the sun, careful as you removed yourself from the other person. You didn’t need him to wake up or try to ask you if you were okay or if you needed anything or try to pretend that you hadn’t totally ruined the party for him. You were certain that calming some random girl down was not on the top of his priority list for the night before. Taking your phone and your bag, you walked home. 

For two days after that you hung around the house. It was too many people all at once and you were still exhausted as you tried to regulate yourself. You couldn’t stay in forever though, according to your parents, and you left the house on Thursday for therapy. You omitted the tragic end of the party, embarrassed that you hadn’t tried any coping techniques when you felt yourself starting to panic, instead you’d just kept going until it was too much and you were tripping out on the side of the house. Not the best summer story you could think of. Your two days inside hadn’t been totally unproductive.  

When you’d been sitting there in his arms, silently naming all the colors in his bracelets as he held you and promised you were safe, you’d thought about making a new bracelet for him. Two days later you considered the fact that he would probably be happy to never see you again but you’d made him a bracelet anyway, varying shades of yellow woven together. It sat in the front pocket of your back pack just in case you saw him somewhere on the island and he didn’t immediately hide from you.  

It was after therapy, as you walked home that you saw him. A little coincidental for your taste but there he was, standing with a friend on the other side of the street. They were talking and you decided today wasn’t a good day. Two days was not enough time to compartmentalize everything that had happened and seem totally well adjusted. Could you blame the freak out on drugs? Was that plausible? Probably not. He’d definitely think you were weird if you gave him the bracelet. There was no way that was happening now.  

“Hey!” His voice carried across the street. Louder than he’d been two nights ago. “Hey.”

You kept walking, hoping maybe he’d seen someone else that he knew. But then he was appearing in front of you, forcing you to stop walking or collide with him. “Oh, uh, hi.” You twisted the front of your striped shirt in your hands, looking at him and then just passed. Deep breathes, you could do this. You were good at talking to people, everyone said so.  

“Hey,” he repeated, “I was looking for you the other day, you like, disappeared.”

“I had to get home.” Was he concerned or was he just saying that to be nice? No, he’d crossed the street to talk to you so it must have been concern. Or curiosity.  

“Are you alright?”

“Right now?”

“Right now. The other night.” He shrugged, “I’m JJ.”

“I’m okay, sorry for the other night.”

“Bad trip?” Maybe drugs weren’t so farfetched.

You nodded. He invited you to hang out with him and his friend, Pope, and you accepted because wouldn’t that be a nice story to tell your therapist next Thursday. She loved when you talked to new people. You got dinner with them while the bracelet you’d made him burned a hole in your bag. Another time, now was too soon.

When you went home that night you made another one just to calm your nerves.  

He invited you out the next day and the next and you had trouble saying no because you liked him but he was exhausting. His friends seemed to be all personality, each demanding attention at exactly the same moment and you knew there was so much you missed when you hung out with all of them together, so many little pieces that you couldn’t concentrate on at the same time. They liked to do a million different things in one day. And they especially liked going on the boat.  

-

You hated the boat. Really what you hated was the water. It was deep and you could tread but you weren’t a great swimmer and you’d imagined your death by drowning enough times that every time you got in the water you were convinced it was the last. The anxiety of it ate at you. On boat days you went home earlier than usual with an upset stomach and you laid in your closet for hours trying to cocoon yourself into some kind of comfortable state.

They always swam when they went out on the boat and you always promised you’d go in but never did. You held onto the same beer all afternoon but only drank half. You laughed when someone else laughed at a joke and you took at least one hit from JJ’s blunt just so it seemed like you smoked since he thought that you did.  

It was exhausting. And every time he asked you thought about saying no. But you never did. It’d be one thing if he texted you but he usually showed up at your house, as if he knew you couldn’t say no to him in person.  

Today you brought your backpack on the boat with you. Your therapist suggested bringing something that could calm you when you felt yourself getting anxious. You brought your box of thread to make friendship bracelets. The entire front pocket of your backpack was filled with ones you’d already made with JJ in mind.  

“What are you doing?” JJ asked, halfway through the afternoon, as you sat in the boat. Everyone else had been paying attention to something Kiara was saying but JJ’s always loud voice caught their attention.  

“Oh, I’m making a bracelet.” You offered, keeping your eyes on the thread that you had attached to a carabiner on your water bottle.  

JJ moved over next to you on the bench, leaning his chin against your shoulder as he looked down at the bracelet. “Make me one?”

“What?” You turned your head, shifting away a little so you could see his face. He was so close you wondered if he could see the imperfections on your skin.  

“Will you make me a bracelet?” He asked.  

“Yeah, yeah...I uh, what color?” You asked, thinking of all the ones you already had for him in your bag.  

“You choose.” He moved his head, but only so that he could watch you better.  

You started up again, having to fix two different knots as JJ sat there, almost touching you but not completely. You could feel his breath on your skin, and his body was so close you could feel the warmth of him. “You’re very close to me.” You pointed out.

JJ looked at you, brow furrowed in confusion. “You want me to move?”

No. But you were two seconds from dropping the water bottle. You could already feel the tingling in your fingers. They would shake next and the tingling feeling would move up your arms. Some one jumped in the water and the splash made you jump, water bottle rolling out of your hands. JJ got up, grabbing the bottle and handing it back to you.

“You alright?”

“Fine.” You wanted to ask how much longer they were planning on being out but you didn’t want anyone to feel like they had to turn around on your account. You could make it the rest of the boat trip. Deep breaths. You searched for colors and shapes that you could silently name, running over and over them until you felt yourself starting to calm down enough to resume your bracelet making.  

When JJ texted you the next morning about hanging out at John B’s house you said you were sick. New friends were exhausting. You needed a break that lasted longer than a night.  

-

You ignored your phone for the next few days, falling back into your usual routine. Your mom tried to coax you into a movie day or shopping but you’d spent too much time around people to want to spend even more time around them. A crowded shopping trip or a stuffy theater?  

You settled on watching the movies in your room and listening to quiet music. You were on your third day of ignoring your phone when JJ traded texting you for seeing you in person. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had done but he was determined to get to the bottom of it. When he got to your house, he found you outside on the hammock reading.  

“Hey,” JJ sat on the hammock without warning, rocking it just enough you to grip the edge. His feet stayed on the ground, steadying it. “I’ve been trying to text you.”

“Sorry, I haven’t been feeling well.” You lied. Was he upset? Maybe, he didn’t look upset though. He looked fairly unphased but you knew how hard he was to read; it took all your attention sometimes.  

“You wanna go on the boat today?”

“I don’t know if I’m up for hanging out with everyone.” That was too much pressure.

“It can just be us.”

“Okay.” You agreed, surprised that he wanted to spend time with just you.  

The boat with just JJ was still a boat and your irrational fear of the water still existed though with less people you didn’t imagine dying by capsized boat as an option. Though maybe it could still capsize. Another, larger boat could hit it and you’d sink. JJ steered, watching you as he took the HMS Pogue out in the marsh. You weren’t watching the water. He’d taken girls out before and they always watched the water or used the front of the boat to sunbathe while they talked endlessly. You were staring at your lap, twisting your striped shirt in your hands.  

“You don’t wear any of your bracelets?” JJ asked, realizing for the first time that your wrists were bare.  

“I make them for other people.” You replied, crossing your arms so he couldn’t see your wrists anymore.

“Did you make mine yet?”  

“Oh, yeah. Can I move when it’s moving?” You asked, he’d stopped driving but the boat was shifting in the wind.

“It’s not.”  

“A little bit.”

“It’s just the wind.” He shrugged, grabbing a beer from the cooler and offering you one.  

You were careful still, holding the side when you stood up. You grabbed your backpack and opened the front pocket, rummaging through until you found the bracelet you were looking for. Yellow. You held it out to him, exchanging the bracelet for a beer. JJ turned it over in his fingers, looking at the pattern and the different shades of yellow in it.  

“I didn’t expect it to be so...one color.”

“I can make you a different one, if you don’t like that.” You offered. You found the bench again, happy to be sitting.  

“No, I like it.” JJ insisted. He sat beside you, holding out the bracelet with his hand overturned, “can you tie it on for me?”

“Sure.” You pushed his other bracelets up to wrap it around his wrist, fingers brushing against his skin.  

“Will you teach me how to make these?” He asked.  

“Sure, why?”  

JJ shrugged, “I could make you one?”

“Okay.” You smiled.  

“Why yellow?”  

“Yellow usually calms me down when I’m having a bad time,” you admitted, “since you calmed me down during my freak out I though yellow was a good color for you.”  

“That was some trip you were on.”  

“Hey JJ?” You started, crossing your arms to keep from pulling at your shirt. You had thought about telling him that it wasn’t just a trip, trying to decide what sort of reaction he might have. It’d always been you with him and friends never just the two of you together. You liked him, not just because he had held you through an episode but because he was him. Magnetic. Incredible. Calming.  

“Yeah?” he shifted in his seat so he could look at you better, close like always but this time it didn’t make you so nervous.

You uncrossed your arms, twisting your hands together and looking down at your lap. The explanation came in waves. You stumbled over words trying to tell him that you hadn’t been tripping over weed but that it was just a part of your brain. While you talked JJ stayed quiet, his hands reaching for yours and threading his fingers with yours. He listened while you told him that you hated the boat because you were always afraid that you were going to drown. He didn’t tell you that was irrational or that you were crazy he just listened.  

You finished, waiting for him to say something to you but he just sat there, “So?”  

“I don’t...know that much about like, stuff like that.” JJ admitted.

“Neither do I,” you laughed, “I just know living with it.”  

“Should we go back?” He asked. He moved his hands so he could hold yours better, thumbs rubbing along the insides of your wrists.  

“I kinda wanna go in the water.” You replied, looking over your shoulder at the calm water. You always thought about going in the water when you came out with everyone but somehow going in with everyone made you more anxious than being on the boat in the first place.  

“Okay, lets go in.” JJ said, standing up and pulling his shirt over his head.  

“You go first,” you replied, taking your shirt and shorts off. JJ wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, kissing your forehead.  

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @calumhoodsbuckethat @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @jolomez @timotaychalabae @ssprayberrythings

[makiruz]

So in The Legend of Genji fanproject, the deal is that the White Lotus couldn’t found the Avatar so they made a fake one to avoid panic and now the real Avatar is running around doing stuff.

This is kinda like my AU idea of what if Kuvira had won; my Earth Avatar is an autistic young woman, so I imagined that Kuvira goes to find the Earth Avatar in the years following Korra’s death in order to control them, and one of the candidates is a clearly disabled toddler so she ignores her because the Avatar can’t possibly a r-word girl, right? Well jokes on you! That girl was the Avatar and now she’s gonna grow up to overthrow you because you were ableist slime.

Anyway, I was thinking you could actually do something similar in canon, where the White Lotus missed the Avatar because she’s developmentally disabled so they make a fake one; but then I had an even better idea: the White Lotus knows exactly who the Avatar is and since she is developmentally disabled they decide to make a fake Avatar because they can’t have the Avatar be a r-word girl (and the fake Avatar is a light-skinned boy because I’m making a point).

They even justify themselves saying that since the Avatar, let’s call her Jun, is autistic she can’t possibly handle the pressures of keeping the balance of the world; they’re doing her a favor really! That’s how they justify to the fake Avatar, let’s call him Qin, he honestly thinks he’s doing a good thing by pretending to be the Avatar when he’s not (that’s the thing about ableism, that a lot of people think they’re doing us a favor).

The Avatar of course does not think being gaslighted and lied to due to her disability is doing her favor; in fact, she is furious: I am not broken, I am not wrong, I am perfectly capable to be the Avatar, you ass. Jun realized she was the Avatar on her own when she was maybe 12 or 13 and accidentally started firebending, initially she could play with candles and shit (and it was a fantastic stimming) but eventually she learned that was firebending and went “wait”; later she tried bending Air and Water and managed and bit and was confused because the Avatar was that boy from Ba Sing Se, right? But with time she realized that that old guy who came to see her from time to time was a White Lotus member and eventually put two and two together and understood she was being deliberately misled about her identity and now she wants blood.

Naturally autistic girl claiming the Avatar everyone knows is a fake is not very believable, so Jun and her family (her parents weren’t on it) spend approximately 3 years trying to get someone to pay attention to her, but the governments were kinda in on it, and don’t really want the bad press so they suppress the story. Eventually Jun is like “fuck it! I’m doing my own Avatar journey!” And goes to the Fire Nation to learn firebending on her own and this is where she gets attention because she can actually bend more than 1 element, and people start noticing that they have never seen Avatar Qin bend fire in public. Basically my idea is that Jun creates her own Avatar team (mostly disabled) and they created a storm on social media, and it’s a scandal, because most people don’t want to have their preconceptions shaken, but plenty are willing to believe the authorities would hide the Avatar if they were disabled, disability advocates are all over this in a nano-second.

Also Jun does totally threaten to beat up the Faker in social media. Well, actually she challenges him to a duel to prove who’s the real Avatar, but does it in a way that you can tell she mostly plans to beat him up; which she can and Qin knows it and he’s quacking alongside the White Lotus. Now you might be asking “did they think Jun would never find out she’s the Avatar?” and yes, that’s exactly what they thought, they assumed her being disabled meant she was too stupid to discover her abilities, and it wouldn’t be a problem; one of them literally says “I like her better when she couldn’t speak” (Jun is semi-verbal, she can talk, but it’s difficult and she started late).

[bug13underscore]

I’m absolutely in love with your writing! And was wondering if you could do #17- ‘Tugging on the bottom of someone’s shirt’, from the Physical Affection Promts. (I imagine that this gesture is their way of silently asking for kisses/cuddles when they don’t feel good, but maybe that’s just me).

I’d love to see you try your hand at 90’s Ot4 (Alex x Bobby x Luke x Reggie), cause young Bobby is a sweetheart in my mind. But if not it would also be cute with Alex x Luke x Reggie.

Ahhhhh I loved writing for Bobby, thank you for this request and for the compliments 🥺🥺🥺 Although this certainly didn’t end up taking place in the 90s, so this is like a modern AU I guess? So we’ll pretend Trevor is Bobby’s like dad or uncle or something, and the boys all know Julie!! 

I also went with the autistic Luke headcanon here and then added in Bobby with depression and Reggie with nightmares (and ADHD), although the nightmares aren’t explicitly talked about. 

As always found on AO3 here or below the cut <3

It was no secret that the four boys of Sunset Curve shared casual touches as a love language—although few people outside of their immediate friend group knew that these touches were not as platonic as they may seem. 

The four boys themselves had come up with a system, for days where words were too hard, everything was too loud, or simply not wanting to ruin a moment with speaking, they could signal to the others what they needed. One gentle pull for cuddles, two gentle pulls for kisses and one sharp pull meaning just a little space. 

-

Luke, personally, tends to favor the sharp tug. Days where everything was just a bit too much but he still wanted to soak in the reassuring presence of his boyfriends, he’d give a sharp tug on Bobby’s shirt, the boy would quietly nod before silently gaining the other boys’ attention, everyone congregating within the “living room” of their garage. 

Hushed conversations were swapped, occasionally, but generally the boys all fell into their own silent activities. Alex draped across the couch, reading from whatever book he’d picked up that morning. Reggie haphazardly sat in a way none of the boys could, usually focused on the sudoku book that Julie had gifted him. Bobby was usually the one closest to Luke, scribbling into his own personal songwriting journal, the boy had mastered writing without making any noise. He pretended it wasn’t because of the one time Luke had nearly had a meltdown when his pencil kept making a skritch skritch skritch on a day much like this, but they all knew that was exactly why. 

After some time, Luke took a deep, shuddering breath and extended his limbs out, stretching and popping from being stuck in one position for so long and inched his way over to Bobby, hooking his chin over the boy's shoulder. 

“Thanks, Bobert.” The guitarist murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his boyfriends jawline. 

“Never a problem, Lulu.” 

-

Alex, undeniably, used the one gentle tug the most out of all of them. Although the system had been designed with Alex’s panic attacks and Luke’s overload days specifically in mind, Alex had begun to use the system more liberally. 

During band movie nights, or nights when he’d gently shake the others awake, or just random times throughout the day. Cuddles slowly began to include hugs as well, or just vaguely touching in some manner. 

Alex never said anything, but the others knew that their weight and pressure eased the drummer’s nerves. They’d notice how much quicker he’d wind down if one of them even had just a hand rested on his shoulder, or a pinkie threaded through his. 

It was a Sunday when Alex had stomped in, his duffle bag being thrown to the side the second his body was through the door, and he collapsed against Reggie’s chest and gave a gentle tug to the bassist’s leather sleeve. 

“Bad time at church, love?” Reggie hummed, carding his fingers through the short blonde hair, other hand drawing patterns onto the taller ones back, sharing a look with Bobby and Luke. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Alex muttered, burying his nose further into Reggie’s neck and winding his arms around his waist. Within minutes the blonde was asleep, but Reggie didn’t mind, he just tightened his hold on the boy and promptly followed suit, their two other boyfriends laughing lightly as they continued about their business.  

-

Bobby was a frequent user of that gentle double tug, using it to gain short, loving kisses whenever he needed. Before a show, after, during rehearsals, passing by then in the hallways (when they chose to attend school that is), or even just going about their normal domestic activities. He never said it, but his boyfriends knew him well enough by now that they knew it was usually when his depression decided to kick in, making him doubt them, doubt their love, and so they tried to make him feel as loved as possible when these times struck. 

A few days after Alex’s bad day, Bobby was coming up behind Alex while he was standing by the microwave, reheating one of the many leftovers they had, when Bobby gave the two soft tugs to the hem of Alex’s shirt, his arms wrapping around his waist. 

The blonde spun around in his arms, pulling the rhythm guitarist all the more closer and slotting their lips together sweetly. They stood there, hands wandering and lips locking until the microwave went off, breaking the two boys apart. 

“You know I love you, right babe?” Alex hummed, pressing another kiss to Bobby’s lips. 

“Yeah, I know. I love you too.” Bobby smiled back. 

“Do you wanna watch Tangled?” The blonde brought his hands up to brush stray hairs behind Bobby’s ears as he gave a small nod. “Alright, let’s go get the other two dorks.” 

-

Reggie, much to the other three’s shock, used the system the least out of all of them. They weren’t sure if it was because he had the strangest talent of being able to practically sense when one of the others needed affection, or something else, but on days where he did use the system, they made sure to make that whole day about him. 

When it happens next, it’s not even quite daytime. They’re all quickly woken up by Reggie, although not by any intention by the boy. He woke up thrashing, a short scream ripping through the air before he gasps deeply and struggles to catch his breath. His boys are on him in an instant, cooing to him softly, pressing into him to calm him down and mumbling soft words of reassurance. 

He calms down enough to find the hem of Luke’s muscle tank, giving it two sharp tugs. The brunettes brows crease in confusion, hand reaching to entangle itself with Reggie’s. 

“What’s two sharp tugs mean?” He murmured, not completely awake yet but also not quite sure if he just missed the memo.

“Talk. Please. Too quiet.” Reggie choked out, eyes beginning to glaze over as they nervously searched the three faces crowding his vision. The boys all share quick glances before they all start murmuring, their voices overlapping in a spoken symphony, full of love and warmth, harmonies intertwining as they went on. 

Reggie quickly drifted off to sleep, the others continuing to mumble until they drifted off themselves, pressed even closer together than before, limbs crossed and tucked wildly so they were each somehow touching all three others. 

Two sharp tugs, Luke thinks to himself as he begins to drift off, admiring the softness of the features of the three boys surrounding him, fill the silence. Got it.

[captainjimothycarter]

Autistic Fitz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVED your headcanon with autistic Fitz and Alistar and realizing nothing is wronnnnng! Write it plz

This is my first time writing FitzSimmons or Autistic Fitz in general.

--

“Stop that!” Alistair Fitz hissed in his young son’s ear, jerking his hand away from his face. “We are in public. You do not touch your face in your public. Or twist your fingers. Did the tutors teach you nothing?” 

 Fitz flinched as his fingers were jerked apart, biting back the whimper. Instinctively, he scooted closer to his mother, trying to put as much distance between him and Alistair as possible. His tutors did teach him plenty. They taught him science and math and English - his father knew this. Had given the disgruntled, confirmed grunt at his excellent grades - so why did he question it? 

 And why did his father get so upset when he kept touching his face or twisting his fingers? It calmed him down when they were in public. The public eye cared nothing for him or his mother, all they saw were his father and the outstanding job he did in his line of work or gave so much money away. They saw nothing behind the public and how he treated his son and insisted he was a failure despite getting excellent grades in school.

 “There’s something wrong with the boy,” Alistair whispered to his wife later that evening, when they thought Fitz was asleep in his mother’s lap. “There just isn’t something right with him. He has no friends his age despite being top of his class. His room has to be in a certain order. He freaked on the maid for touching his science fits. There’s something wrong with him and it needs to be fixed.”

 If his mother had a response, Fitz didn’t hear it. His ears were roaring and his head was starting to ache after an intense evening of having to be around countless faces he couldn’t remember. All the touching and screaming, and laughter, built up to a bubble in his chest and he could feel it bursting.

 “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Fitz found himself saying, still unable to meet his own father in the eyes. It was a battle too and Alistair could always count on his son dropping his gaze the second he met it.

 “Oh no, boy, there’s plenty wrong with you!” Alistair snapped, stepping forward. “You’re an idiot. You can’t do anything right! Other kids your age go out, have friends! Instead, you’re cuddled in your mother’s lap like you’re a lap dog. You-you-you-”

 Fitz didn’t feel the slap, but he heard it. He saw it coming, the hand striking him hard across the cheek. He could feel his tears running down his face as his father stalked out of the room, the door slamming as his mother rushed over to tend to him. He didn’t feel it, not until days later, where he stood in front of someone from a SHIELD academy. His cheeks were blotchy and red, the collar of his shirt was done up too far on his father’s insistence. 

 Everything felt wrong and itchy.

 The too cold smell, that icy bite to the air coming from the air conditioner, and the loud, metallic whirling did not help. He could barely stop himself from flinching every time it clicked on and off in this too-silent office.

 He’d been called into the dean’s office, the dean was immediately dismissed outside by the woman. She said her name Maria Hill. He could remember that much.

 “Are you okay?” Hill asked in a soft tone. Fitz still flinched at it, gripping the arms of the chair, his nails biting into the pleather padding. She followed his eyes to the air conditioner and gave a small nod. “Is it too loud?” 

 Fitz didn’t answer but he felt his body visually sag with relief as she walked across the too-posh, too cluttered office to turn it off. As she sat back in front of her, he felt his fingers starting to twitch again. He sat on them to get himself to stop touching them together. 

 His father would know about it.

 “Am I in trouble?” Fitz suddenly blurted out. Did his father do it - did he sent this Hill from SHIELD to correct him? To fix him? “You’re not going to in-inject me with drugs to fix my brain, are you? Because there’s nothing wrong with me.”

 Hill sat back, her fingers tapping on the table. “Your brain is why I’m here, Leopold.” She watched as he flinched at the name.

 “Fitz. Call me Fitz. Why...my brain? So I’m not in trouble?”

 The woman smiled and something about that smile made him relax. Maybe because it reminded him of his mother and the smile she wore when she insisted everything was going to be okay.

 “Fitz, then. Why don’t we go for a walk, hm? We can get out of this cramped office and into the sun. And out of noisy people’s business, isn’t that right Paul?” 

 Fitz turned around in his seat, watching as the dean to the school sheepishly walked inside his office, avoiding Fitz’s gaze.

  There was no point in telling his father. He already knew it wouldn’t be good enough. Getting into SHIELD Academy wasn’t good enough. He was never good enough. Alistair didn’t even see him off. He wasn’t there. He pretended Fitz didn’t exist and somehow that hurt more than one of the too many slaps that still rung in his ears on bad days. His mother on the other hand couldn’t be prouder.

 She asked all the right questions but there was one he could never avoid. “Are you making friends?”

 He said he was happy, he was learning, he was eating, and working, why did it matter if he had friends? Did he want friends - of course, he did. Fitz knew he was shy, a loner, he never seemed to laugh at the right moment. He always chose the wrong thing to say, always did the wrong thing, maybe a bit too late or too soon. He never got the social cues right. 

 He was a loner and part of him had made his peace with it. 

 He always replies, “Yeah, mom, trying.” He’d find an excuse to hand up shortly after that.

 In truth, he was trying. Or, well, he tried. He buried himself into his work. He wanted the top grades, to please his father, to please his teachers, to just have someone proud of him. Then he was paired with her. In not one but several of his classes. A latecomer but a promiser to be the best of the best - Jemma Simmons.

 There was a silent competition between them, to one-up one another. To do more than the other. To do better. To get that extra smile from the teacher or a promising note left on some paper or test. To do more.

 He didn’t hate her - he couldn’t hate her. There was some part of her that refused to allow it. He wanted to impress her, to get her to like him. To think of something smart to say. To think of something to make her laugh. To get her to smile at him like that, not their teacher but it somehow bloomed into this competition and Fitz couldn’t let it down. If he stopped, then she stopped, and in some way by them doing this, it felt like they were together. 

 At least to him.

 Then it happened.

 They were paired together, for an official grade, on a project he couldn’t wiggle his way out of. Working with other people was hard, impossibly hard. He liked to work alone, by himself. He couldn’t count on others to understand him, to depend on his grade. Working alone was better because if he failed, he had no one to blame but himself.

 And if they failed, he couldn’t blame Jemma. Not even if he wanted to.

 She was supposed to come to his dorm, 8 o’clock sharp. It’s what they agreed on. He even tidied it up, more than normal, setting clothes in his hamper, stashing that in the closet, Cleaned up his desk, and made sure everything was in order.

 8 o’clock came and passed. She wasn’t there. Then his phone rang and of all people to call him, to see that name flash on his screen.

 Alistair 

 Fitz felt his heart sink. He knew if he didn’t answer, there would be hell to pay. Even if the man wasn’t physically here, he would make him pay.

 Swallowing, Fitz answered. “H-hello.”

 “What’s this your mother is talking about? Wiring you money.”

 Of course, it was always money. Always about money.

 “I-I needed it. For a-a project. For...for essentials. It came from my account.”

 He was picking at his thumb again, chewing on the end. He could feel his head starting to ache, his heart racing. 

 “No, boy, it came from my account. That account is mine, regardless if you have a name in it or not. You do not get a say and do not touch this money until you’re eighteen and that’s even if I want you to have it!”

 The yelling started and Fitz flinched, holding the phone away from his ear. He could feel his heart racing, feel his hands trembling. What could he do to make this right?

 He couldn’t tell his father the truth - he couldn’t tell him how Hill, his unofficial guide into SHIELD academy (when she wasn’t busy with Fury and doing SHIELD things), mentioned off-hand about testing.

 Autism testing. 

 He could be autistic and the more he looked into it, the more he understood it, the more he agreed. His father would never. It’s why he took the money, to make sure that he had enough to pay for it if SHIELD refused to do it. He hadn’t asked Hill yet.

 “What is all that yelling?” A voice breathed from the open doorway. Jemma stood there, a steaming bag of food in hand, holding her bag in the other.

 Her eyes widened at the sight of Fitz, the pale face, the soft humming he made, and how his hands trembled around the phone. His free hand trembles as he places it to his head, touching his hair. Hair touching meant he was safe.

 Jemma stood in front of him, holding her hand out for the phone. When Fitz didn’t give it, she gently took it. “Alistair Fitz?” She asked calmly. “You are no longer allowed to speak to your son until you can do so in a calm manner that isn’t causing him to have a breakdown.” She flinched at whatever he said on the end - Fitz could only guess. “No, sir, I-”

 She huffed as the phone went black and gently placed it on the table. Slowly she knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek, he flinched back from the touch and she let go. “You’re not okay,” she breathed. “Can I touch you? Or do you not like touch? What can I do?”

 It was too many questions and maybe it was his father’s words or the fact Jemma - someone he’s crushed on for weeks - was before him and had heard Alistair. He felt the sob rise in his throat. His hands pressed hard into his temple, feeling her hands slowly wrap around them. They were gentle, cool. He liked the touch.

 Her touch was safe.

 She wouldn’t hurt him.

 “Does he hurt you?” She asked after a good hour of them hugging on the bed. A better part of that hour was him curled up on his side and she was rubbing his back, not questioning, not arguing. Not belittling him. Calming him down.

 Fitz just made a noise, swallowing it and jerking his head. “Y-yes. Sometimes. When he’s angry, very angry. Slapped me before I left for...for...taking my laptop with me.”

 She made a disgusted noise but instantly stopped. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I am so sorry. You’re safe here.”

 Yeah, he was. He truly was.

  It was two weeks after his breakdown, in the middle of their few hours between classes did the autism test come up. The pair were inseparable, laying out in the sun. Jemma was pointing out what stars laid out in the sky, despite it being bright and sunny. He could listen to her talk about anything.

 A shadow fell across them and Fitz instantly sat up, his tie hitting him in the face. Agent Hill stood in front of them, a file in her hand. Her smile was familiar when she looked down at them. “I see you met Jemma Simmons. Miss Simmons, it’s good to see you again. No cloning, I take it?”

 Jemma’s face flushed a bright pink and laughed. “No, ma’am, no cloning. Is everything okay?”

 “Oh, yes, I wanted to speak to Fitz. Alone, if you’re okay with that, Fitz?”

 Fiz felt his head jerk from Jemma to Hill. “She can stay. Why are you here? Are we in trouble?”

 Jemma’s hand found his and gave a light squeeze as Agent Hill sat down directly across from them. “Well,” Hill began, setting the file in Fitz’s lap. “I know we spoke earlier about getting you tested for autism and I spoke to a few people. We can do it. It’s all up to you - no parent signature required.”

 Relief and fear washed over Fitz at the same time as he stared down at the file, just a simple manilla folder. It bore his name and inside he knew the documents for the testing. He turned his head to look at Jemma, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

 “Should I? What if I’m...broken?” 

 Jemma’s eyes burned as she touched his hand again, desperate to pull him into a hug. “You are never broken. Never were and will be. I think it’s a good idea. It’s somewhere to start.”

  It’s a week later when they’re finishing up the last few details of their project, does Fitz finds Hill in his dorm room. She silently handed him the file and met his eyes, giving that same comforting smile. His heart dropped at that smile. 

 “I’ll be just a phone call away, okay? I thought you’d like to read that alone.”

 All that stood between him and a diagnosis of answers was a file. Just a simple paper that he had to flip open. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, staring at it hard on his desk. It was out of place. It didn’t belong here. To get rid of it, he had to open it.

 He couldn’t.

 “Fitz,” Jemma breathed. “Regardless of what lies in that file, of what answers it gives you, you’re my best friend. You’re not broken, no matter what your father says. You’re you.” 

 “Yes, but…” His tongue darts out to lick his lips again, touching the folder and jerking his hand away. He can’t help but shake his leg at this point in anxiety. “I need to know. I’m just afraid.”

 Her hand finds his and she squeezes again. “Then we’ll do it together, okay? I won’t let you go through this alone.”

 His lips quiver as he smiles at her in return, his hand slowly opening the file. 

 He reads it three times over, front to back, in rapid sessions. Tongue between his lips as he quickly reads it. The last time, his eyes burned with tears. He feels Jemma’s arms around her. He can’t help it to turn around in her arms and sob. 

 “I’m not broken,” he chokes out into her shoulder.

Her arms only tighten around him. “You never were.”

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.”  He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

[khangowrites]

Is it a Complaint Essay or is the Workplace Unsuitable?

Ah, what am I writing today? Oh, well I suppose it’s almost 12am. Seems like a good a time as any. I wanted to just jot down a few re-occurring experiences I’ve had in the workplace and sometimes in other social spaces, and attempt to analyze them.

CW: mild mentions of abuse and bodily ailments.

A bit of forward: I tend to mask myself heavily whenever I am in any social situation; whether it be at work, at home, with friends or online (although I’m getting better at being myself on Discord at least. I owe a lot to my friends who accept me and whom I care so much about.) What this means is I often plan out what I’m needed to say in advance of a situation. I have an arsenal of about 5 minutes of small talk before I tank and several small greetings/placations I can cycle through on any given day if I’m not overloaded. I also limit my natural inclination to movement.

It’s called unprofessional/unsightly to sit with your legs folded under you, or to sway and shake your arms and legs back and forth in time to music in your head. But it’s okay if you tap your pencil. Everyone does that.

I have to wonder how noticeable my ‘masked’ self is. How real or fake it appears.

There have been a few trends I’ve seen with the way people treat me as an employee in the time I’ve been in the workforce. For clarity, I am a 23 year old 5’1” AFAB person with a face that looks like it stopped aging when I was 12. I’m non-binary, but I’ve seen that many have a hard time using a different pronoun for me because I look ‘so feminine’. I had one old man repeatedly tell me that my body was too pretty and that I shouldn’t hide it and ‘pretend’ to be something else. I was and still am quite unsettled and disgusted by that comment.

I haven’t used my full preferred pronouns at work simply based in fear of being fired or discriminated against further. Same thing at home- I haven’t told all my family out of fear. I may look back on this at some future date where I fully respect myself and I’m confident. I look forward to that day.

Oh, and I’m autistic.

Perhaps it is one of these things or all of them that cause people to treat me certain ways. I’d like to find out.

I worked outdoors at an Orchard for a season. They called me Cinderella because of the way I looked when I cleaned. They gave employees gloves and heaters. Only not me. When I asked, I was given a broken one and told to fix it. A coworker who had intellectual disabilities and poor eyesight was not offered a heater at all. I did not renew for the next season. Kim and I stayed in touch though.

I worked next at a gift shop at a historical site. I loved the history and the old buildings, but the cashier work was admittedly difficult. Most of the employees were kind, retired old ladies who treated me gently, like a child. Sometimes too much like a child. The assistant manager seemed wary of me, and she often avoided me. I don’t know why. I’m not good with eye contact, and I always fear that people will mistake my zoning out as being creepy or disrespectful; maybe it was that. She never brought her kids with her on days I worked.

The head manager was courteous, but always called me Special. We had an older man work in the last 2 years I was there who had a strong inclination to associate with the children at the shop, and in turn, me as well. He would always want a hug or pat me on the back, but ignored the other workers. I told the managers my uncomfortable feelings about him, but it went mostly unnoticed.

When it was found that I was decent with computers, I was tasked with entering jewelry into the system and creating labels with number associations. I enjoyed it, and they promised me a decent raise. My pay was raised a dollar several weeks later, and I found myself being tasked with more and more computer work, to the point of becoming an office manager myself, earning a grand total of 9 dollars an hour while my counterpart who started a year earlier owned a home on the same work.

I left that job after 4 years to be the music director at a local church. I love music and was excited. Maybe too excited. I developed acid re-flux and was hospitalized the week before my start day due to a panic attack. I realize now it was from stress. I also had an ovarian cyst removed a year later- it took up my entire pelvis and its formation was also attributed to stress. I’ve since been diagnosed with generalized anxiety, and I continue to have ever changing digestive issues, muscle problems and panic attacks.

After realizing I was autistic and also non-binary, so much of the stress of life started to make sense. The past few months I have been making life changes, and working towards finding a workplace that is accommodating and safe for me. My stress has lessened.

I worked at the church for 2 years. My last day is actually at the end of this month. As is the trend, I was not treated with respect when it came to my job. My pastor started choosing the hymns over me, and would make comments about me during services. His favorite was to say that my music made him fall asleep, and wait for laughter from the congregation. He had no musical knowledge, and forced me to play every song as fast as I possibly could. He didn’t believe I could do my job. Any attempts at mutual work failed to manifest. I unfortunately was groomed by a member of the hiring committee there as well, a type of abuse I didn’t even realize I had fallen into until several months after it was too late.

I currently work at a high school as a choir accompanist. I use she/they pronouns there, but no one uses they and I’m too worried to be fully they like I am outside of work. I am wary of soiling my relationship with the director further. She’s quite religious in the ‘gays don’t have rights’ way, so I have my fears.

The director is kind, but sees me as this innocent child that happens to have natural piano abilities, and the mutual respect that I’ve come to dream of just isn’t there again.

The director has the key to the doors and lets students in without fail, but conveniently forgets to let me in almost every day. At one time, I was in physical therapy and had a hard time standing and walking for any period of time. I almost went home because she didn’t answer any communication, class started 20 minutes previously, and it was 90 degrees outside and I needed to sit down because my legs were cramping. She plans the music weeks in advance, but doesn’t give them to me until the day the students get it, despite my repeated asking for time to prepare.

One day I was on zoom and she and the student teacher greeted me and then ignored my presence and played the piano herself for class. She struggled with the parts and commented to the choir that, “wow, Ms. Khango is actually pretty dang good at this- that little girl can play!”, but didn’t listen to me when I offered to play. I left the zoom after an hour.

The online students seemed to share my surprise at least, and I am grateful to them. They kept me grounded and reminded me that I matter and should have the same respect as everyone else in the room, zoom or not. They talk to me about not being heard and their chats not being read during class. It bothered me, too. The next week I brought it up to her in the form of making sure the zoom students were heard and she quickly dismissed it, like it was a puff of smoke. The students online now ask me questions directly and I relay them. It’s met with annoyance by the director.

They have voices too.

One of the scariest moments of my life was last week- I wore my ‘disability rights are human rights’ shirt to school. (Okay, maybe not scary to some, but it very much was for me.) After class, one of the students came to me and asked if I could help him find a way for his grandfather to get a seat at the concert, as he was disabled and he didn’t know how to proceed.

It filled me with joy to help him, and it filled me with rage when the teachers asked if his grandpa could just get out of the wheelchair instead.

My overall conclusion to all of these things is that people simply don’t understand, or don’t want to because it makes their lives harder.

Is discrimination and ignorance really easier than respecting people?

I’m not sure if this is all just one big complaint essay. I guess it is. What I needed to do was write it all out. All the things that make me uneasy or feel like lesser of a person. And I wanted to know why.

I note that at every job I am perceived as a child, or as someone naïve. I am not treated the same as another adult employee. I was ostracized for my way of moving and talking. Taken advantage of. My needs were not accommodated.

Even now, I feel guilt for writing this, like I’m just playing the victim for attention or something.

I want to be strong enough to stand up to it and ask to be treated with respect and have it follow through.

I want to unmask myself more and let myself move and talk naturally, and use my real pronouns.

My respect for myself and for others must become a powerful force.

My friends on discord- my real, genuine friends, have become monumental in my life. Most of my life I did not have true friends. Without them and their unconditional love and support, I would not be where I am right now. We are all equals. I want to embody that strong respect and bring it to others.

It’s getting late. 1 a.m. now. Well, I have tomorrow. Plenty of time for Star Trek.

[chilling-seavey]

Lucy and Christian ft. jealous Penelope ~T

Penelope stood in the kitchen silently, staring across the house to the living room where Lucy and Christian were going over her lines for her elementary school play. Lucy was only twelve but had snagged the lead female role in the musical Oliver! which often was given to eight graders. Of course, Lucy needed all the help she could get to live up to the past standards of the previous years’ older leads so Christmas break allowed her for ample time picking Christian’s brain from his few years studying acting in college.

This meant Penelope was stuck watching from the sidelines as her favourite uncle whom she barely got to see more than once a year, was busy with her little sister. She was leaned forward against the island, waiting for the kettle to finish boiling for her hot chocolate, lips pursed as she watched the two of them rehearse.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you, Nell.” Clementine chuckled from behind her, following her gaze into the living room as she dried one of the pots from dinner by hand.

“Her little sister is spending too much time with her husband.” Tyler tisked playfully.

“Ugh, he’s not my husband.” Penelope glared at him over her shoulder.

“You did get married.” Anna reminded her, pushing the soaking wet lid of the pot into her hands to get her to help dry.  

“It was pretend. I was four.” Penelope mumbled.

“There’s no incestuous relationships in this family, thank you very much.” Clementine said through a laugh.

“Ugh. Gross.” Penelope smacked her with the tea towel.

Over in the living room, Lucy was stood on the coffee table in her socks, script in one hand and her other held to her head, “Monks bought a locket from Mr. Bumble. That locket was the last hope of anyone saving Oliver. Monks dumped it in the river. Then Fagin could feel safe doing whatever he wanted with Oliver, since no one would ever know who he was.”

“Cue the tears!” Christian instructed.

Lucy let out the fakest sob ever, enough to make both of them laugh.

“I need to re-do that.” she laughed, taking a second to regain herself before offering a more believable cry, reaching out to grab onto his arm “Monks stood by the offer he had made. He wanted Fagin to turn Oliver into a thief. Monks wanted the pleasure of seeing Oliver in jail, or on the gallows!”

“Fagin agreed? I can't believe anyone could be so evil.” Christian read from his own copy of the script, clinging onto Lucy in her despairing state as if to keep her upright.

“Chi-Chi.”

Lucy and Christian looked over to Penelope standing a few steps away.

“What’s up, Nell?”

“Can we go out to read by the fire soon? You said we could tonight.”

“Sure thing, pumpkin. Just gonna finish up here and I’ll be right out. You start the fire, okay?” Christian smiled.

Penelope grinned and nodded and rushed out the back door with two mugs of hot chocolate in hand.

Christian turned back to Lucy, “Where were we?”

They kept up their little rehearsal for a while longer even as Tyler left for home and Anna and Clementine headed downstairs to watch a movie together, and soon one more scene turned into most of them.

Lucy had a knack for acting and Christian was living for it, at only twelve her passion was fiery and she honestly didn’t need much instruction as she pointed a finger right into his chest, “Listen to what I say. I risk my life to say it! But better my life than the boy's. He has some hope of a better life. I have none.”

Christian spoke gently, “But you're so young!”

Lucy turned away dramatically from him, lowering her voice to a reminiscent tone, “Young in years, but old in every other way. Too old to change.” She shook it off into a more confident status, “But enough about me. I must tell you about Oliver while there is still time to save him!”

They were interrupted by the front door opening as Daniel and Florence and his parents came back from their dinner out, “We’re back!”

Lucy shouted her greeting, rushing over to hug her parents and grandparents hello with excitement about all they had practiced, but Christian’s eyes went wide and he pulled out his phone to check the time. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since he had promised Penelope he would read with her and he excused himself quickly before tossing his script onto the couch and slipped on his shoes to rush outside.

The fire was still crackling across the backyard and Christian trudged through the snow to the firepit. Penelope was sat under a thick blanket, nearly half asleep, two still-filled mugs of hot chocolate sitting cold on the arms of the outdoor sofa. Christian sighed sadly before sitting beside her and she was still awake enough to stir easily, blinking her eyes open to look at him.

“Hey.” he whispered.

“Hi.” she mumbled, sitting up straighter and kept her focus on the crackling fire.

“I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.” Christian shuffled under the blanket with her.

Penelope sniffled, “You said we could read tonight.”

“I know I did. It was a really shitty thing of me to do; to not follow through on that and that’s my bad. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Lucy’s more exciting than me anyway.” Penelope shrugged.

“Hey. That’s not true.” Christian tisked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and she curled into him habitually. “You’re just as amazing to spend time with.”

“No, I’m not. I’m quiet and shy and boring. You would much rather be loud and annoying with her…doing fun things with my stupid baby sister.”

“Oh my gosh, Penelope. Don’t say that.” Christian sighed. “Lucy may be younger and louder and need my advice on acting but that doesn’t mean I love her more than you. You know I love reading with you and when we can talk for hours out here about one scene.”

“Yeah?” Penelope looked up at him with worry in her eyes.

“Of course.” Christian nodded. “We are married after all, remember? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Oh, shut up.” Penelope groaned with annoyance through her light laughter, pushing herself away from him slightly.

“My dad was a pastor. That ceremony was totally legitimate.” Christian shrugged.

“I bet.” Penelope scoffed, cracking a small smile.

Christian squished her cheek a little, right over her dimple, “You got my face, you know? It’s hard to forget about you.”

“But you did tonight.” Penelope protested lightly.

“I did not! I was just…delayed.”

“Delayed in the head.” Penelope smacked him in the face with a handful of snow.

Christian gaped at her, “Penelope Magnolia Seavey!”

“I’m allowed to say that! I have the autistic pass!” Penelope laughed, jumping up to rush back off towards the house with the blanket dragging behind her. Christian managed to hit her with a snowball before she even reached the porch which turned into a quick snowball fight in the dark backyard.

Lucy opened the sliding back door to see what all the noise was about, earning her a bombardment of snow thrown at her, half landing inside the house, “Guys!” she shrieked.

“Christian John!” Keri shouted from inside. “There is now snow on my good wood floors!”

“See what happens when you’re the quiet one? You’re the perfect angel and don’t get in trouble.” Christian grumbled lightheartedly to Penelope who grinned up at him sweetly.

[dmitri-smerdyakov]

The Fantastic Beasts Franchise and JK Rowling

Alright, so...hi everyone.

I don’t know how many people follow this blog anymore because my main blog of operation is now @alwaysahiccupandastrid - I still try to keep this blog relatively active though, just because it was my original blog, I’ve had it since I was 13, and I have so many memories attached to it.

I’m aware that a lot of the people who follow me, especially since late 2016, do so because a) I was a loud and proud Fantastic Beasts fan, b) I wrote some Newtina and Jakweenie fic, and c)...I don’t know. I literally don’t know why people bother following me anywhere because I don’t feel like I have a lot to say. But, anyway, many people probably follow me due to Fantastic Beasts and my posts/fanfics within the fandom.

Those who follow my active blog will already know my feelings and thoughts, but because of the fact many things about this blog - me, the posts for the last four-ish years, the url itself - are Beasts related, I felt it was necessary to come and write an actual post here instead of just reblogging things and calling it a day. I’ve always been very outspoken online, but I’ve been avoiding a certain topic of conversation on this blog for years now, and I’m finally in a place where we can discuss it.

I am, of course, talking about the hot topic that is JK Rowling.

Back in the days between FBAWTFT and FBTCOG, I was a very outspoken defender of JK Rowling and her decision to defend Johnny Depp’s inclusion in the films. Now, this is something I still stand by to this day, and due to the evidence that has since come out, I’m even more steadfast in the opinion that keeping Depp was a great decision. I am fully in support of him and the way he’s currently battling against his abuser. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about right now. As I was saying, back in the day, I was outspoken about the opinion that “we don’t know the full story” etc., and as a result I received very colourful anon messages. Now, to my knowledge, none of these were about JKR being a TERF/transphone, but I think it’s important to mention that at the time I scoffed at the idea she could be one. I openly admit that I didn’t listen to what other people - including actual trans individuals - were saying about JKR and her transphobia because I frankly didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to admit that the person who wrote something that saved my life could be so hateful and a bad person - that, and at the time I passed it all off as “wokeness out of control”.

It is now 2020. Up until last Saturday night, I was still in support of JK Rowling - I didn’t agree with some of the stuff she had said, but I was trying to be positive and have hope by telling myself that she didn’t mean to be transphobic, that she just didn’t know what she was doing was wrong, even though the evidence clearly showed otherwise (I.e. her liking transphobic / radfem tweets). I said to my followers on my Beasts page that instead of cancelling people outright, we should be attempting to educate them instead, and if they choose not to learn then fine. And, being 100% obvious, I didn’t want to admit it because I frankly already was feeling annoyed at two different Beasts cast members for different reasons: Ezra Miller (for choking a girl) and Dan Fogler (for his tweet about BLM - admittedly that was probably him being well intentioned but not saying it right). So yeah, I didn’t want to cancel another member of the Beasts “family”.

I had JKR’s tweets on notifications, and for the most part over the last few weeks, it was all about the Ickabog. However, on Saturday night I noticed that she had suddenly tweeted something completely different, and I looked at it. Given that I had adamantly defended her and said “freedom of speech” for so long, it’s telling that my first thought upon seeing her tweet was literally “for fuck sake, Jo, why”.

I won’t post her tweets here but to sum that first tweet up, it was her being annoyed over the term “people who menstruate” being used in an article instead of “woman”, and mockingly saying “there used to be a word for that” before pretending she didn’t know the word. She knew that tweeting it would start arguments and anger, and yet she still made the decision to do so. Her follow up tweets frankly dug the hole deeper; she tried to defend herself by saying, to sum it up, “I have a butch lesbian friend who agrees with me” “I just care about women’s rights!” And “IF trans people were marginalised I’d march with you!” (“If”, of course, being the real kicker here because what do you mean IF. They ARE. Every DAY.)

Since then, JKR has written an essay on her website defending herself and her opinions, and yes, I read it. I read it a few times, in fact. At first, I felt my anger simmer and felt I had been too hasty to make anti JKR jokes, that I was wrong...but then I read it again properly and realised that what she had written was a piece that turned herself into the victim, and that despite putting on the appearance of her saying she supports trans people, including the phrases “I support trans people” and “of course trans women are real women”, she still spewed much transphobic vitriol and hate. She cited no sources for any of her proclamations or statements about statistics, implied that trans men transition to escape their “womanhood”, that trans women are men in dresses, that trans women are dangerous to “real” women (aka cis women) and shouldn’t be allowed into women’s changing rooms or toilets. There was also the autism comment, and the implication of autistic girls somehow not being able to make decisions or whatever.

I’m going to get straight to the point: I don’t support JK Rowling or her radical feminism.

As someone who is a proud feminist (libfem?), I can honestly say that never have I felt threatened or like I was being silenced by the inclusion of trans women in feminist spaces or conversation. Never. In my second year at sixth form, I was in charge of the LGBTQ+ club until a new leader with better leadership skills could step in, and - put simply - that year, the club was made almost entirely of first year transgender students. Even though I had called myself a trans ally for years, I realised there was a lot I didn’t know, and I learnt quite a lot from these students. I continue to still learn today. They were some of the nicest and most intelligent people I got the chance to meet, and I can truly say that at no point was I ever worried to be in a room alone with a trans woman, nor was I concerned about which bathroom they went in - bathrooms are bathrooms. Speaking of bathrooms...when I was at uni during a particularly tense rehearsal a few weeks before our final show last year, a guy in our group made me cry and I ran to the women’s bathroom to escape. Not only did the other girls come to comfort me, but you know what? The guy came in and apologised profusely to me. Did any of us girls give a shit about having a guy in our toilet? Absolutely not. It’s a fucking toilet. And, on that note, I was never worried about a trans woman or even a cis man attacking me in the toilets. You know who DID attack me in the toilets regularly? Other cisgender women.

As a feminist, I fully support trans women and am not threatened by the inclusion of trans women in women’s spaces or in women’s rights discussions. While I agree that cis women and trans women inevitably go through different struggles, at the end of the day, we all identify as women and are women. I think that if your feminism is so threatened by the existence of trans women - TERFs, RadFems, JKR, looking at you - then your feminism is flimsy and not feminism at all.

As a woman, I find it highly offensive that JKR and many RadFems focus so much of womanhood and feminism on an involuntary biological function that, frankly, many of us would rather do without. Yeah, I’m talking about periods - no matter how proud I am to be a woman, I still fucking hate periods and would get rid of mine if I could without erasing my chance of having kids someday. I can hear the RadFems accusing me of “internalised woman hatred” for saying I hate my periods, but you know what, they suck and they hurt and fuck them. The fact that JKR (also the the radfem movement) reduced “women” to just people who menstruate and can have children, and vice versa, is incredibly offensive and misogynistic. For a start, trans men menstruate, intersex people can, non binary can etc. Next, not even ALL cis women have periods - women who are menopausal, young women who haven’t started puberty yet (some do start very late), some women don’t have regular cycles, some women have medical problems that affect their cycle, some women are on birth control that can stop their cycles. So the idea of women being defined as “those who menstruate” is offensive not only to trans/intersex/non binary individuals but also to cis ones too.

As I write this, I’m a 22 year old woman who is still learning and changing every day, and one of the things that I’ve found myself thinking about recently - especially since we’re in lockdown and we have nothing BUT time to think - is about myself and my identity as a woman. What prompted this was when I saw Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s beloved book, “Little Women”, which I’ve since read, for my birthday back in January, and I left the cinema feeling exalted and powerful with my own identity as a woman. (I’ll be returning to LW in a bit)

After some thinking, I’ve realised some things. For me, my identity as a woman is not just because once a month my uterus decides to shed; I do not identify as a woman just because I have certain physical features. I am not a particularly feminine person either, and I’m what some may call a “tomboy” (a phrase I actually don’t mind but I know a lot of people do for understandable reasons since it’s a phrase designed to differentiate people who don’t conform to society’s expectations etc) because I prefer video games and more geeky stuff to shopping or dressing up or make up.

For me, there is no one way a person has to be or appear in order to identify as a woman. Women are beautiful, complex human beings; we are not defined by our genitalia, by an involuntary biological process. Women are strong, intelligent, and interesting people - no two are the same. For example, some decide to raise families, some choose to pursue a career, some do both - all of these are valid and none are more “feminist” or “womanly” than the others, because it’s our as women. I guarantee that if you lined up every single woman in the world - cis AND trans - no two would be the exact same.

I mentioned “Little Women” earlier, and as I was pondering over what makes me identify as a “woman”, I thought a lot about a certain quote from the 2019 film that has stayed with me since it was first said in the release of the trailer. It’s spoken by Jo March to her mother, and I’ve started to understand what for me makes me a woman.

For me, being a woman is all of this: having minds, hearts, souls, ambition, talent, and being beautiful each in our own ways. Women are capable of love and empathy, capable of desire, capable of the most complex and human feelings and emotions, and coming out the stronger for it.

Sex is one thing; gender identity is another.

I won’t dissect every single thing JKR wrote in her essay, but I will just say this: her comments regarding autistic girls are extremely tone deaf and she does not speak for those with autism. I’m going to be honest and admit something here I haven’t before: I have not been diagnosed with autism or aspergers but I AM currently on the waiting list to see someone who COULD diagnose me. Apparently I show signs of a potential diagnosis, so...we’ll have to see. But I have friends who are autistic, and they’re disgusted by JKR trying to use them to support her TERF arguments. Autistic and other neurodivergent people are absolutely capable of making decisions and are NOT people who need to be babied or have their hands held, to be told who they are. It’s incredibly ableist of JK Rowling frankly.

I would also like to point out... I’ve seen people saying “but she doesn’t hate autistic people, Newt is autistic!!!” - yes, but JKR didn’t write him as autistic. Eddie Redmayne chose to play Newt as autistic - JK Rowling didn’t do shit.

It’s also time that I acknowledge that both Potter and Beasts inevitably hold JKR’s problematic views, and that by denying her ownership of her work, we’re not holding her accountable for the horrible things she’s done. This includes - but is not limited to -:

Anti-Semitic stereotypes in the goblins

Lycanthropy being used as a metaphor for AIDS - an illness that is heavily associated to the gay community, and also there was the panic of the AIDs crisis in the 90s where much misinformation and homophobia was generated and spread because of it.

Adding further to the lycanthropy point, one of the infected individuals - Greyback - is stated to have a sick preference for infecting children. Not only are werewolves tied to harmful gay/AIDs stereotypes, but also to the disgusting and frankly wrong notion that gay people are pedophiles.

The only Asian character is called Cho Chang. Cho Chang. That’s two steps away from outright just calling her “Ching Chong”. It’s not a name an actual Asian person would have.

The Goldstein sisters are probably distantly related to Anthony Goldstein, who JKR confirmed (on Twitter of course) is Jewish, meaning that Tina and Queenie are most likely Jewish too (and Goldstein is a Jewish surname). However, despite the fact that the first FBaWTFT is set DURING Hanukkah in 1926, there’s zero signs of them celebrating or observing it. Maybe that’s more on set design than anything else, but come on - if I, a fanfic writer, can do some research, JK/the crew of a major movie can too!

Adding on from that, gotta love how one of the JEWISH main characters then decides to join the Wizarding world equivalent of Hitler. I already had problems with Queenie’s characterisation in CoG, but that’s the icing on the cake.

POC/Black characters - in both series but since I’m a Beasts blog... Seraphina Picquery, a Black female president serving a term during a MAJOR wizarding world crisis, is severely reduced to have only 3 lines in CoG. Nagini’s only purpose is to be the only friend of Credence, a white man, before he joins Wizard Hitler and abandons her; she’s also an Asian character who we know one day permanently becomes a SNAKE, and who goes on to actually have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of her?? And some do see her as his slave, though you could argue that she’s actually the only being that he holds any love or respect for. Leta Lestrange is a half-black woman who is killed/literally sacrifices herself for TWO WHITE MEN, and who’s death was literally confirmed to have been added in last minute.

Also, the whole Lestrange storyline was fucking nasty: white Lestrange Sr imperius-ed a black woman (Yusuf Kama’s mother), raped her, and she then died in childbirth. I’m sorry, what the fuck??

In Harry Potter, Seamus is a terrible stereotype of an Irish person - he likes to blow things up. Look up the IRA and their bombings. Fucking Irish stereotype. As someone with Irish grandparents and who is proud of their Irish heritage, this really pisses me off.

Let’s not forget the whole Native American cultural appropriation. That truly speaks for itself.

So here is where I speak candidly to everyone who follows me and/or sees this post. While Beasts is no longer my No. 1 fandom these days, it and Potter still hold a huge piece of my heart. I have 5 wizarding world tattoos, so much merchandise, and I can safely say that being a fan of both series has shaped me as a person. Both of those series helped me get through the darkest days of my life, including bullying at school, my Nan passing away, and my mental health struggles.

This is why what’s happened has impacted me so much and broken my heart. For me, it feels like it’s tainted now because of Jo and her views. I know that we should separate the art from the artist, but when her views are so clearly woven into the very fabric of the Wizarding world, it’s a huge problem.

Here’s another part of the dilemma - I do not wish for the Beasts films to be cancelled. I’m well aware that the *cough* people who dislike me will say I’m trying to be negative, trying to boycott the series blah blah blah, but that’s truly the last thing I want. I still love the story, the characters, the soundtrack, and I want to know how it ends, if only for my own piece of mind. It’s also important to add that by boycotting Beasts, it’s also harming the hard working thousands of others who worked on the films: the cast, the crew, the extras, the musicians, etc., not to mention the fans who actually are invested in the series and have taken solace in it. It’s not fair for them to all suffer over the actions of one TERF.

This is one of my biggest worries, however: the Fantastic Beasts films do NOT have a good reputation as it is. The second film was boycotted by some due to Depp, and now there’s talk of people boycotting number 3 because of JK Rowling. Lots of people already talk hatred about it, and this will only fire that hatred up even more.

There’s also talk of Eddie Redmayne potentially being kicked from the franchise due to a “leak” that he doesn’t want to work with JKR anymore, but this could be sensationalist news reporting. But if it came down to it, I can honestly say that I would rather continue to have Eddie play Newt than keep JKR as a writer. Eddie has done more for Newt than even JKR has, and if he goes, then that will be the last straw for me within the fandom. That will be when I take a sharp exit out, sell my FB merch and have my tattoos covered.

To add, the Fantastic Beasts scripts are...not great. Or, at least, what we saw on-screen wasn’t. Maybe that’s David Yates being the literal worst (fuck you, Yates, you suck) and cutting all the parts with strong female characters, but I honestly don’t think that JKR can write screenplays well at all. I think she’s clearly better at writing books, and that’s fine - books obviously allow for more time to explore characters and story/plot arcs etc, and film scripts offer way less of those chances. I don’t think screenplays allow her to write what she needs to in order to tell the story she wants to, hence why CoG was kind of a hot mess. So maybe it’s just that she’s not suited for screenplays and should stick to books.

Honestly, I kind of just wish that WB would hire another person to finish writing the Fantastic Beasts movies - obviously they’d have to keep JKR on board to tell them the actual plot, but get someone who can actually write screenplays and not be problematic to write them.

By now I’ve gone on long enough that I’ve forgotten my original intent while writing this, so I’ll try to sum up and end now. In short, I am extremely disappointed in JK Rowling and do not support her or her views any longer.

I don’t know how any of you guys are feeling but I would be interested to hear other people’s thoughts, especially other Fantastic Beasts fans. I want to also add that, as always, my DMs and inbox are always open - if not here, then always at @alwaysahiccupandastrid where I’m more active nowadays.

Finally, you guys don’t need me - a white cis woman - to tell you this but you’re all valid and magical and fuck JK Rowling. Her characters would all be ashamed of her, and the characters we grew up with would not stand for the bigotry and vile hatred she spreads under the guise of ““protecting women””. Several of the amazing actors from Potter and Beasts have spoken out against her and her tweets: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Bonnie Wright, Katie Leung, Chris Rankin, Eddie Redmayne. Some have been...less inspiring (Tom Felton, Evanna Lynch, looking at you two 👀)

I’m sending love to everyone right now. I wish I could say something more useful but I’ve spoken enough - I’ve made my opinion clear. I love you all, please stay safe.

[punchholesinthesky]

I didn't know you could just be a boy

I was listening to a podcast today, about a girl who stood up to her parents at the tender age of four and told them that she was a girl and that she'd chosen a name. I'm in awe of this little girl being so damn sure of herself. I got super emotional listening to it and it got me thinking about my own childhood. It was NPR’s radio ambulante, the episode called “yo nena”.

I knew I was different from a young age but I didnt know how.

I just felt it. And probably cause I visited a lot of doctors and i guess most kids don't do that?

I learned that my brain was different but not the details. I had some vague notion of being adhd. I would not learn it until much later by googling different developmental disorders and learning about being neurodivergent and autistic.

I would later on go on to learn I was queer too, and though I had read the word genderqueer once and thought it fit, I hadn't given it much thought.

I was assigned female at birth, and though I have never liked it, I thought I was stuck with it, that I just had to make the best of it.

I remember wishing to be a boy so many times. Identifiying with male characters, creating ocs and alter-egos, acting the male parts (it was an all-girls school, someone had to), and begging mum to let me cut my hair short, and being so happy when people thought I was a boy.

I never liked traditionally female things, never had a barbie, hated dresses (there's still a photo of a tiny grumpy me being forced into a dress one of my grandmas gave me) and my school uniform was trousers 99% of the time. The other 1% was like official acts, maybe the first and last day of school, stuff like that. I hated it, but at an all-girls catholic school I had much biggers issues that complaining about wearing a skirt a few days out of the year. I remember the gym uniform being a problem. Not sure what the problem was. Something about tights maybe?

I never felt like a girl. But it wasn't something I could properly explain so when I tried to talk about it, with my parents or friends what they usually got out of it was the usual self-steem issues of any girl. Mum tried to help by helping me choose new clothes, telling me how good I looked. And trying to get me to be more feminine, teaching me about 'girly stuff',

But that wasn't it. I understand it better now .

See, it's not that I have self-steem issues about my appearance. I know I'm conventionally good

looking. And if I gave 1/10 of a fuck I can be a very hot girl. I have photos of pasts attempts to prove it. But it never felt right. It never felt like me.

I can put on a bikini and I'm young, thin, fit, I'll look good. But that doesn't mean I'll like what I see in the mirror. I don't feel uncomfortable because I think the person in the mirror looks bad but because I don't know who that is.

I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Bikinis are uncomfortable by design, meant to exploit feminine bodies and for someone who's already uncomfortable having one? A bloody nightmare.

And there's a lot of understand. Why the hell am I being punished for the crime of having a female body by being constantly uncomfortable ? Why are clothes so terrible? Why is so hard to find something basic and decent? Why are bras the worst?? On and on and on. questions I never got the answer to. So much confusion about girl stuff that every other girl i knew seemed capable of navigating.

For a long time I blamed it on me being weird (ie, neurodivergent)

Like, all my friends started caring about boys, parties, romance, alcohol and drugs.

I'd always struggle in school and one year I got literally left behind.

I struggled with depression. I tried hard to fit in and be like them. I tried to be normal, followed their strange rituals. I let my hair grow out, i went on dates with boys, I drank too much and made out with strangers. I got into trouble. I wore a dress to my graduation and invited a boy I'd been talking to.

It was one of the few times I wore a dress voluntarily. Another one was a christmas dinner. And a new year's party. I also wore a skirt to dress up as kate bishop. That's about all I recall. I did buy a dress to cosplay clara oswald but never did it.

I wonder, what if I had told my parents I was a boy and I wanted to be treated like one before? How would they have reacted ?

Laughed it off probably. As they did when I pretended to be a boy for a game as I often did.

I can't imagine them taking it seriously, even now.

I don't know when I found out trans people existed, or who was the first one I heard about.

But I do know I thought it meant you like hated your body or yourself and wanted to be totally different.

And that didnt fit me. I had never hated myself. I hated how the world treated me. I hated arbitrary rules based on gender.

My scout group was mixed-gender, but we were divided in troops and these were single-gender and divided by age.

But we all learned the same things. Whether it was building a fire, tracking, or cooking, we got the same lessons. Sometimes we competed and we slept/bathed separately.

In TECHO it was all mixed-gender. Well, except bathing, but often we'd shared the same bathroom. We slept, cooked, and worked together.

And nobody ever looked down on girls as 'the weaker sex'

That was cool.

My actual education was the opposite. Academically, it is better for a school to be all-girls, at least for girls. But socially, not so much.

As a teenager, I hadn't quite forgotten how much I wanted to be a boy as a kid, but idk I thought I had left it behind me. That what I craved was freedom, independence, the benefits of being a boy, not actually being one.

Later I would discover terms like 'internalized misogyny' and think that was the problem. Cause I liked Lucy and Arya, not Susan and Sansa.

Yet here I stand, years later. Having done a lot  of work. Recognising the value of Susan and Sansa. Appreciating Peggy Carter, in a gay and feminist way, and still not wanting to be a girl.

It just doesn't fit me. It's not a rejection.

I'm a feminist. I think women are great.

I understand there are many ways to be one.

That I don't have to be feminine to be one.

And yet, it just doesn't feel right.

After I learned of what 'gender dysphoria' was I though, 'oh I can't be trans I don't have that'

And then, I learned about 'gender euphoria'

And that finally opened my eyes

Trying to be a girl always felt like an ill-fitting costume, no matter how hard I tried. Like I was playing a part and didn't know my lines.

I remember cutting my hair short, like kstew, and going WOW upon seeing my reflection.. I looked more like myself than I had in ages.

I bought different clothes. Boy's clothes. I'm too small for men's clothes but I can fit just fine in clothes meant for 12 years old boys.

I cut my hair, put on new clothes, bought tight sport bras, and when I looked in the mirror, I wasn't sure who the person staring back was but I really liked how he looked.

My parents, for ages, tried to get me to 'dress nicer' to 'act like a lady' and so on. I cared enough to shower and put on clean clothes. I bought a lot of nerdy shirts which I at least liked. Did some experiments. Occasionally I'd make an effort but otherwise I was pretty basic. Loose-fitting jeans and hoodies.

Family kept gifting me nicer girly things I'd wear once and often ignored later.

It wasn't till I gave myself permission to truly dress how I wanted, and yes to shop in the boy's/men's section that I started to actually care about how I looked and putting more effort in.

I never thought I could be a boy, because I didn't know that was a thing you could do.

if I had been like that little girl and said 'i'm a boy' I think they'd havebeen at a total loss.

would they have asked my shrink? What would he have said?? It felt as though they were always on my case to be more lady-like but I know that's unfair. They were generally pretty okay with me being a tomboy, at least until puberty. And even then it was never that huge a thing. More of a constant annoying issue. There were many more pressing ones.

It's 2019, and I bet most parents would still be at a loss. There's not exactly a lot of rep or info.

I'm a lot happier with how I look now, but I still haven't found the right words to explain myself to my parents. I know I have to eventually, I want to stop hiding, to be visible, to change my name.

[kavka--esque]

hey everyone, updates!

you might have noticed i have been less active (at least i wanted to be) for the last two weeks while i was doing a game jam (technically the presentations are next monday but we’re done with coding now).

a lot of things actually happened in these two weeks, so i’d like to catch y’all up.

we start the jam. the theme is “pandemic” - not very creative, but we can make do. i go with my dad to ikea, when i come back we have a google doc with ideas. one of them is a text adventure, nonbinary protagonist. i am thinking, i’m going to create some coming out memes since they seem to be accepting. so i make this meme, prepared to throw it into a conversation talking about the protagonist, right?

like a day after starting the jam, we didn’t even have a discord server set up yet. we had a group chat. my jammate (S from now on) sets this discord status - “break is over, they/them pronouns please”. i’m just burning on the inside, i can’t believe this is happening. after like two hours of me unable to think properly, i just dm them the meme. so they go “for real?”, i go “for real”. so now S is going through what i went through in the previous two hours. next thing you know, we’re talking for hours and now they know like everything about me, i know everything about them.

so like i’m officially out to a friend irl.

feeling confident in coming out, i decide to come out to a classmate (let’s call him M) that already knows i am not straight. i have a small list of things i want to ask of him, i go in pretending that i am going to come out to him “accidentally”. he’s accepting, but i don’t get the result i wanted. i don’t ask him to do the things on the small list.

a few days later, i talk with M about school and somehow the conversation turns into me talking about being nonbinary, him asking questions. i ask of him the following: i am still the person i was before, please use they/them pronouns for me, and if you slip up (especially in public) do - not - correct - yourself. so now i’m out to a cishet person, basically my closest friend i meet daily.

me and S get confident - we both came out to other people, so we decide to go further - coming out to the other person we’re doing the game jam with. we decide to send a meme in our discord server’s memes channel - i made this meme after we talked for hours after our mutual coming out:

[left: a multiple hour conversation about queer experience right: špongia, the name of the game jam we both got the profile pictures after we came out to each other.]

the jammate does not react, he posts a meme featuring the bottom format and a similar theme - him getting distracted from the game jam by endless space 2. we decide that is a success and move on.

some time later they send me a screenshot of sending an article about nonbinary identities to a mutual friend. they suggest coming out to him - they are out to him as bi already. so we decide we’re both going to send him a message saying “did you know [the other] is nonbinary?” it goes... okay? he does not get angry or anything, but it’s not ideal.

cut to M sending me an image - a screenshot of some mental health test saying he’s probably autistic. he says the link is in our school discord. i take it, send an even higher score back. to be honest, this does not surprise me - about the both of us. i take an adhd test, also get a positive result. i suggest we both talk to a psychologist. so the next day, i decide to ask my parents to allow me something like that. my parents are surprised - they did not think i was autistic, or had add/adhd but in retrospect, they do not deny the fact that it might be true. they ask me what the point of getting a diagnosis is. i say something about not being stressed over not knowing if i have it or not. i personally hoped for a recurring therapist appointment, but a diagnosis is a good start. i have not been to the psychologist as of posting this.

i’ve had a trans flag in my status for quite a while now, along with the nonbinary flag around my profile picture. i wished more people would talk to me about that, so that i could feel safer around them.

also, i have a name now! i chose the name Paris, which was a name i had once randomly generated for my starbound character back when i was an egg. i talked with S about chosen names, how i could choose one, and this is really the only name which i have ever had a connection with. also it turns out there’s this guy called Paris of Troy and so voila, i have an easy way to decide what the spelling and pronunciation of the name is going to be in slovak.

yeah. so that’s me. ever since all of this, i’m more confident and less depressed. i hope i don’t go back.

i am planning on coming out to my parents this school year. i know that i won’t be able to live at my future college/university because i live too close. so if i want to be happy in the next couple years, i’m going to have to come out. i am stressed, but looking forward to it. ideally, i want to come out before my brother is born, as that will make the entire thing difficult. i have a few months left.

[fuck-customers]

so, i don't technically have a job, but i do volunteer work part time while i wait to graduate and have more time. the place i used to volunteer at moved, so i had to find a new place to go. i ended up signing up to volunteer at a local retirement home, because i like older people and they aren't as scary to talk to with my social anxiety.

initially i wanted to do office work, but they didn't have anything for me, so i settled for helping in the dining area in the evenings. my first actual day of volunteering was a wednesday after school (around 4:30) so i was a little tired, but i was looking forward to volunteering and in a good mood in general. i met with the volunteer director, she showed me around the facility, and then took me to one of the dining areas and left me with the head nurse there, who's basically just the manager of that wing.

now, this is my first day. i don't know anyone here, i don't know everything that needs to happen, i don't know anything that needs to happen. i mean, i have some common sense, i can figure some stuff out, but i need directions. i'm autistic, so i don't do well with just being left to do stuff with no instructions. that's why i wanted to do office work (simple stuff, go file these papers, go get this person, etc), and why i settled for being a dining aide (which is basically just bringing food to people, helping them open packaging or cutting things, refilling drinks, etc. all stuff i can do easily)

HOWEVER, that didn't happen whatsoever. the head nurse is busy when i arrive, so she tells me to sit down and wait for her to finish. that's fine, that's understandable, i have no problem with that. what i do have a problem with, is the way i was treated while i waited. i found a corner in an employee/volunteer area and just sat there, and i got approached by employees no less than four times, asking if i was supposed to be there. i'm not frustrated with the employees, they were just doing their job, and i could've been some teenager visiting a relative that's not where they're supposed to be (although i was wearing my volunteer badge, so most of them saw it as they approached and let me be), but. did the head nurse not tell them there was a new volunteer coming today? this had been scheduled for a week at this point. the volunteer director knew i was coming, and she told the head nurse i was coming and when. so why didn't the head nurse tell any of the employees???

anyways, the head nurse finishes what she was doing, and brings me into the dining area. it's a little bit before they start serving dinner for the residents, so people are setting up and stuff. i'm expecting to shadow someone to see how everything works, or maybe just set tables or deliver food, simple tasks, while i figure everything out. but no.

the head nurse brings a cart over and like. a bunch of plastic cups. she tells me to fill them with water and ice, then go around and give them to the residents. then she walks away.

uh??? i had no clue what i was supposed to do! i didn't know where i was supposed to get the water or ice, didn't know if i was supposed to put them in different cups or not, didn't know how i'm supposed to deliver them (should i just hand them the cups??? just give an old woman a cup full of ice????) i managed to ask one of the people in the kitchen where to find ice and water, and he was really nice and helped me to fill the cups, but i felt really bad because he had other stuff he needed to prepare for the mealtime.

i start going around and offering ice and water to the residents in their rooms, and most of them are either really polite about it, or are asleep so i don't bother them. i had been really anxious because, like i said, i don't deal well with open ended tasks without specific instructions, but i was starting to feel better. most of the nurses clearly knew i was lost, and while some of them kinda scowled at me, a few helped me out.

so i dealt with that, and was kinda on edge because H, but i went back to the dining area to see if i could help. they were serving people at this point, but i couldn't see anything i could help with without getting in the way, so i just stood around awkwardly in the corner.

the head nurse walks in from WHEREVER she was, and is immediately upset at me. she asks why i'm just standing around not doing anything. i kinda tried to explain that i did my best with what she asked me to do, and came back here when i was done. she's like "why aren't you helping out??" and i just. where was i supposed to? i'm not experienced enough to know how to do any of the more nuanced stuff, since it's my first day, and any of the stuff i could help with was already being handled. i would've just gotten in the way had i gone over and tried to help in the kitchen or anything, so i just stood back and watched, trying to pick up on the way things worked.

head nurse did NOT like that answer, but kinda grudgingly brushed me off and told me to follow her. i do, and she just starts. doing things? like reheating food and stuff. i'm watching her, thinking maybe she's showing me how to do something she needs me to do? but she keeps doing it and sorta talks at me a bit, not really explaining what she's doing or what i should be doing. then she starts bustling around and leaves me with the stuff. i started trying to reheat it, assuming that's what she wanted me to do, but she comes back over and tells at me for doing that. i'm. way too overwhelmed at this point, and just. can't handle anything and am on the verge of a meltdown, so i pretended to get a text from my mom, went and signed out, and sat outside for an hour while i waited for my mom to come pick me up, since i wasn't supposed to be done for another hour.

honestly? fuck the head nurse. she didn't prepare anything for me, didn't give me any instructions, and yelled at me when i tried to do something to help!! and like, i am autistic so it was harder for me to deal with than someone else would've but. that's something that'd be hard for anyone in that situation!! i'm 16, i'm still in high school, nd i know that even an adult would have a hard time managing all that shit!!

TL;DR i went to volunteer at a retirement home as a dining aide, and the manager of the wing didn't prepare anything and gave me no instructions despite it being my first day, and despite the fact that i'm 16 and not a trained professional. fuck her.