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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

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I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for.

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia

Pairing: Gen

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch.

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered.

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis.

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label.

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information.

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods.

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised.

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well.

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases.

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps.

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes.

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?”

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case.

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner.

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better.

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully.

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that.

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away.

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air.

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand.

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning.

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important.

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.”

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you.

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it.

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch & spencer #spencer #hotch #my writing #autistic spencer reid #autistic spencer #dad hotch

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andonutty · 3 years ago

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meta post: ocd, mysophobia, and a revelation on my part.

not to mention that a really important part of lili’s backstory is… her germaphobia. she has persistent delusions accompanied by visual hallucinations where she sees people as “parasites”, which visually manifests as them rotting or decomposing. because of that, she wears gloves all the time and is repulsed by physical touch. but when she meets c (whose real name is vincent) in person, she pretty much instantly goes for skin-to-skin contact with him, where she takes off her glove and holds his hand. and like, sure, that’s sweet, but that’s really not how mental illness… works. in the slightest. she doesn’t react at all when his hand touches hers, despite the fact that she has literally had panic attacks in canon from touching things without her gloves. and it gives off this implication that mental illness can be cured with romance somehow, and that’s a really bad take!

this feeds into fandom understanding that like, well, if lilian sees vincent as pure and allows him to touch her, then Obviously she’d let him kiss her, they could probably have sex, etc. and like… she’s canonically asexual though! and that brings us to the other implication, that asexuality is somehow… caused by something. like, there’s nothing in canon to state that lilian experiences sexual attraction (or even really romantic attraction, like i know etherane went off in heaven’s gate and did a lot of ship tease, but she never really outright says she’s crushing on anyone), but judging from the way etherane handled lilian’s gender identity, i have a sneaking suspicion that she established lilian’s asexuality with her mental illnesses specifically in mind. lilian’s autistic, germaphobic, has severe ocd, and she’s been sexually assaulted in the past. therefore, she must be asexual! that’s the sort of vibes i get from the game, and im not here for it.

— me, circa november 2020

the other day, i was writing a crossover ship fic for lilian when i ran into a problem. namely, the Touch Aversion problem. at first glance, the reasoning behind lilian’s touch aversion seems really simple: she hates germs and dirty things, so she wears gloves and washes her hands so frequently that they blister. since she has ocd and mysophobia, it makes sense for her to be obsessive about cleanliness and for her passive skill to be listed as cleaning. she doesn’t touch q84 in canon even in life-threatening situations, except for the very end, because she hates touching people. when anri kissed her, lilian was so grossed out that she imagined anri as a parasite. and when it comes to her taking off her glove and holding vincent’s hand... well,

but upon replaying hello charlotte 3 and doing a little bit of digging with regards to the actual symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder and mysophobia, i realized something. and this “something” was a game-changer.

so let’s start off by defining some things. obsessive-compulsive disorder, shortened to ocd, has several diagnostic criteria, which you can read here if you’d like the full clinical definition. for the sake of length, though, i will only talk about the most important part to take away from the diagnostic criteria.

ocd is not a fear of germs. ocd is not a fear of germs. ocd. is. not. a fucking fear of germs. obsessions may involve cleanliness. compulsions may include wanting areas to be clean. it is entirely possible for ocd to be accompanied by mysophobia, but a fear of germs is not inherent to the diagnosis of ocd. what is inherent to the diagnosis of ocd is a repeated and pervasive series of intrusive thoughts which cause the person with ocd debilitating anxiety or distress, and a set of compulsions that the person with ocd performs in order to mitigate said anxiety. these compulsions do not need to correspond to the actual obsession. a lot of obsessions don’t. for example, your obsession could be around disliking cluttered environments, but your compulsion could be pacing a hallway fourteen times back and forth while mentally reciting the preamble to the american constitution. in some cases, the compulsion is related to the obsession but is generally considered excessive. remember that ocd is not characterized by a need for cleanliness and that it is instead characterized by ritualistic behaviour accompanied by obsessive thought patterns.

i also want to talk about this section in particular, taken from the website linked above:

D. The disturbance is not better explained by the symptoms of another mental disorder (e.g., excessive worries, as in generalized anxiety disorder; preoccupation with appearance, as in body dysmorphic disorder; difficulty discarding or parting with possessions, as in hoarding disorder; [ ... ] ritualized eating behavior, as in eating disorders; [ ... ] thought insertion or delusional preoccupations, as in schizophrenia spectrum and other psychotic disorders; or repetitive patterns of behavior, as in autism spectrum disorder).

Specify if:

With good or fair insight: The individual recognizes that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are definitely or probably not true or that they may or may not be true.

With poor insight: The individual thinks obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are probably true.

With absent insight/delusional beliefs: The individual is completely convinced that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are true.

i want to let the record show that lilian has several of these disorders. while i don’t believe that this disqualifies her from having ocd, i do think it’s important to note that there is comorbidity between these disorders.

i included this section on inslght because i’m going to go into depth why i believe lilian has absent insight/delusional beliefs. but in order to talk about that, we need to figure out just what it is that lilian is obsessively thinking, what it is that’s causing her so much distress. if ocd doesn’t inherently involve a need for cleanliness, then could it be that lilian’s obsessions revolve around her mysophobia? after all, mysophobia is germaphobia, so maybe she’s just scared of germs, and that’s why she’s always washing her hands.

so, let’s talk about mysophobia. it isn’t listed under the dsm v on its own, but it does exist (albeit not by name) under the umbrella term specific phobia disorder. you can look that up yourself, but from the research i’ve done, i can fairly safely say this: mysophobia, more commonly referred to as germaphobia, is not a fear of germs for the sake of fearing germs. it is a fear of being contaminated, sick, or infected, whether it be through other people or through the environment. symptoms of mysophobia include but are not limited to obsessive handwashing, an extreme avoidance of places that are deemed unclean, and excessive planning to avoid contamination. this separates it from ocd in that ocd involves ritualistic behaviours (like handwashing) to ease anxiety, whereas mysophobia involves these ritualistic behaviours to actually make the area cleaner. to summarize, mysophobic actions are directly related to the fear of contracting an illness.

okay, kids, what have we learned?

though ocd can be accompanied by mysophobia, the two of them are not synonymous. ocd is a pattern of obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours designed to ease anxiety surrounding those thoughts.

there are lots of comorbidities present with ocd and other disorders lilian has, such as autism spectrum disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, eating disorders, and psychotic disorders.

mysophobia is more accurately defined as being afraid of being infected or contaminated. mysophobic compulsions relate directly to the desire to eliminate contaminants, rather than being a self-soothing action to reduce anxiety.

now that we’ve laid the groundwork for analyzing lilian’s behaviour, let’s dive into canon. what can we say about lilian’s anxious preoccupations? what excessive planning does she undergo to avoid contact with germs? and, most importantly, why is she perfectly fine with holding vincent’s hand? (it’s still bad writing, but i found an explanation that makes it better)

the most obvious sign of both ocd and mysophobia present in canon is lilian’s intense preoccupation with handwashing. we only see this happen once, in hello charlotte 2.

i’ve removed some sections for the sake of length, but here are some revealing lines from lilian:

My fellow students smashed my head into a worm soup.

I can’t [stop washing my hands]. I’ve washed off [most] of the soup, but I still feel dirtied.

In fact, everything I touch feels contaminated. I can’t just shake off the feeling of disgust.

between ocd and mysophobia, this reaction seems very solidly linked to the latter. lilian’s head was dunked into soup, and she felt disgusted and contaminated, so she began to obsessively wash the soup away. the only other place where handwashing is mentioned is in lilian’s mind exhibition in hello charlotte 3.

in this poem, lilian attributes her handwashing to her ocd, where she writes, “wash and repeat! it’s not enough!” she doesn’t state in this poem if she does this to reduce the possibility of getting sick or if she does this as a compulsive ritual. both interpretations are plausible, given the vague statement “it’s not enough!”. perhaps it’s not enough because she still feels contaminated, or it’s not enough because she has not been rid of the anxiety caused by her intrusive thoughts. maybe it’s a little bit of both.

however, excessive handwashing does not a disorder make. sure, lilian washes her hands until they blister, but why? what is she trying to avoid? in the example in hello charlotte 2, she’s washing off soup. this is a direct response to an uncomfortable situation and not to an anxious preoccupation. in her poem, she offers no hint as to what is causing her so much anxiety that she needs to wash her hands compulsively. and once you start to pick through her behaviour in search of a thread of obsessive thinking, it starts to become clear that there might not be one.

the truth is, lilian’s actions in canon are generally inconsistent given the definitions listed above. her touch aversion is implied to be caused by her mysophobia, but she has no real plan for avoiding touch besides wearing gloves, which she ditches anyway when touching vincent. in heaven’s gate, it’s implied to be more of an aromantic or asexual thing. (i say aromantic because the scene was a little weird about not dividing the line between romantic and sexual attraction, so even though lilian’s canonically asexual, the scene was actually talking about kissing and dating and might have just been a ploy to get nonconsensual kissing in because that’s apparently mandatory in like every game anri appears in.) but that doesn’t make much sense either, considering that platonic and otherwise non-sexual touch is also off-limits.

we return to the intense, excessive and obsessive nature of both ocd and mysophobia. passing fears of contamination or infection don’t classify as mysophobia, and vague and isolated anxieties don’t classify as ocd. the individual has to be intensely preoccupied by these thoughts. however, in canon, lilian is generally not preoccupied with getting sick or dirty until it actually happens to her. her goal in life is to become a doctor, a profession that involves repeated and close contact with infectious diseases. she also takes care of her bedridden mother, which in many cases involves helping the individual with their personal hygiene. her mother is the reason why she wants to become a doctor in the first place, and since anri knows about this dream, it’s fairly safe to assume that this is lilian’s own dream, not scarlett’s. however, in hello charlotte 3, when q84 is wounded, she asks lilian to treat her wounds, and lilian’s response is as follows:

this is further reinforced when q84 is decomposing after having used her wish, and umbrella man states that lilian is fighting the urge to vomit. however, in the infirmary scene, lilian is quite comfortable with being physically close to q84, even when there is a possibility for skin contact. note how charlotte’s hair (which has the possibility of carrying bacteria, skin flakes, etc.) is close to lilian’s face, but how lilian seems quite content, even relaxed.

this is stressful! what is the truth?

on top of that, we know for a fact that, despite being mysophobic, lilian has no issue (at least in hello charlotte 2) with using public bathrooms at school, something that is generally a huge obstacle for people struggling with mysophobia. in true realm, this is never addressed, which lends credence to the idea that she simply doesn’t worry about the transmission of germs in shared spaces like bathrooms, nor is she worried at all about using anri’s smartphone to take blackmail pictures when screens are generally a hotbed of germs. we could say that she makes such liberal use of her gloves that she doesn’t even think about the germs living on them (unlikely), but then she’d likely have a panic attack when she does things like touch her face, which she does in at least one of her sprites.

in fact, the only thought she has about cleanliness in true realm flashbacks is in one of the final ones. she thinks the following: “we lie on the floor for a long time. i briefly wonder if it’s properly vacuumed.” this is, like, a normal thought. i can’t stress enough how normal this thought is and how quickly this thought passes. i cannot stress enough how little she cares about the cleanliness of this floor.

so, like, what gives? why does lilian wear gloves? why does she say she’s squeamish in false realm or want to throw up when holding charlotte? and most importantly, how is she mysophobic when she doesn’t seem to fear germs at all?

the answer fucking blew my mind, folks. are you ready? here it is.

This world is swarming with parasites. Tiny. Invisible. Tenacious. Once they outwit your immune system, they eat you from the inside. Use you as an incubator for their offspring. Control your mind and alter your personality. They keep reproducing, and reproducing, and reproducing, endlessly reproducing. Until every single person is consumed by the disease.

from this excerpt, we can glean the following:

the parasite lilian is describing is a disease that targets the immune system;

the parasite functions by controlling its host like a puppet and altering aspects of their personality, potentially causing them to act in a way that is uncharacteristic; and

the parasite’s goal is to reproduce and to eventually infect everyone in the world.

these are the very first lines in the very first flashback to true realm. an echoing of these very lines are found later, when lilian is saying them to q84. note that, according to etherane, it has been many, many years since these words have first been uttered. but lilian manages to quote them verbatim. given that she can recite these lines perfectly years after her death, it seems that this is a comforting mantra about the world’s truths. and from that, we can gather that repeating this mantra is one of her compulsions, alongside handwashing.

this is it. this is the root of lilian’s mysophobia. these lines accurately explain a pervasive delusion that manifests both in lilian’s thoughts and in her visual hallucinations. more accurately, it is the mantra that describes the “o” in lilian’s ocd and the illness that causes her mysophobia. the parasite is the disease she’s afraid of contracting, and that fear is the intrusive thought that brings her so much anxiety. i tried to compile a list of all the times lilian or someone modelled after her has mentioned contamination, a preoccupation with purity, a parasite, a tumour, rottenness, or anything relating to this core concept, but there was just... so much. the entire world of hello charlotte is based around parasites and mind control. the deus ex machina of this world is a parasite itself. all charlottes have the disease. this world is literally obsessed with the delusion lilian’s held her whole life.

and now that we’ve framed it like that... is it any wonder that this is the obsessive thought? something we’d previously assumed to be a persistent metaphor is actually an intense preoccupation. lilian’s inconsistent actions in canon make sense because she’s not worried about contracting a physical illness, but rather a mental one that’s linked to a persistent delusion of hers. throughout canon, we see no instances of lilian questioning this belief, leading her to be classified as having absent insight/delusional beliefs.

before i continue, i want to mention that the pitfall many hello charlotte fans fall into, and the one i myself have fallen into in the past, is assuming that lilian was always unable to touch others. though she wears gloves throughout the entirety of the true realm flashbacks, she was actually alright with making contact with others up until a specific point in her life. and, interestingly enough, it was not vincent's death that spurred on this change. a full three months pass between his death and the time when lilian's mental health took a nosedive. the critical moment of change involves the very last flashback: 531 days before the trial.

lilian and anri decide to run away together. however, lilian was actually planning a double suicide. upon learning this, anri grows agitated, punching lilian and pinning her down to the floor. it's at this point that lilian realizes anri's feelings for her. after anri kisses her, she becomes a parasite. when lilian gets home, she checks on mother and realizes that mother has become a parasite as well.

from this day onwards, lilian begins to see everyone in her life as a parasite. she says it herself: "That moment I realized. I could never touch a human being ever again." this is the start of her intense touch aversion and marks the beginning of the end of her life. it’s at this point that lilian becomes physically repulsed by everyone around her and the environment she exists in, and these feelings generally persist, albeit on a lesser scale, in false realm.

but what is the parasite? in true realm, the parasite is only described in lilian’s mantra, but there are several nuances to the definition that go unexplained. however, in false realm, parasites take a variety of forms. similarly to how scarlett and umbrella man are reflections of lilian’s inner self that take shape as their own entities within false realm, lilian’s definitions for what a parasite is also breaks off and takes shape into various different forms after her death. when we examine what parasites are in false realm, we can begin to understand what makes someone turn into a physical deformity in lilian’s eyes and why she’s so afraid of the parasite in the first place.

there are three kinds of deformities in false realm. there is the oracle (left), the bullies (upper-right), and the faceless (lower-right). these are not all official terms, but they’ll be the ones that i use going forward.

the oracle is the entity that most closely follows the original logic of the mantra — it is an entity that rapidly multiplies (either through a race like the pythias or organically through cell division as it does in hello charlotte 3) and forms a collective out of several individuals. hello charlotte 2 explains that unification of a civilization is an arduous and painful procedure involving the slow loss of individuality until the race completely submits to the will of the parasitic host. the oracle is, to summarize, an entity that can “control your mind and alter your personality”. the oracle is the only parasite that ever enters another’s body. the other two forms of parasites are never called parasites themselves, but show visible deformities that house tenants and other important characters do not.

the faceless visually signify a lack of importance. these people do not do anything special. in some cases, they appear as a literal amalgamate, showing a hive-mindedness even if they are not being controlled by the oracle. these individuals are usually treated neutrally, and are not generally considered “bad”. they are simply narratively unimportant. by contrast, bullies do have faces, but they are vastly distorted and exhibit bright colouring. i may talk a bit more in a future post about colour symbolism and how it plays into both lilian’s and q84′s mysophobias, but to briefly summarize: the presence of colour is considered a contaminant, whereas white is considered an absence of colour and therefore “pure”. therefore, the brightly-coloured bullies are contaminated. these individuals show corrupted behaviour. they hurt others for personal gain, and are generally considered irredeemable.

in true realm, however, we see no such stylistic distinction. however, though they are not represented visually, the parasites in true realm show the same patterns as the oracle, the bullies, and the faceless.

now that we have determined what the parasite is, we can determine how the parasite spreads. as previously stated, the parasite does not spread through shared surfaces or skin contact, as normal viruses do. lilian herself seems to treat it like it's just chance, like the parasite just chose to infect people randomly. but there are some things that she says that lends credence to the idea that the parasite is discriminate. after all, though her delusional belief is that the parasite will attach itself to any host it comes into contact with, this delusional belief did come from somewhere. and after examining the process of contamination over the course of the two or so years we see of her life, i believe this belief stemmed from her black-and-white views on good and evil and her penchant to see life as a narrative.

the first outcropping of parasites in lilian’s life were likely the faceless. she seems much less perturbed by them, and seem to view them as simply background pieces. this may be because of her belief in “protagonist” characters. in false realm, q84 makes liberal use of the term “npcs”, though all charlottes seem to have a concept of other students being faceless and subservient to them. this is a tenuous connection, but i believe lilian shares a similar belief. she may consider others "narratively unimportant”; that is, lacking direction or initiative, or perhaps simply not making an impact. she prides herself on being an observer, but she is undeniably the self-hating protagonist of her story. she says that if there is an afterlife, she doesn’t want to be its protagonist. this implies that on some level, she’s considered herself the protagonist of her own life. it’s definitely plausible given lilian’s tendency to project negative traits on others for her to see herself as comparatively good or blameless. by placing her own negative traits onto scarlett, for example, lilian creates a shaky ideal self. in other words, she creates a somewhat worthy protagonist.

and worthiness is incredibly important to lilian. a strong recurring theme in hello charlotte is the notion of “goodness”, especially when it relates to being polite. for example, in hello charlotte 1, a door refuses to open for you if you don't say please, and will call you insolent. all charlottes strive to be a “good girl” because their mothers told them to. interestingly enough, this is also what lilith tells lilian in true realm. since all charlottes have this strict adherence to being a good girl, this must have been very impactful for lilian. being considered “good” must have been very important to her. and being considered “bad” must have been similarly devastating.

knowing that charlotte is lilian's self-insert oc makes things even clearer. charlotte embodies an extreme selflessness, wanting to sacrifice herself for the good of others at any cost. any desire she has to be saved is rapidly dismissed as selfish, and she repeatedly states that she doesn't want to be a burden. charlotte's character makes a clear statement: good people are not burdensome. good people have faith in humanity. good people believe in others, and they help others even if the other person doesn’t deserve it.

the delusion is lilian’s failsafe. it’s her way of ensuring that she could never consider herself a bad person or a burden. in creating the narrative of a contagious parasite infecting the world, lilian is protecting herself from personal responsibility, both in herself and in others. instead of maintaining her belief that some people are evil, which she would consider a Bad Belief to have, she believes that they have simply caught a contagious disease. the bad-person disease, if you will. and since that disease alters the mind and personality of its hosts, these people are not directly responsible for their actions. here, lilian is absolved of hating people who hurt others. now, like charlotte, she can simply wish for their recovery. because they aren’t choosing to hurt others. they’re being manipulated into it by an invisible, malicious, contagious puppeteer.

a similar logic is applied to those lilian finds burdensome. since good people, in her eyes, can make themselves a martyr no matter the circumstances, it would be considered very bad if lilian could not do the same. this is evidenced when mother turns into a parasite. in that scene, lilian thinks the following:

It'd be easier if my mom was a workaholic who was never home. It'd be easier if we hated each other. It'd be easier if I didn't remember the days when she was still full of energy. Who would want to admit [to] their parent giving up on life and slowly rotting in the bedroom? Who would admit to thinking of their only parent as a parasitic existence? After that day, nothing was the same anymore.

in this instance, the word “parasite” is used to describe a leech, someone who constantly takes and never gives back. and in using this word to describe them, lilian relegates them in her mind as bullies, because she can’t admit to feeling burdened.

we see this also in anri. it’s not the physical action of the kiss that turns anri into a parasite. it’s the realization that anri has always had ulterior motives, that anri expects something of lilian. and lilian, feeling burdened, projects her own guilt about her lack of reciprocation onto anri. even at the end of her life, when she’s in the ocean, she reveals that one of her greatest regrets is not being able to reciprocate anri’s feelings.

vincent, on the other hand, is a charming stranger. he never gives lilian any reason to suspect that he may have ulterior motives. he’s successful, driven, popular, and talented. in many ways, he’s everything lilian wants to be. and since she doesn’t meet him for a long time, she can imagine him to be simply “the blinding icon on her screen“. she can project anything she wants onto him, and she chooses to project hope onto him. with his politeness, his charm, his compliments, he appears to be the ideal human. like lilian, he has managed to avoid being infected by the parasite. lilian grows attached to this interpretation, just as she grows attached to the mutuality of her friendship with anri, and just as she grows attached to her love for her mother. lilian doesn’t want to think of these people as parasites. in vincent’s case, he dies before he ever gets the chance to burden her. rather, he leaves her with the guilt of not being able to follow him and a misplaced idolatry of him and his beliefs.

the parasite, being a visual representation of perceived evil intent, seems to be non-contagious in nature. this doesn’t change, though, that lilian believes it is contagious. she wants to spend time with people she has deemed good, and to avoid bullies. however, the simple act of feeling burdened is enough to make lilian believe that the parasite is spreading at a breakneck rate and that the world she lives in is becoming more and more contaminated. once she feels she’s lost her support system, the parasite begins to spread, and she begins to feel less and less inherently good. it’s clear that the people around her had a stabilizing effect on her. but once she feels abandoned, her unhealthy coping mechanisms begin to catch up to her. lilian describes herself as filthy by the end of her life, and it’s very likely that she feared becoming a parasite herself if she were to continue down the path she was on.

the last piece of the puzzle is this: what saved anri and mother for so long, and what saved vincent from becoming a parasite altogether? after all, anri is a perfect candidate for developing the parasite, and arguably, so is mother. both of them rely on lilian for different things, and anri actively engages in blackmail. it would be simple as well to see c as disingenuous or fake. but lilian doesn’t entertain any of those thoughts, either for a very long time or at all. why?

the answer is simple. the people that lilian loves are less likely to be infected by the parasite. even if they are infected, she is kinder to them. after anri says she’ll leave lilian, after her confession and her subsequent contamination, lilian lets anri cuddle her. she even hugs anri tightly before they part, and keeps in contact with her until... well, just before she commits suicide. despite the relationship between lilian and her mother being one-sided, lilian holds onto pleasant memories of her mother because she doesn’t want to believe that she could feel burdened. and lilian is so attached to her love for c that she doesn’t see anything wrong with him.

all of this is to say that lilian’s touch aversion does not stem from physical cleanliness, but rather her perception of the other’s purity. this means that she’s not only willing to touch others if she deems them a “good person”, but that she is actively okay with it. this is evidenced even in false realm, where she is alright with exchanging casual moments of intimacy with charlotte and q84, such as in the “take my hand” scene and in the infirmary scene. since she loves these individuals, she sees them as inherently better people than she would if she viewed them objectively. this is a game-changer when it comes to touch-aversion. with respect to the charles/vincent ships where lilian’s okay with kissing... that’s a different story. even though saliva may not trigger her mysophobia, we’ve seen on multiple occasions both in canon and in heaven’s gate that lilian is indifferent to mouth-kissing at best. however, she is definitely comfortable with some displays of physical affection with those she cares for, and is generally willing to excuse much more when it comes to those she loves.

thank you for reading this post in its entirety! i did not expect it to get this long, so if you got to the end, i just want you to know i love and appreciate you SO much

#gif //#body horror //#etc etc. we know this it's hc #hello charlotte.#my metas #another repost from my rp blog bc i think that it's important

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echo-bleu · 4 years ago

Text

jump and hope it’s not a cliff

Summary: Five times Alec and Magnus come out, and one time they come home.

“I’m gay,” he blurts out.

Some part of him still expects it to be earth-shattering, but it’s not. It’s almost nothing, just a word, a single syllable that falls out of his lips easily. It doesn’t suddenly make everything click into place, or scramble his whole being.

It’s just a fact.

Malec, about coming out and pride and supporting each other.

A/N: This is set in the same universe as map out a world and there are a few callbacks, but this should easily stand on its own. Alec is autistic, and everything else is mostly like canon, except that I stretched out the timeline. Part 1 to 3 are set somewhere during season 2, 4 during season 3 and the last two at some point in the future. The title is a quote from Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (thank you Cor for the suggestion).

A huge thank you to the amazing @moonlight-breeze-44 who did a great job betaing this and cheering me on, as well as all the wonderful people in the Malec Discord Server for helping me come up with some of these scenes and being super supportive. This fic was truly a work of love and it's very close to my heart, so it's a little daunting to finally post it!

Warnings: part 5 contains a transphobic character who says very transphobic things. You might want to skip that part if it's a sensitive subject. The rest contains mentions of (mostly past) queerphobia and ableism, but it's all fairly light.

Read on AO3.

Alec can’t remember a specific moment when they came out to each other. He remembers Magnus openly flirting with him — right in front of his siblings, too, and Alec is just embarrassed by how utterly clueless he was, though Magnus seems to think it was adorable — and his own clumsy attempts at flirting back, once he got over his confusion. But he doesn’t remember ever saying “I’m gay.”

He’s not sure he’s ever said it out loud, to anyone, like the word is heavy and draining and it’s something best left half-implied, a whisper of a suspicion rather than a hard fact; despite the evidence. Alec is attracted to men — is attracted to Magnus, really, because besides his mistaken infatuation with Jace, he’s never felt that pull for anyone else — but he doesn’t speak of it. Magnus just seemed to know, just like Izzy did, just like Jace did, or maybe he took a leap of faith and he’s really good at appearing more confident than he actually is.

What he does remember is skimming through Magnus’ Clave file, that day before they went to meet him at his club, and the leap his heart made when he read about Magnus’ well known “proclivities” towards lovers of all genders. It was followed by fear and disgust, because of course the Clave would write this down as proof of Magnus’ untrustworthiness and dangerous behavior. Alec was dangerously close to thinking that way, back then, too terrified of people finding out about him to fully question what he’d been taught to believe. He tucked the information into a corner of his mind, and he’d be hard-pressed to tell if it influenced his first impression of Magnus and how.

They’ve been dating for over two months now, and they’ve never spoken about it. They’ve never spoken about Alec’s very public coming out to the Clave beyond agreeing to a date. They’ve discussed past relationships — or lack thereof — and the political issues that come with a Shadowhunter dating a Downworlder, especially as they’re both prominent figures in the city, but they’ve never spoken of themselves or the couple they form in terms of queerness.

And now, staring at the rainbow cover of the new book in Magnus’ hands, Alec wonders why.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and finishes hanging his jacket on the coat rack as Magnus puts down the book and stands up with a wide smile. They’ve decided on a quiet night in tonight — dinner and a movie — after a week that has been horrendously long for both of them. Unresolved issues are piling up at the Institute, but right now Alec just wants to relax and enjoy his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. He’s still getting used to that. He thought for so long that he could never have any of the things that so many people take for granted, and feeling for someone what he feels for Magnus, having it reciprocated, seemed the most unattainable of them all.

“You seem distracted,” Magnus remarks after a moment of silence in their dinner.

Alec looks up guiltily and stills his fingers, which have been tapping a discreet rhythm on his thigh. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“You,” Alec admits — it’s not a hardship to admit it at all. He spends most of the time that isn’t directly taken up by Institute business thinking about Magnus, in one form or another. He worries, often, that maybe it’s too much, that Magnus is going to find him too intense, but so far Magnus just preens at the attention.

“I’m flattered,” Magnus quips. “Anything specific?”

Alec’s eyes fall on the rainbow book on the coffee table again, across the room. It’s a book about queer history or something similar, something he hasn’t seen Magnus read about before. It’s flashy and mundane and distracting. There’s a strange tug in Alec’s stomach at just seeing a rainbow here, in Magnus’ living space, a fear that shouldn’t be there anymore.

“I’m gay,” he blurts out.

It’s just a fact.

“Okay,” Magnus says slowly, frowning a little like he can tell he’s missing something. “I already knew that, Alexander.”

Alec runs his thumb down the fabric of his jeans and works his jaw. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not sure I did.”

Magnus frowns further, uncomprehending, then his face lights up. “You’ve never actually said it, have you? If you came out at the wedding—” he waves a hand.

“That wasn’t planned, and my parents aren’t exactly interested in talking about it,” Alec says. “I kinda feel like I used you, actually. We weren’t even dating or anything, and there’s a gap between flirting with me and kissing me in front of the entire Institute.”

Magnus shakes his head. “I was surprised, but I’ve never been shy or particularly closeted, if that’s what you mean. And I was definitely hoping that you’d call off the wedding. It was a hell of a way to come out, though.”

“It sure didn’t help my standing with the Clave,” Alec mutters. “Or my relationship with my parents. But I don’t regret it. I regret not really giving you a choice, though. Even if you’re not in the closet, I know the Institute doesn’t represent something positive for you, and publicly being with a Shadowhunter can’t be good for your reputation.”

“My reputation has been through much worse than this,” Magnus reassures him. “But I appreciate your concern. And I promise you I was a willing participant.”

Alec nods in acceptance and eats a few more bites of his risotto. Like everything Magnus conjures, it’s delicious. They eat in silence for a moment, but Alec feels Magnus’ gaze on him, intense but somehow not heavy.

“I’m bisexual,” Magnus finally says. “I’ve used many labels over the years, some whose meaning is very different now, and often no labels at all, but that’s the one I like best.”

Alec carefully commits the information to memory and looks up to meet his eyes, to show that he’s listening.

“Did you always know?” he asks. “Even when you had no words for it?”

Magnus takes a moment to think about it. “I think so,” he answers. “It was always a part of me, like my magic or my eyes. I didn’t always accept it, but I knew.”

Alec nods, feeling like he can’t relate to that certainty. Clarity isn’t something he’s ever had about himself, about anything. Whether it’s about his sexuality, or his aspirations, or even who he is as a person, it’s always been muddled. The identities his parents and the Clave tried to impose on him, Shadowhunter and Lightwood and soldier, have never felt quite right, like he doesn’t fit into the boxes he desperately tries to hide in, but neither have the labels he’s come across since, not really.

“I’m gay,” he murmurs to himself again. He’s not sure it feels right. Maybe he just needs to get used to it, after years of not daring to apply the word to himself. Maybe it’s really just a word, and its power drained out with the need to hide. Alec shakes his head. It’s better than anything else. It’s enough. It has to be, right?

Magnus claps his hands once, making a bowl of popcorn appear on his knees. “Here,” he says. “The real movie night experience.”

He had been horrified to learn that Alec has never done that before. His siblings have sneaked out to go to the movies with their teenage dates, but Alec was always the good son, and the Institute only has one TV in the break room that is certainly not casually watched by the Head of the Institute, which Alec has functionally been since he was sixteen.

Magnus doesn’t count the few classic movies Alec watched on his own on his laptop in the safety of his room as a real movie night experience. Movie night is, by definition, something you do with others.

He passes the bowl of popcorn to Alec, taking a few pieces with his other hand and popping them into his mouth. They’re sitting side by side on the couch in his living room, rearranged for the occasion. Magnus has pushed aside the two armchairs that usually occupy the other side of the coffee table in favor of a huge wide screen TV, which is currently displaying the opening scene of The Fellowship of the Ring.

“Why does it include popcorn?” Alec frowns, taking a few from the bowl and passing it back. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, a fluffy pillow on his lap and his new tangle toy in his hand. He’s very recently started to loosen up around the loft and actually make himself comfortable, rather than constantly staying straight-backed and tense, and Magnus never tires of watching him stim and relax.

Magnus puts his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s tradition, Alexander!”

“Aren’t you way older than the invention of the cinema?”

“Come on, movie night is something you’re supposed to enjoy, not question,” Magnus says. “Shh, I love this bit,” he adds when Gandalf makes his entrance.

Alec huffs and sits back, but there’s a smile on his face, and he’s almost close enough that their thighs touch. Magnus lets him take the first step, knowing that Alec doesn’t always handle touch well, but by the time Frodo sets out of the Shire, Alec has sought out Magnus’ free hand and interlaced it with his own.

He listens amusedly to Magnus commenting on every moment of the movie, marveling at the landscapes and critiquing the largest departures from the books, which Alec hasn’t even read. He doesn’t say anything beyond making some noises at the right places, up until the first sword fights.

“But you can’t hold a sword that way!” he protests. “His posture is all wrong!”

Magnus holds back a laugh. “It’s a movie, darling. Cinematic aestheticism is more important than realism.”

“But this is wrong! How can anyone not see it?”

Magnus keeps it to himself that he definitely didn’t, in spite of his rather extensive training. His martial arts knowledge is very different from Alec’s sword-fighting techniques. “Just relax and let yourself enjoy it,” he says, squeezing Alec’s hand.

By the time they get to the Moria fight, Alec is leaning forward to watch more closely and sputtering. “That’s not how you hold a bow!”

Magnus shrugs. “He looks rather dashing while doing it, so who cares?”

“Who cares? I care! This doesn’t make any sense! Don’t these actors have a modicum of training?”

“I’m sure they do,” Magnus says. Alec’s indignation is rather hilarious, even if it doesn’t let him truly enjoy the movie. His purpose was to show it to Alec, anyway, not to watch it himself. Watching Alec’s reactions is endearing and more fun than the movie itself. “But they’re thinking more about making it look good than realistic. And they’re all really hot doing it, which doesn’t hurt.”

Alec blinks at that and tilts his head. “You think they’re hot?”

Magnus turns his head toward him in surprise. “Don’t you?”

Is Alec jealous? It doesn’t seem to fit with his character, not over such a small thing, but Magnus doesn’t know everything about him yet.

“I don’t know, I guess?” Alec shrugs. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Magnus opens his mouth and closes it. He pauses the movie, and Alec frowns in surprise. “Alec, do you...who do you think is hot?”

“I, uh,” Alec hesitates. “I don’t know. Why is that important?”

“It’s not, necessarily, but most people don’t say ‘I guess’ when asked if someone is hot or sexy. You can have a type, but—” Magnus gestures in frustration, struggling to explain. “It’s something you see right away.”

Alec stares at him for a moment, lost. “I don’t… I’m not sure I understand. I mean, you’re beautiful. You’re hot, I suppose. Them—” he gestures at the TV. “I don’t know them.”

Magnus carefully doesn’t let the ‘I suppose’ hurt — he knows Alec doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. He smiles at the compliment, instead. “So you need to know someone to appreciate their sexiness?” he asks.

Alec takes a moment to think about it. “You’re the only one I’ve really thought of as sexy,” he says slowly. “And even then...it’s not something I’d think unprompted? It’s just not important to me, I suppose.”

“Alexander, are you asexual?” Magnus asks slowly.

For a moment, Alec looks like a fish out of water. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, searching for his words. He’s twisting his stim toy more and more nervously, so Magnus releases his hand to let him stim freely, putting his own hand on Alec’s thigh instead. Alec flinches away, though, so he lets him go.

“I don’t know,” Alec finally says. “Maybe? What if I am?”

“There’s a bunch of different identities under the asexual umbrella,” Magnus says. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

Alec freezes for a second, then squeezes his tangle toy hard in his hand. “Is it a problem? If I’m completely asexual?”

“No, of course not,” Magnus says hurriedly. “You’re wonderful the way you are.”

“Then why is it important?”

“For us?” Magnus checks. Alec nods without looking in his direction. “It just means that we need to talk about boundaries a little more than I’m used to. I want to do that with you, anyway, but maybe we should dig deeper than I anticipated.”

Alec nods tightly. “Okay.” He doesn’t sound like he really believes it.

“Alexander, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but it doesn’t make you lesser, or broken, if you don’t feel attraction to people. It’s just different. Some people are straight, some are gay, or bi, or something else. Some are ace.”

“But I’m gay,” Alec says.

It dawns on Magnus then. Of course, in the homophobic environment Alec grew up in, he would have defined a large part of his identity through his gayness, even before he was fully aware of it. Now that he’s come out, there are likely people at the Institute or even the Clave who only think of him as “the gay one”. Or “the gay one who is shagging a Downworlder,” probably, but Magnus doesn’t want to open that particular can of worms tonight.

“It doesn’t make you any less gay,” he says. “You can be asexual and homoromantic. Or gray-asexual or demisexual and still sexually attracted to men.”

“I think I’m attracted to you,” Alec says quietly. “I mean, sexually. I know I want to kiss you and date you, but I think I also want to have sex with you.” He’s red as a brick wall by the end of his sentence, but he bravely plows through, his voice even quieter. “I don’t think I was sexually attracted to Jace.”

Magnus nods as neutrally as he can. “And other people?”

Alec just shakes his head.

“Even romantically?”

He shakes his head again, his cheeks even redder. He’s started stimming again, so fast that his hands are a blur.

Magnus refrains from telling him that he feels giddy about being so special for Alec, because this isn’t something Alec chose. He doesn’t try to touch him, even though he wants to reach out. “So you’ve only been romantically attracted to people you already knew?”

“I don’t know,” Alec shrugs. “I didn’t really know you?”

“When did you start feeling attraction for me?”

Alec bites his lip, thinking. “I liked that you paid attention to me. No one gives me a second look, usually, unless I’m giving out orders. Jace and Izzy are easier to...approach, I guess. But I didn’t feel like...like you said, losing my breath and all that, until later. The day you said that, actually.”

“So you did know me by then,” Magnus says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Were you attracted to me from the beginning?” Alec asks hesitantly, like he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Yes,” Magnus admits easily. “But attraction isn’t something you have to act on. I liked what I saw as soon as I laid eyes on you, but then I learned to appreciate you. Your personality, your sense of humor, your loyalty to your siblings. That’s not just attraction. That’s falling in love.”

“And asexuals can do that?”

“Some of them can, some of them can’t. Some want to and some don’t. There’s no one-size-fits-all with this.”

“So what am I?”

Magnus takes a breath, trying to figure out what Alec really needs to hear. Does he need a label? Or just reassurance? He decides to go for the option that feels the least patronizing and tries to answer his actual question. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that what you’re describing is demisexuality, and maybe also demi-romanticism. It means you need to know someone, to have an emotional connection to them, before you feel attraction. But you could also say that you’re gray-ace and gray-romantic, since you don’t experience attraction often or in the same way as most people, but you do have some attraction.”

Alec nods throughout, his eyes boring a hole into the TV he’s staring at with intense focus. Magnus can even see him mouth some of the words, trying them out. “I think that sounds right,” he says slowly. “I don’t know, I need to think about it more, but it’s a start.”

“You don’t need to settle on a label tonight,” Magnus tells him.

Alec swallows. “No, I know, but...you deserve to know. Even if you’re amazingly tolerant, you deserve to know what you’re getting into.”

Magnus closes his eyes briefly. “No, Alexander,” he says, pained. “Your identities are yours and yours alone, and you don’t need to put words on them for me. I’m not being tolerant; I love you for who you are, and anyone who can’t accept you, all of you, doesn’t deserve the time of the day. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Alec breathes out through his nose and stills his hands for long enough to look in Magnus’ direction. “Okay,” he murmurs with a tiny smile. He reaches out and takes Magnus’ hand in his. “I love you too.”

“Mister Bane, please refrain from interrupting me in the future.”

Magnus sighs. The meeting has been going on forever, and the President of the Spiral Council, a warlock older than himself but disliked by nearly the entire community, is being downright insulting by refusing to call him by his rightful title of High Warlock. He feels the usual prickle of his skin at the address, at the way she insists on the Mister.

“My apologies,” he relents, all energy to argue drained out of him. He’s been fighting her on this matter — a change in the interrogation protocols for the warlocks captured by Valentine, ultimately a waste of resources — for three hours, and he’s done. He glares at the assembled warlocks around the table, who all agree with him but don’t have the guts to speak up. Why does he always have to do all the work?

He sits through the rest of the meeting without saying a word, resolutely ignoring the constant taunts from the President. She’s not worth his time. Not if no one will back him up.

Magnus is tired and more than a little upset when he makes it back to his loft. Minor inconveniences are piling up to make today one of the worst days of work he’s had in awhile. At least Alec will be here tonight, on his night off from patrol.

Magnus magically summons the few bills that have been left in his mundane mailbox downstairs at the same time as he takes off his jacket and haphazardly throws it on the floor of his bedroom. His heart constricts a little more at the sight of the address, Mister Magnus Bane. He doesn’t want to deal with this today, but he can’t seem to escape it.

He banishes the bills and changes his outfit to a silk robe with a snap of his fingers. There, better. At least now he’s comfortable.

Sighing, he sits down at his makeup console. He looks at himself critically for a moment. He went overboard with the makeup this morning, and the heavy, dark eyeshadow that he thought made him look mysterious now just seems to carve in his eye sockets, and he looks gaunt instead. He makes it disappear, leaving only the light eyeliner lines.

He woke up with a strong need to shave off his goatee, along with most of the hair on his body. He goes through one of these phases every now and then. He would usually do it straight away, but this time, he hesitated. What will Alec think, if he comes over tonight and finds Magnus smooth-skinned, not only his face but also his chest and legs?

Sure, Magnus could technically magic back the hair as soon as Alec gets here, but it doesn’t feel right.

“Everything okay?”

Magnus starts and almost falls off of his chair in surprise. Alec is standing at the door of his bedroom, in his socks. In his distraction, Magnus somehow missed him passing his wards, coming through the front door and removing his shoes.

“Fine,” he says. “Just a frustrating day. But you’re here now.”

Alec smiles. “I am. We can just chill out in bed, if you’re tired.”

“What about dinner?”

“I could do dinner in bed,” Alec shrugs. “I’ve been on my feet all day and most of last night. If I had my way, I wouldn’t move from bed for at least two days.”

“I could arrange that,” Magnus quips. He knows Alec would never go for it — for all that he says that, he’ll still be up at six on the dot tomorrow and unable to go back to bed. So Magnus has to take advantage of him while he’s here.

Snapping his fingers, he conjures a tray filled with Chinese food from a take-out place he knows Alec likes. “Dinner in bed it is,” he says.

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite man,” Alec smiles.

Magnus flinches. An actual, full-body flinch. He tries to cover it up by standing up, but Alec immediately spreads his arms to show his harmlessness, hunching over like he’s trying to make himself shorter. “I said something wrong,” he says.

“No, it’s fine, Alexander,” Magnus waves his hand, annoyed at himself.

“Please, Magnus. I can see it. You don’t have to tell me, but it would be better so I don’t do it again.”

“It’s just…” Magnus trails off, hesitating. He’s been putting off coming out to Alec, and he doesn’t know why. Or rather, he does know, but his fears are barely rational. Alec has taken him in stride so far, barely batting an eye, even at Magnus’ more extravagant habits. He had a truly amazing reaction to seeing Magnus’ warlock mark. So why would this be any different?

No, Alec won’t react badly. But if Magnus comes out now, it will become a thing. They’ll have to talk about it, explain, like every time he tells someone, and it will be weird for days. Magnus is tired. Tired of not being able to be who he is without everyone else forcing him into boxes he doesn’t fit in.

He’s tired and he doesn’t want to explain, but he also wants Alec to know. He wants him to know why words that seem perfectly normal and safe to Alec sometimes feel like a knife to Magnus’ back. He wants to be able to make jokes about his gender and have them understood. He wants to wake up next to Alec and know that his partner knows and respects him for who he is, fully.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not a man. I’m nonbinary.”

Alec doesn’t move. His eyes widen a little, but he doesn’t turn away from Magnus, keeping his gaze somewhere around Magnus’ mouth as usual. Magnus can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to decide what to answer with.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I don’t...I think I know what the word means, but I don’t know a lot about it. Do you want to tell me what it means to you or do you want me to research it first?” His gaze trails toward the bookshelf Magnus has put together of books on queer theory.

Magnus gapes, because this is so far from any reaction he expected that it didn’t even come to his mind as an option. “I—” he stammers. “I will tell you, but I’m too tired tonight. And maybe you could...read a couple things first? Would that be okay?”

“That’s why I offered,” Alec says, with a relieved smile.

“You’re amazing, Alexander. You know that?”

Alec grins, with that tiny frown that says he wants to refute it but knows Magnus won’t hear of it if he does. He still can’t take a compliment — he can’t, Magnus has come to learn, think of himself positively without remembering every time he’s been put down and belittled by the people who should have lifted him up. Magnus just pats his shoulder. “How about we go to bed? Tomorrow, we can talk.”

Alec nods, and Magnus realizes that he’s looking forward to it, to telling Alec about himself.

When Magnus wakes up the next morning, which is their day off — Magnus has adapted his own schedule to match Alec’s whenever possible — Alec isn’t in bed next to him. Magnus finds him in the main room, sitting crossed-legged in an armchair with his laptop on his lap, a full breakfast ready on the table. He’s obviously been up for a while, if he’s had time to prepare all that on top of his morning run and stretching routine.

“Hey,” he gives Magnus a wide smile.

“Did I oversleep?” Magnus asks. He’s definitely less of an early-riser than Alec, who tends to wake up with the sun whenever he hasn’t been on the night shift, but he’s usually awake by the time Alec comes back from his run.

“There’s no such thing on a day off, but I think you were tired,” Alec answers. “I’ve been up for three hours.”

“Oh my,” Magnus murmurs, checking the time with a wave of his hand. To his relief — and amusement — it’s only eight-thirty, definitely not that late by his standards. “What have you done with all this time?”

“Research,” Alec waves to the books on the coffee table in front of him, which Magnus only now notices. They’re from his LGBT+ book collection, and definitely his top choices for learning about gender identities. “I’m learning a lot.”

“Let me shower and we can talk about it,” Magnus decides, his body tensing with excitement and a touch of apprehension.

“Breakfast is ready when you are,” Alec smiles reassuringly.

He’s just serving coffee when Magnus comes out of the shower. Magnus hasn’t bothered to get dressed or do his makeup yet, avoiding his mirrors — which isn’t the easiest feat in his bathroom, which has no less than two full-length mirrors beside the one above the sink — because he’s not sure what he wants to look like today. His goatee still itches on his chin, but he needs to get a feel for Alec’s reaction before he goes ahead and shaves it.

He forbids himself from pulling at his facial hair and grabs his mug of coffee instead, hissing when it nearly burns his hand. “Hey, you okay?” Alec asks, his voice quiet and concerned.

“I’m fine, Alexander,” Magnus makes himself smile. There’s no reason for this to go badly. Last night, even though Alec didn’t know much, was already affirming and relieving.

The concern is always there, especially given the culture Alec comes from, but Magnus has seen Alec fight hard against his own racism and internalized homophobia, and more recently his internalized ableism — and Alec is someone who doesn’t relent until he makes things right. Especially when he’s the one who made mistakes. It’s going to be okay.

“Tell me what you need,” Alec says, meeting his eyes — something he only does when he wants to show Magnus his support, explicitly and deliberately.

“Ask me?” Magnus tries. He hates feeling this vulnerable. “Ask me whatever questions you have, without beating around the bush.” Don’t make it awkward and painful, please.

“Alright, I can do that,” Alec smiles softly, and Magnus melts a little, like every time Alec looks at him like that. He takes a sip of his coffee. “So, I’ve read that there are a lot of different nonbinary identities. Do you use any of those labels for yourself? If you want to tell me.”

Magnus swallows in gratefulness. “I don’t, not really,” he replies. “Most of those labels are very recent, and they don’t really match with how I’ve learned to think about myself. Even nonbinary doesn’t feel exactly right, even if I fit the definition. But I use it because it’s rare for me to feel part of a community, of a group of people who share that with me.”

Alec nods thoughtfully. “I think I can relate with that,” he says. “The community thing, I mean. I’ve never actually thought about my gender, not beyond where it relates to my sexuality, but I guess not needing to think about it is a good sign that I’m cis.”

“Probably,” Magnus shrugs. “Does it feel strange for you? Realizing that you’re not really dating a man?”

Alec takes the time to think about it, though he never completely looks away. “No,” he says finally. “I won’t lie, maybe a few months ago it would have, because...I fought against my own gayness so much that when I finally accepted it, I needed it to be clear-cut. But I don’t feel like that anymore. If I learned something about identities and labels, it’s that they shouldn’t be boxes where you have to cut off parts of yourself to fit inside. I love you. I’m gay. You’re nonbinary. Those don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Magnus needs a few long seconds before he remembers how to breathe. “They don’t,” he murmurs when he can finally speak again. Alec isn’t usually eloquent, but he has a knack for finding exactly the right words sometimes. And surprising Magnus, every day.

“Yesterday, you reacted when I called you a man,” Alec says slowly. “I’m probably going to slip up a few times until I get used to it, but can you tell me how you want me to speak of you? What words I should use?”

“Yesterday I was irritated and dysphoric,” Magnus replies. “It usually isn’t a problem. I don’t love those words and I’d prefer to avoid them when it’s just us, but socially, I’ve been taken for a man for so long… I can’t say it doesn’t bother me, but I’m not sure I can really imagine anything else. Sure, I’ve had fun glamouring myself into something more feminine, or cultivating an androgynous style at different times, but I’m still...I’m more comfortable being seen as a man than as a woman. Warlocks are sometimes seen as sexless by mortals, like Seelies, because our customs are so different, and I’ve always played with those perceptions.”

“Your name is masculine, right?”

Magnus shrugs. “Yes and no. It uses the masculine marker in Latin, but Latin was a language with grammatical gender. There are masculine words referencing females, and the other way around. And it’s a dead language, anyway. It was dead before I was born. I don’t think of my name as masculine.”

“Then, that’s what’s important,” Alec says. “What about pronouns?”

“I’ve used many different pronouns in many different languages,” Magnus answers. “I’ve always been partial to languages with no gendered pronouns like Turkish, but I really don’t care. He/him pronouns don’t make me feel bad, and I’m used to them.”

“There are languages with no gendered pronouns?” Alec asks, fascinated.

“A number of them,” Magnus says. “We really need to travel more. But to go back to your question, maybe in a few years or decades, I’ll be more comfortable with the new gender-neutral pronouns in English like they/them, but it takes me a while to get used to new things. So he/him is fine for now.”

“Okay,” Alec nods. “What about...we’ve been calling each other boyfriends. Would you rather I use something else?”

Magnus laughs, relief finally washing over him. He was tenser than he realized, and it makes him feel like jelly, suddenly. “No, Alexander. Hearing you calling me your boyfriend is far too endearing to change that. Please keep doing it.”

Alec’s face illuminates with a wide smile. “My nonbinary boyfriend,” he says playfully. “I know we’ve only barely scratched the surface, but is there something else I should know right now?”

Magnus runs a few things through his head, deciding to keep them for later — he’s very curious, and not all that apprehensive anymore, of what Alec’s reaction to him in feminine lingerie might be — and strokes his chin. “Oh,” comes the illumination. “I really want to shave my face right now. It’s been too long since I last did that.”

“Okay,” Alec says. “That’s a gender thing?”

“Sometimes facial hair feels dysphoric,” Magnus replies. “Like today. Sometimes I just want to look different.”

“I love both looks,” Alec says. “I love all of your looks. I love how I never know what you’re going to go for in the morning.”

Magnus starts eating his pancakes, but he decides that he doesn’t want to wait. He conjures a hand mirror in front of his plate and runs his glowing hand over his chin carefully, leaving smooth skin behind. Alec smiles at him over his coffee mug and Magnus smiles back, glancing at his now hairless face in the mirror. That feels better. Maybe he’ll go ahead and wax his legs and his chest as well.

“Of all the days to be called out on patrol—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Alec sighs, trying to appease Magnus’ annoyance by squeezing his hand. It’s Sunday, it’s the middle of the day, he wasn’t expecting a call from the Institute at all. “But the nest is in a busy metro tunnel just below the end of the parade. In a few hours, there’s going to be thousands of people down there, and who knows when the demons might try to attack the trains. And they’re bat demons, so they need my bow.”

The curse—and occasional blessing, if Alec is honest with himself—of being the only archer worth his salt in the New York Institute, is that despite now being the official Head, he’s still needed on the patrol roster. Most Institute Heads retire from the field, the administrative and political work being a full time job, but Alec still goes out with his siblings several times a week, and he usually leads the special teams called to handle demon surges.

Today, he curses that necessity with everything he has. Magnus has been excited about their first Pride together for weeks, and Alec was truly happy to do this with him.

“We were supposed to go to the parade,” Magnus sulks.

“I’m really sorry,” Alec repeats. “Maybe if we handle this fast enough, I can join you part-way through? I’ll do my best.”

Magnus looks at him critically. “No. I’m coming with you.”

“I know the parade is important to you—”

“It’s only important if we go together,” Magnus answers. “If I come with you, it will be faster, and then I can portal us into the procession directly, if there’s still time.”

“Alright,” Alec nods.

The team, larger than usual patrols because of the size of the demon nest, is almost ready when Alec and Magnus make it to the ops center. Alec quickly gets his bow and quiver and straps on his thigh holsters, and moves to signal the go ahead.

“Wait,” Magnus holds him up. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it in style.”

Alec frowns as he waves his hand, releasing a cloud of blue magic onto the two of them. Alec looks down at himself, his eyes gliding over his outfit before he clocks the changes. The lapel of his leather jacket now holds two prominent flag pins, a rainbow one and one with the black, gray, white and purple of the asexual flag. He sees matching pins, significantly larger, on Magnus’ vest, with his own flags. It’s the first time, as far as Alec knows, that Magnus has outwardly worn his nonbinary identity in the Institute, and he feels a swell of pride at the shine in Magnus’ eyes.

“Look at your arrows, sir,” Underhill’s voice comes from over his shoulder.

Alec twists his head to see the fletching of his arrows, usually red, is now brightly colored. Each fletch bears the colors of a different pride flag.

“So we can defeat the demons with pride,” Magnus smirks when Alec looks back at him.

“I like it,” Alec smiles. The mass of bright colors hurts his eyes a little, but the gazes of his teammates on them aren’t full of judgment but of amusement, and that’s a victory in its own right. He runs a hand over the little pins on his lapel.

“Um, sir?” Underhill asks, clearing his throat.

“Yes?” Alec turns to him, but he realizes that Underhill is looking at Magnus and not at him.

He gestures at the pins Magnus is wearing, and Alec can feel Magnus brace himself for a comment. “Could I, uh, have one too?”

Magnus blinks. “Of course,” he recovers quickly. “Rainbow flag?”

“Yeah,” Underhill nods.

Magnus snaps his fingers, and a pin as large as his own appears on Underhill’s chest.

“Thank you!”

Alec is certain he can see his subordinate’s eyes shine.

“Anyone else?” Magnus asks, full of mirth. A few people grumble, including Jace, until a young Shadowhunter takes a step forward.

“Can I have a trans pin?” she asks, her voice only wavering a little.

Alec feels a swell of pride. Kara is one of the youngest recruits, a sixteen year old who’s mostly kept to herself since she transferred to the Institute last winter, because he was the only Head willing to accept her chosen name and pronouns. Her face is set in stubborn determination as she fields her teammates' stares and stands in front of Magnus. Magnus beams at her. “Here you go, darling,” he snaps his fingers again. Kara looks down at the shiny pastel colored pin in reverence, and flashes him a smile.

“Are we ready to go?” Alec asks. He doesn’t want to break the moment, but they really need to move.

Magnus takes a step back and throws out a portal in front of them. “Let’s go kill some demons,” he says.

Alec grabs an aromantic-themed arrow from his quiver, smiling internally at the pun, and nocks it onto his bow string before stepping through the portal.

Alec does his best to pay attention to what Jia is telling him, but he’s not having the best time of it. He’s had a full glass of champagne already and it’s getting to his head a little, and the ambient noise isn’t helping his concentration — in fact, it’s loud enough that his head is pounding and he’s losing track of what’s going on.

And then, there’s Magnus. Alec keeps stealing concerned glances at him, standing across the room in conversation with an older Shadowhunter from the Prague Institute. It’s been at least ten minutes, and every time Alec looks, Magnus is wearing a new accessory.

Alec knows why Magnus elected for a plain look today, for their very first reception since they moved to Alicante. He wanted to avoid dragging attention to him, knowing that many people in attendance are doubtful toward the new High Warlock of Alicante. Tonight marks Alec’s official nomination as Inquisitor, and he wanted to spare Alec a scene.

Alec is starting to suspect that a scene may be unavoidable, and if the reason is what he suspects, then he will wholeheartedly defend Magnus. It started with earrings. Magnus went for a simple dark suit with almost no jewelry beside his wedding ring, but he’s now sporting a very shiny pair of diamond earrings. And a necklace. And a butterfly hair clip that probably costs more than a year of Alec’s now sizable salary.

And now, lipstick. Very obvious, bright red lipstick.

“I’m so sorry,” Alec turns back to Jia, “but I believe my husband needs my help.”

Even though she’s now his direct superior, he doesn’t wait to be dismissed and he strides through the room, his height and his new status meaning that everyone gets out of his way. Izzy catches his eyes briefly, and Alec signals at her to stand by.

By the time he’s made it to his husband’s side, Magnus’ hair has turned into a vibrant rendition of the nonbinary flag, and that’s not a good sign. Alec steps into his field of vision before putting a hand on his arm.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Peachy,” Magnus says through his teeth. “This gentleman right here was just telling me about a very strange sort of demon that possesses young Nephilim men and makes them pretend to be women in order to assault actual women.”

Alec blinks as he takes that in, as well as the poison in Magnus’ tone. He tightens his grip on Magnus’ arm, feeling the stares on them — Magnus’ new hair color is hard to miss.

“Really?” he asks innocently, tilting his head. “I’ve never heard of those demons. I should read up on them, so I can make sure every Institute is fully ready for an invasion. What did you say their classification was, Mr. Svec?”

The man gapes at him. “They’re...uh...I don’t…”

“That’s what I thought,” Alec says icily. “There’s no such thing. You’re Kara’s father, aren’t you?”

“That monster isn’t my son,” Svec spits out.

“No, you’re right. She’s not. She’s your daughter. And she’s absolutely thriving at the New York Institute, by the way. She’s the best fighter in her class. That’s what happens when people accept you for who you are.” Alec deliberately turns his back to the sputtering man and looks at Magnus. “Honey, it’s getting late, we should probably head home,” he says, purposefully speaking louder than he needs to. Magnus is trembling with rage, fighting to rein himself in. “Let me just tell Jia, okay?” he adds in a murmur, just for Magnus.

Magnus closes his eyes and nods. “Get me away from him,” he says.

Alec gently guides him over to Izzy, who immediately takes Magnus’ hand. “Let’s stay out of the crowd,” she says, nodding at Alec that she’ll take care of him.

Alec finds Jia with Aline by the buffet. “I can’t condone this kind of bigotry coming from the Head of an Institute,” he says through his teeth.

“I don’t think he’ll try that twice around you,” Aline chuckles, nodding toward Svec, who is now glaring at them from across the room, clearly ostracized. “He didn’t make any friends tonight.”

“What happened tonight isn’t enough to remove him, but as Inquisitor, you’ll be able to push for someone else to take his place when his contract is up in six months,” Jia says. “I understand your anger, Alec. But we can’t change people in a day.”

Alec remembers, not for the first time since she offered him the job of Inquisitor, that she’s not just the progressivist Consul that the most conservative Nephilim frown at, or the mother of one of his best friends. She’s also the person who once sentenced Clary to death without a second thought. If he wants change, he’ll have to bring it on himself.

He exchanges a look with Aline, thinking of the folder on his new desk, the proposal they might have a chance at getting through now that he’s the Inquisitor. Jia’s right, it won’t be done in a day. But it will happen. Alec will make it happen.

And if at some point in the meantime, he has the opportunity to get rid of a few bigots like Svec, he won’t turn his nose up at it.

“Magnus and I are going home,” he says. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Congratulations on the promotion again,” Jia nods. “I’ll expect you in my office at eight tomorrow.”

“Good night.” Alec has to unclench his fist to shake Jia’s hand, and he realizes just how angry he is. Aline clasps him on the shoulder with an understanding look.

He finds Magnus and Izzy at the door, ready to go. “Can you portal us home?” he asks Magnus as they step outside.

Magnus wordlessly opens a portal and steps through without checking that Alec is following him, a testimony of how unsettled he still is. Alec takes the time to hug Izzy before he goes through. “You were amazing,” she slips him, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he answers. “Thanks for your help.”

Alec comes behind Magnus and embraces him as soon as he’s out of the portal. Magnus took them straight to their bedroom, but he hasn’t moved since, standing there trembling in rage — or in something else.

“I love you,” Alec murmurs over and over in his ear. “All of you.”

After a minute, the shaking subsides, and Alec feels his own anger drain with it. It leaves him tired and out of sorts, his head still ringing with the noise of the reception. He loosens his hold on Magnus and takes one hand off of him to pull off his tie.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus murmurs. “I really wanted to avoid making a scene.”

Alec moves to face him. “Don’t ever apologize for something a bigot caused. It wasn’t you.”

“I tried to just ignore him, but—”

“He was awful,” Alec finishes. “I know.”

“I don’t know why I let him get to me so much,” Magnus sighs.

Alec guides them both to sit down on the bed.

“You love Kara,” he says. “He was saying horrible things.”

Magnus shakes his head. “I didn’t even know that was her father.”

Alec shrugs. “We all get triggered sometimes. He just pushed the wrong buttons.”

Magnus curls up and buries his hands in his still colored hair. “I usually have better control than that,” he says.

“I think I know what happened,” Alec sighs. “You were feeling insecure because you toned down your whole identity for me, in a place where you don’t feel safe. You were already on edge, and probably dysphoric, am I wrong?”

“No,” Magnus mutters. “I hate slacks.”

“Magnus, I don’t want you to change yourself for me, ever,” Alec says. He puts a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, to make sure that he’s really listening. Magnus looks up at him. “I don’t want you to make yourself smaller or more acceptable because you think it will be better for me.”

“I just—” Magnus sighs. “It was your day.”

“We’re not, ever, going to be normal. Not for the Downworld, and definitely not for the Clave. And I don’t want us to be, Magnus. I’ve spent enough time trying to make myself fit into a mold that didn’t fit me. I don’t ever want you to tone yourself done for them.”

“Okay,” Magnus murmurs, his voice fragile. Alec feels a strong pulse of anger at Svec course through him again, seeing Magnus so vulnerable. Magnus isn’t supposed to be vulnerable. Not about this.

Or maybe he’s more insecure about it than Alec realized.

Alec holds him for a while in silence, feeling Magnus’ need to recoup. “How did you know I was feeling dysphoric?” Magnus asks suddenly, after a few minutes.

“I’m starting to recognize it,” Alec shrugs. “Also, you might want to look at a mirror.”

Before he can realize it, Magnus is out of his embrace, staring at a hastily conjured hand mirror. “Fuck,” he mutters, showing Alec that his suspicion was right. Magnus didn’t realize the way his magic responded to his discomfort.

“Did I just come out to the entire Council because I was angry?”

“Uh,” Alec hesitates. “I doubt that many of them know what the colors mean. They’ll just put it down as one of your...eccentricities. Izzy might know, though.”

“That’s why she kept saying she loved me,” Magnus breathes out, running a hand through his colorful hair.

“Should I be jealous?” Alec raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, Alexander. I’ve been thinking of leaving you for Isabelle’s legendary cooking skills.”

Alec makes a face at him, then he reaches out and touches the tip of Magnus’ artfully styled hair where it’s dyed bright yellow. “I like this look on you,” he says. “I mean, I don’t like that you felt so threatened that your magic reacted this way, but I like to see you proud and loud. You’re beautiful.”

Magnus beams at him and relaxes back against Alec’s chest, holding up the mirror to look at the both of them, Alec straight-backed in his serious black suit and Magnus boneless against him, a flurry of colors. Alec wonders, often — especially on days like today — if they could make a more disparate couple, at least in the eyes of the world.

And yet the ways in which they fit together outweigh their differences, every day.

+1.

“I asked you here because I want to show you something,” Alec says when Magnus walks into his office on a Friday afternoon, holding his phone in his hand and looking confused.

Magnus stills at his seriousness. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. The opposite, actually. But it’s important to me, and I thought you’d want to see it.”

Alec takes a thin blue folder from his desk and hands it over to Magnus, a small smile on his lips. Magnus opens it with a frown.

“What is this?” he asks.

“The ruling from the latest Council meeting,” Alec answers. “It came in just this afternoon.”

“The one they asked you to testify in?”

Alec confirms with a nod. He didn’t tell Magnus exactly why he needed to talk at the Council assembly, but it’s a common enough occurrence that Magnus didn’t think much of it. To Alec, though, it was a moment he’s waited for for a long time.

He watches Magnus skim the first lines of the ruling, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is that what I think it is?” Magnus asks, glancing up at him.

Alec’s fingers find his wedding ring and start spinning it. “Depends what you’re thinking,” he shrugs, trying to look unconcerned. He probably shouldn’t be anxious about Magnus’ reaction, but he is. “It’s the first part of a set of amendments to Clave law that I’ve been pushing for since before I was named Inquisitor. Aline and I presented them to the Council last month, and they’ve just been voted.”

“You and Aline,” Magnus says pensively. “‘Amendments concerning the inclusion of members of the LGBTQUIA+ community,’” he reads out loud. “You did this?”

“Full marriage equality regardless of gender, including for mixed-species couples,” Alec recites. “Automatic acceptance of name and gender change requests if related to transition. Recognition of the existence of genders outside the binary.”

Magnus gasps in surprise. Alec nods to confirm the truth of it. It’s one of the things the Council fought back the most on, and he pushed hard to get it to pass. It goes beyond even mundane progress in every country he’s looked up, but it was too important to let go.

“Anti-discrimination policies,” he continues. “And this one might affect us directly someday: equal rights to adoption and the use of surrogates.”

Magnus’ eyes light up briefly, though he doesn’t immediately comment. Alec wrings his hands and rambles on nervously. “We didn’t manage to get the legalization of polyamorous marriages, but we’ll keep working on it. We’re preparing a second proposal on Downworlder inclusion, but that one will probably make amendments to the Accords necessary, and that will take a lot more time.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says in a low voice. Alec almost keeps going, too nervous to stop, but there’s something almost dangerous in Magnus’ gaze.

“Yes?”

“You did all this?”

“Not on my own,” Alec shakes his head. “Aline wrote up most of the proposal, and we got as many queer Shadowhunters to come testify as possible. There aren’t a lot of trans Nephilim who are out, but it was important, especially since most of the people on the Council have little knowledge of these issues. Aline being Jia’s daughter probably helped a lot, and our wedding made a lot of noise around here.”

“No,” Magnus catches his wrist. “You did all this and you didn’t tell me anything? Not once?”

Alec deflates. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure it would go anywhere at first, and I know Clave politics can be a touchy subject for you. And then when we finally got the hearing, I kind of wanted to keep it a surprise? I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it didn’t work.”

He doesn’t understand Magnus’ reaction, or rather his lack of reaction. He’s been absurdly happy ever since Aline came by his office earlier this afternoon to bring him the ruling, and he thought Magnus would share his mood once he found out. But he seems pensive instead, like this doesn’t interest him all that much.

“What about you, Alexander?” he asks. “What if it hadn’t worked?”

“We would have kept trying,” Alec shrugs. “Like the last four times we submitted the proposal.”

Magnus blinks. “Four times?”

“The first time, it didn’t even make it past Jia’s office. She’s supportive, but it was shortly after she was elected, and she couldn’t afford the waves it would make when there were still so many Circle supporters around.” Alec consciously stops himself from talking and stills his hands, clasping them behind his back. “Magnus—”

“Yes?” Magnus prompts him.

“Are you angry I didn’t tell you?”

Magnus’ eyes widen in surprise. “No, Alexander, of course not. I’m just—overwhelmed, I suppose. I’m sorry I made you think that.”

“Then what is it? I thought you’d like it.”

Magnus looks away, biting his lip. “I do,” he says. “I—what you’ve accomplished is incredible. It’s going to change—everything—for some people, and that’s amazing. And I know that you didn’t do it for me, but—”

“You’ll be able to get the gender mentioned on your Idris ID changed or removed,” Alec finishes for him. “And anything else you want. I did do it for you, Magnus. Not just you, but for you, too.”

“I’m not a Shadowhunter,” Magnus says.

“You live here, now. This will apply to every Downworlder in Idris, too.”

Magnus works his jaw. “I’m having a hard time processing it,” he admits. “It’s been so long that—to be able to have my whole identity recognized, in Idris of all places—it’s almost impossible to believe.”

Alec’s tension relaxes almost on its own. “You can take your time,” he smiles. “It will still be here tomorrow, and the day after. Are you...mad that I didn’t include you in the process?”

“Why didn’t you?” Magnus frowns.

“I figured you had other things on your mind, with all the work you’re doing to get more Downworlders to move here. And it felt like...like something we should achieve on our own, somehow? I don’t know if that makes sense. Aline and I discussed asking you for advice several times, but we felt like it should be our project.”

“It does make sense,” Magnus nods. “This isn’t just about changing the law. You’re trying to change the culture, your culture, and I’ll never be a part of that. I understand.”

“I don’t want you to feel excluded,” Alec says immediately.

“I don’t. I’m amazed at what you’ve achieved. And if the next step is a rewrite of the Accords, then I’ll back you every step of the way, and push for those changes in the Downworld communities too.” He reaches out to stroke Alec’s cheek tenderly. “I love you, Alexander. You still surprise me every day, and I love you so much for it.”

Alec feels his heart speed up at the declaration, a wave of warmth and love coursing through him, reaching for Magnus. He opens his arms, and Magnus comes to nestle his face in Alec’s neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you too,” Alec says. “It would mean everything to me if we can take this next step in tandem. Change the world together.”

Magnus moves to beam up at him. “You’re incredible, Alexander. You know that?”

“You keep telling me,” Alec smiles, leaning in to kiss him.

As they pull apart again, he can’t help admiring the way the light hits Magnus’ face just right, highlighting the golden sparkles in his blue eyeshadow. Magnus has made it a point to wear warlock blue everyday since they moved to Alicante, but today it’s subdued, down to just his makeup and a discreet sapphire bracelet. He tilts his head, and the light makes his eyes glow.

“When you said the amendment about adoption could affect us, did you mean it?” he asks.

Alec bites his lip. “I know we’ve only talked about children in a very abstract way, but—is that something you’d want?” he asks in a smaller voice than he’d like.

“I’ve never truly wanted it before I met you, but yes, I think I would,” Magnus answers, looking a little awestruck by his own realization.

“It’s not something we need to commit to right now,” Alec reassures him. “But now, if we want to, the Clave will fully recognize any child we adopt as ours, and as a legal resident of Idris.”

“All thanks to you,” Magnus murmurs, tears in his eyes. “Yes, Alexander, I want children with you.”

“Then we’ll start thinking about that,” Alec says with a wide smile. “For now, let’s go home and celebrate properly.”

Magnus laughs wetly and twists his hand to make a portal. “After you,” he says.

Alec grabs his hand and pulls them through together.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #shadowhunters fic #mine #echo's fanfiction #map out a world #autistic alec lightwood #asexual alec lightwood #nonbinary magnus bane #malec discord server #hmdiscord

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knickynoo · 4 years ago

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BTTF Headcanons

As suggested by the wonderful @tsukinikawatteus, I’ve put together some of my headcanons. Honestly, these are going to revolve solely around Doc & Marty, because I don’t really have any developed ones involving other characters.

I’ll hide it under a ‘read more ’ in case it gets too long and ramble-y. Which it will, because this is me we’re talking about.

First, I’ll answer the ones I got in the ask.

- How Doc & Marty met: For this one, I just go by the official Bob Gale answer that Marty was 13 or 14, had heard rumors about the crazy old scientist in town, & snuck into Doc’s lab one day & got caught. The comic series actually shows this event happening, but I tend to dismiss that version because honestly, I don’t like the way it’s handled. (Plus Bob Gale has said that the comics/game/etc can be take it or leave it as considered canon, so yay) Anyway, I imagine a young Marty hearing all these whispers around town about Doc and being curious. Maybe he was looking for danger/adventure in going to investigate, but I also like to think that part of Marty felt sorry for this guy who everyone seemed to look down on. So he made his way over to Doc’s lab to see what the deal was & was initially scared when he got caught. But he saw all the cool experiments and the general chaos & was totally into it. (And btw, in my headcanon, Marty is the one who first refers to him as Doc & establishes it as his “name,” unlike the comic version where Doc tells Marty to call him that?? Def didn’t like that part.)

- When they started to consider each other best friends/what impact did they have on each other’s life: I’d say they considered the other a best friend pretty quickly. Doc was absolutely thrilled to discover that this kid thought he was awesome & was so interested in his work. After spending so much of his life without true connections or relationships, having Marty around really changed Doc’s life. He finally had someone (aside from Einstein) to talk to about all of his experiments and the science behind them.

The same goes for Marty considering Doc a best friend. Seeing as he was growing up in such a dysfunctional environment, with parents who probably weren’t super attentive or close to him, he loved being around Doc. Not only was he treated as an equal, he also had someone to listen to him, which he didn’t get at home. He found encouragement and felt respected around Doc. Plus, my general headcanon is that Marty really doesn’t have other friends & was always kind of an outsider.

Now onto some of my other headcanons....

- As I mentioned above, I don’t see Marty as a guy with many friends. He’s friendly towards a lot of people, but doesn’t have a specific group he belongs to. He really only interacts with his band mates while he’s at practice & it’s more of a business situation than a friendship. Marty gets to practice, runs the show (playing sick guitar riffs) & then just leaves. His band mates serve as a convenient cover story for when he wants to go somewhere with Jennifer, but that’s pretty much it. He has three friends, ok? And one of them is an animal.

- Upon finally settling into the improved ‘85 timeline, once all the time-traveling was over, things were understandably very jarring to Marty. One of the things he found hardest to adjust to was the sudden affection from his parents, namely the good morning hugs & kisses like we see Lorraine give him at the end of the first movie. Marty was previously used to spending the mornings in solitude since his father would already be at work & his mom would sleep in (often because she was still out of it from drinking the night before). The idea of family breakfasts & being greeted so warmly when he woke up, and when he got home from school, was super weird to him at first.

- Marty has ADHD. (this seems to be a very common headcanon, lol). Doc, being the kind of guy who’s interested in a wide variety of topics, came across some research & information on it at some point & instantly recognized the signs in his friend. When Marty came over one day, frustrated after a particularly rough day at school, he sat him down & talked to him about his suspicions. And since Doc was well aware of the lack of potential support (because this is the 80s after all, & SO many people with ADHD just didn’t have resources to get help), he took on the role of giving Marty advice and tips on how he could cope with it.

- Related to above point: Marty found that wearing layers helped keep him calm/feel grounded, hence why our boy rocks the t-shirt/button up/jean jacket/puffy vest look. And honestly, the suspenders might play a role in that too, since they put subtle pressure on part of the chest/shoulders/back. This also explains the leather jacket from part II! Aside from just thinking it looked awesome (and perfectly inconspicuous), Marty liked that it was a thick, weighted material.

-Doc is autistic. As he was diving into the world of research concerning ADHD & other various conditions, he came across a series of studies on Asperger’s syndrome & instantly connected the information with his own childhood and current life. Since he grew up feeling isolated from his peers & like nobody understood him, reading through the studies made him feel like he had found an answer. (A fact nobody asked for: the first study printed in English on Asperger’s syndrome was released in 1981. Yes, I checked to make sure this headcanon would be possible.)

-Doc set up a bed for Marty in the garage partially for the nights they were working late & his friend was too tired to head home, but also because he realized that a lot of the time, Marty simply didn’t want to be at home. Marty got into the habit of sleeping in his clothes so that at any given moment he could head over to Doc’s garage if he needed to. Doc made it clear to him that he was welcome anytime & doesn’t bat an eye when the boy wanders in at night & flops down into the bed.

-For Doc’s birthday, Marty went out & bought him the most colorful, “loudest” Hawaiian shirt he could find. It was sort of a joke, but Doc absolutely loved it.

-On Marty’s birthday, Doc asked him to come over under the guise of needing help with an experiment, but it was really a mini party with the lab decorated with streamers & balloons & cupcakes Doc had gone to pick up. Einstein wore a party hat.

- We all know Doc & Marty eat a lot of Burger King. When they eat it in Doc’s garage, Marty takes pieces of the fries and slips them under the table to Einstein. Doc does not appreciate Marty encouraging Einstein’s begging but the boy can’t resist sharing with the dog.

- Occasionally, when they’re taking a break from working or are just hanging out, Marty takes out his guitar & Doc takes out his saxophone & they jam. Sometimes they play actual songs & other times they create their own. Whenever they try to make up lyrics, it quickly devolves into complete nonsense, usually ending up with the two of them laughing so hard that they can’t even play anymore.

-Marty also sometimes puts on a Huey Lewis tape while the two of them are working. Doc initially wasn’t really into the music, but he eventually found himself singing along to the songs with Marty.

Okay, I need to stop myself because. Wow. If anyone actually reads this thing, I commend you on the effort. Kai, you had no idea what you were unleashing when you sent me that ask the other day.

#this is why i had to start this blog everyone #I was subjecting those around me to this IN REAL LIFE #now i'm subjecting all of you to it in virutal life #back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #michael j fox #doc brown #christopher lloyd #nikki rambles:extreme edition

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pseudoneiiric · 4 years ago

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meta post: ocd, mysophobia, and a revelation on my part.

— me, circa november 2020

i also want to talk about this section in particular, taken from the website linked above:

Specify if:

With good or fair insight: The individual recognizes that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are definitely or probably not true or that they may or may not be true.

With poor insight: The individual thinks obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are probably true.

With absent insight/delusional beliefs: The individual is completely convinced that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are true.

okay, kids, what have we learned?

though ocd can be accompanied by mysophobia, the two of them are not synonymous. ocd is a pattern of obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours designed to ease anxiety surrounding those thoughts.

there are lots of comorbidities present with ocd and other disorders lilian has, such as autism spectrum disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, eating disorders, and psychotic disorders.

the most obvious sign of both ocd and mysophobia present in canon is lilian’s intense preoccupation with handwashing. we only see this happen once, in hello charlotte 2.

i’ve removed some sections for the sake of length, but here are some revealing lines from lilian:

My fellow students smashed my head into a worm soup.

I can’t [stop washing my hands]. I’ve washed off [most] of the soup, but I still feel dirtied.

In fact, everything I touch feels contaminated. I can’t just shake off the feeling of disgust.

this is stressful! what is the truth?

the answer fucking blew my mind, folks. are you ready? here it is.

from this excerpt, we can glean the following:

the parasite lilian is describing is a disease that targets the immune system;

the parasite functions by controlling its host like a puppet and altering aspects of their personality, potentially causing them to act in a way that is uncharacteristic; and

the parasite’s goal is to reproduce and to eventually infect everyone in the world.

thank you for reading this post in its entirety! i did not expect it to get this long, so if you got to the end, i just want you to know i love and appreciate you SO much

#lilian eyler: study.#body horror //#unsanitary //#suicide //#long post //#the way that i still feel like i have more to say #this post got SO long but i care about her so much

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whereconfusionisarhyme · 4 years ago

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Hello, and welcome to my AU! I'm gay, depressed, and autistic so here is something I thought up! I'm gonna give a quick little breakdown of the AU, and then go into characters.

~ This is a Modern AU cause I want them to have like personal smartphones (and set up for a concept I have)

~ Also there is more information about autism available in 2020 than in 200, sooo-

~ Nothing else of the setting changes other than the time period. (I headcanon them to be in Ohio)

~ This is an AU, not a multi-chapter fic

~ It's gonna have a pretty loose canon, with me just adding on headcanons and one-shots as I go

~ It's gonna be tagged on ao3 and Tumblr as "Autistic!Peter AU ~ Az"

~ Because Az is the name I use online lol

Characters

~ Peter is autistic! :)

~ I will be projecting a lot of myself onto Peter (but like, what's new lol), so this is in no way shape, or form everyone's experience with autism

~ Unlike me, he is professionally diagnosed (*cough* cause he's male *cough*)

~ Sorry for the salt there

~ ANYWAYS yeah he's professionally diagnosed with autism, although his parents aren't exactly happy about it :/

~ Other than that he's really not all that different from canon

~ Obviously, autism is different in everyone, so let me just real quick do a speed run of what it looks like in Peter:

~ Peter can mask, but since he got diagnosed before he had to do it for too long, it's not automatic for him. He can choose when to mask and when not to mask and tends not to because of how draining it is

~ During sensory overload he tends to gets super snappy and rude (although he's working on it)

~ Tends to have meltdowns over shutdowns

~ He's pretty outgoing and extroverted, but the autism can make it tiring

~ Only extroverted with friends

~ Strangers are a no-go (me too-)

~ His past special interests have included but are not limited to: tom cruise movies, methods of cooking, baking (different techniques and methods), A Midsummer Night's Dream (during their junior year), and Romeo and Juliet (during their senior year lol)

~ Jason is pretty much the same as in canon, except he gets panic attacks and is also autistic

~ Because, say it with me,

~ p r o j e c t i o n

~ I mean I headcanon that he has panic attacks in cannon anyway so it isn't exclusive to the AU, but

~ Y'know

~ He's pretty ableist in the beginning, but, c'mon say it with me,

~ While they do bad things, all of these characters are simply products of an environment that they had no control over. That being said, they still have the same responsibility as everyone else to be a good person and impact others in a positive way.

~ So he learns to not be a dick

~ Also it's low key internalized

~ He is also autistic, but only figures it out after rooming with Peter for a while since his parents refuse to take him in for any sort of testing or diagnosis

~ Cause there can't POSSIBLY be anything "wrong" with Jason

~ In case you couldn't tell yet, they're kinda ableist

~ Unlike Peter, he's more prone to shutdowns than meltdowns

~ Has spent so long masking by the time he figures it out, so he has to try and de-program himself from masking (me right now-)

~ Very introverted, doesn't really open up to anyone other than Nadia and Peter

~ Being around people exhausts him, but he does it anyway to keep up his image

~ Past special interests include but are not limited to: Fairy Tales, baseball (specifically, the mechanics of the game and different plays), and Romeo and Juliet (he picked it up from Peter, and one of the reasons he was so reluctant to audition was because he was scared people would think he was "a bit too into it")

~ Nadia is her good old cynical and slightly problematic canon self

~ Implied clinical depression, but the situation with diagnosis is the same as Jason's

~ They refuse to take her to a professional setting to have anything serious done

~ Those bitches :)

~ Is the first person (other than Peter) Jason "confesses" to about his suspicion about being autistic

~ Technically the first other than Peter was Father Flynn but Jason was so incredibly cryptic in fear that Father would figure it out that Father didn't actually know what he was trying to say

~ But anyway

~ Actually not anyways because I don't have anything else to type here :/

~ Ivy is the exact same as cannon

~ Nothing changes whatsoever for her or Matt

~ Lucas has adhd

~ His parent(s) (still not sure what I should make his parental situation be) doesn't get him meds for reasons I have not yet decided on

~ So he gets adderall through his own means

~ If you get what I mean ;))))

~ (Disclaimer: don't become a drug dealer just to get adderall for your adhd)

~ (that's a bad idea)

I'm really excited about this AU, and I'm really excited to share it!

@starkidstan @hvvrtfulloflove

#bare a pop opera #bapo #peter simmonds #jason mcconnell #bare: a pop opera #nadia mcconnell #Autistic!Peter AU ~ Az #ivy robinson #matthew lloyd #matt lloyd #lucas carter

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neurodivergentcosmos · 5 years ago

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Wherever You Go, There’s a Forest of Arden (Ch. 1)

I’ve decided to write a Good Omens fic where Aziraphale is an autistic queer guardian angel for Arden, an autistic queer original character! Here is chapter 1 of 2! Chapter 2 is here. Arden paced across their room as they thought about tomorrow morning. Tomorrow I’m going to get a flu shot for the first time & since I’m an adult now no one can tell me what to do with my life anymore. I’m able to do this now. Everything will be fine. But WHAT IF MY AUTISM REGRESSES AFTER THE SHOT AND MY MUM AND THAT DOCTOR WOULD BE RIGHT ALL ALONG?!?!

Arden immediately stopped in their tracks and gripped the arm of their chair. No, stop it, I know that’s wrong, I know what the truth is. I know that what I was taught is wrong. Vaccines don’t cause autism. This is internalized ableism rearing its ugly head. I’m not living under anti-vaccine ideology anymore. BUT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN Damn it! I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thought that today, and if I stay in this room any longer, I won’t be able to stop. Maybe this is a day for going to A.Z. Fell & Co. for a while. Arden threw on their coat and shoes and rushed out the door into the suffocating crowds.

Car horns all blared together in a dissonant screech as if they were trying to be a brass section that was incapable of playing a soft dynamic level and staying on pitch. That on top of the garbled voices of everyone on the sidewalk and thoughts about the shot created a sensory hell specifically designed to remind Arden of how this world isn’t built for them. Arden’s shoulders were hunched over with their hands clasped tightly against their ears. They could normally survive this, but they could already feel the pressure of everything pushing down on to their skull.

Try to think about the bookshop. There is a small trans flag inside on the edge of the window closest to the doorway. It’s the quietest public place I’ve been in…BUT IT COULD BE CLOSED AND THERE WON’T BE ANYWHERE ELSE I CAN GO Stop it! Next to a bookshelf near that window there’s a bin with stim toys including tangles and balls that stretch and squish… IF IT’S CLOSED I’LL HAVE TO FACE THAT I DON’T KNOW ANYONE ELSE WHO HAS GONE THROUGH WHAT I HAVE AND I’M ALONE IN THIS “Ow!” Arden winced from the sudden pain in their shin and looked up at the white column in front of them. Leave it to me to be so lost in sensory overload and anxiety that I walk straight into a column. They leaned to the side slightly past the column to read “A.Z. Fell & Co.” For once, me being clumsy is actually convenient IT WILL BE CLOSED Shut up brain for the love of God! Arden raced up the steps and saw the “Open” sign. Arden breathed a sigh of exhausted relief as they went inside.

Arden made a beeline towards the stim toys bin and rummaged for a tangle. Come on come on oh there we go “Are you alright?” Arden jumped in surprise at the sound of the voice and quickly turned around to find Mr. Fell standing next to them, putting back a well-loved edition of As You Like It on a shelf. Mr. Fell had said hello to them the past two times they’ve visited, but he typically read in a chair near the skylight or paced, watching each customer with suspicion when a book caught their eye. This is new. I don’t remember the last time I was asked if I was alright. “I’m…nnn...” God, I’m losing my ability to speak this is embarrassing I can’t “Oh, you definitely aren’t doing well, please feel free to follow me into this room over here and I can make us hot cocoa if you’d like?” Arden nodded and followed, with a warm feeling within that was very unfamiliar to them. This is a lot, but I think I could be in the right place.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #my fic #autistic aziraphale #autistic original character #arden #cw trauma mention #cw ableism mention #cw anti-vaccine mention #guardian angel aziraphale #as you like it #it's very difficult dealing w/ trauma from anti-vaccine ideology #so im writing this for people like me who're dealing w/ this too #and are looking for community #arden will have the community i struggle to find #and i love shakespeare so much as you like it is such a great play

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sign-from-god-complex · 6 years ago

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You’re so valid. And lucky for you I planned to do exactly nothing on this day so here we go!

Virgil was the first to notice that there was something different about the four of them.

He’d been researching into mental illness/anxiety stuff on tumblr and stumbled upon some posts in the actuallyautistic hashtag that hit a little too close to home, so he looked into it a little bit more and realised, hey, those posts describe them all really well. He was too anxious to say anything though because he was scared he was wrong or that the others would think he was making stuff up.

Then one day Patton had a meltdown—a very rare occurrence that frightened all of them. Logan and Roman hadn’t known it was a meltdown and had mostly just stood there, unsure of what to do. Because of the research he’d been doing though, Virgil knew what to do in order to make things okay a little bit quicker than normal.

At that point, Virgil just couldn't keep it to himself anymore. Plus, he was getting really tired of having to act more neurotypical than he was.

Logan agreed almost as soon as Virgil mentioned his suspicions. He felt like he'd been nearing the point of realising it himself, he just hadn't got there yet, though Logan also quietly worried that he couldn’t be autistic because he was smart and generally articulate. Virgil mostly dispersed those fears by mentioning all the autistic traits he did have—something Virge had been paying a lot more attention to since he realised.

Patton was initially quite confused. He didn’t really know anything about autism, but he was clearly interested in finding out.

Once they’d explained to him the general premise of autism and, more specifically, which of his behaviours seemed to be as a result of it he was ecstatic. It was very much a moment of, "there's a reason I want to do these things?? I'm allowed to do them???" which resulted in Patton doing a little jumpy, stimmy dance thing around the room for a second.

Roman was the only one who refused to accept it at first. He was Creativity! He wasn't supposed to be limited like that by sensory issues or speech difficulties, that's ridiculous!

He didn't deny that the others were autistic, because that would be cruel, but he was very much of the mindset that they were like that and he was different. As a result, he pushed himself far past his limits to prove to the others he was capable until eventually, he ended up experiencing autistic burnout.

(continues under the cut)

Autistic burnout is something Virgil had discovered in his online research.

It was a period of time where you’re more sensitive and your autistic traits are more visible; you might be more prone to meltdowns, shutdowns or sensory overload, you might find it more difficult or nigh impossible to keep up socialising and it can also cause a lack of motivation or lack of executive dysfunction skills (ability to make decisions, be organised, etc.), among other things.

And the top two behaviours it’s caused by are trying to suppress autistic traits/trying to act neurotypical and doing too much all the time, both things Roman were doing.

Virgil knew Roman was setting himself up for autistic burnout but Roman refused to listen to him whenever he told him to slow down, saying that he was perfectly fine, thank you very much, he knew his limits. He didn’t, of course. Virgil could see him slipping further and further down from the point of okay, could see him getting more and more irritable, more and more sensitive and more and more exhausted, though he tried his best to pretend otherwise.

It eventually culminated in Roman just not coming downstairs one morning.

Roman was generally a pretty late riser due to staying up late the night before, though he had been getting up slightly earlier than usual lately. Patton would normally leave a serving of whatever breakfast food he’d made that morning in the microwave for him to heat up later, but Roman’s pancakes had gone cold a long time ago and Patton was worried.

Virge had briefed Patton on the whole autistic burnout thing and Patton had done a little research of his own, so armed with that, Patton headed off to Roman’s room. He didn’t necessarily want to disturb him since solitude was good for helping with burnout, but he feared that if one of them didn’t talk to him about the way he’d been acting nothing was going to change.

When Patton pushed open the door to Roman’s room, he was greeted by Roman laying on his back on the bed. For a moment Patton worried that Roman was just asleep and Patton had been concerned about nothing, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness Patton could see that Roman was indeed awake.

Patton whispered his name, trying to quietly alert Roman of his presence but Roman gave no indication that he’d heard. Patton then approached the bed and sat cross-legged on the other side, looking over at Roman. He still didn’t react. Patton screwed up his face for a moment before landing on an idea—something grounding, but not overwhelming. Patton started to hum.

He started with, “Someday My Prince Will Come” and ran through the Disney anthology as best as he could remember it. He got through about 5 or 6 songs before Roman turned to him and signed, “Are you just going to sit there all day?”

To which Patton replied, “Maybe. If I feel like I need to.”

He didn’t question the use of the sign language. They’d learnt it ages ago as they realised even before they understood that they were autistic that Virgil sometimes didn’t feel up to talking. More commonly outside of Virgil, it was used when the others wanted to be quiet, like if someone was sleeping. Patton knew this was an example of the former though and he understood; talking was hard sometimes.

Patton paused his humming for the moment though, since he now had Roman’s attention, and instead quietly whispered, “Roman, if you carry on like this you’re going to drive yourself into the ground—even more so than you already have. I know you want to be ‘normal’, but you have to understand that we don’t get to pick and choose what we’re like. This is our normal. And you have to take care of yourself with that in mind, okay? We’re here for you.”

Roman’s eyes were a little bit wet as he nodded. Patton thought it was best not to mention anything though, just in case he got self-conscious.

“Alright,” Patton continued, “Then I think there might be a Disney marathon downstairs with your name on it.”

Roman’s eyes lit up slightly at the mention of Disney. Patton remembered Virgil talking about special interests, and although he’d spoken about it in the context of Logan and astronomy, Patton had a very strong feeling that Disney was a special interest for Roman. It was part of the reason he’d chosen the songs he had—he’d wanted something comforting and familiar to bring Roman back to the present.

Patton climbed off the bed and headed for the door, Roman trailing after him, blanket wrapped around him like a cape. Before they left the room, though, Patton spun around, turning his gaze to the floor to avoid too much uncomfortable eye contact.

“Roman, I want you to know that while we’re down there, you don’t have to act as anything other than who you are, you know that right?” Patton said softly. “You’re safe here; we love you and we only want you to be okay.”

Roman paused for a moment before nodding again.

Patton then opened his arms for a hug, but also clarifying that Roman was allowed to say no. He didn’t say no, though. Instead, Roman dropped his blanket and dove his way into Patton’s arms, clinging tightly and burying his face into Patton’s shoulder. Patton responded in kind and began to rock them gently side to side.

The hug lasted about 20 seconds—maybe an inappropriate amount of time for anyone else, but a perfect amount of time for them—before Roman picked his blanket back up and they headed downstairs.

Virgil at first was slightly taken aback by Roman’s signed hello as opposed to his usual sung good mornings, but as he sat through the Disney marathon with the two of them he realised what had probably gone on.

Roman was quiet, but occasionally Virgil looked over to see him stimming, which was exactly what he'd been wanting him to do. He assumed Patton must have talked to him about some stuff, and Virgil made a note to not suppress any of his autistic behaviours when around Roman, to show him that it was all okay.

Patton was so relieved the following days to see Roman more carefree and genuinely happy, not just going back to the way he’d been before. It was definitely a journey where they were all gonna have some high points and some low points, but having Roman okay with his place on this ride made all the difference.

Logan claimed that he barely noticed a change. Roman sung in the corridors pretty much the same amount before and after the two of them had had their talk, so what was really the consequence?

Secretly though, Logan was pleased that Roman was more comfortable with himself. It didn’t sit right with him to know that Roman was actively disregarding self-care in favour of seeming neurotypical, especially when there was no need to do so.

And Roman learnt some new things about being autistic. He learnt about stimming and special interests. He learnt about the explanations and sense of community being autistic brought him. He learnt that he’s okay with this new normal. And though that need to push himself past his limits doesn’t go away, he at least knows what his limits are more clearly now. And he has the others to help him recognise when he’s gone too far and to help him get back on track.

#this was not where I was expecting this to go #but also #I've been wanting to write something like this since I wrote the second set of hcs #I almost turned it into a proper fanfic but I'm so not able to write good today #I tried believe me #sanders sides #sanders sides headcanon #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #not a lot of logan in this one #that's weird for me #autistic sides #sanders sides fic #lo can write

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thoughtsafter8 · 5 years ago

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Mental Health Awareness

Isn’t May Mental Health Awareness month? I think it is. I’m too lazy to google it. Unfortunately for me, mental health month is every month because *surprise* I suffer from several mental illnesses. I don’t really like to talk about the true depths of these illnesses, however, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hide the grittiest details of my poor brain. Just a couple weeks ago I had to leave work because I began to suffer a panic attack induced by exhaustion, dehydration, and a med imbalance that had happened because I did that fun depression thing where I feel good for a minute, so I think I don’t need to follow up with my doctor. Anyway, I thought maybe it would help if I just, you know, put it all out there. Maybe some of you guys feel this way. Maybe I truly am the hot mess I think I am and should be snapped into the looney bin. Either way, I think it may take a load off.

So, again, a little about me (the abridged and most current version). I am a 34 (how in the hell?) year old infant teacher’s assistant, student of early childhood education and intervention, mom, and wife. My son has autism and adhd, my husband has had 3 heart attacks in three years, and my daughter is currently treading the waters of gender/sexuality while coming to terms with her own autistic tendencies and the fact that she is a teenager. I decided at the age of 32 to go to college on a wing and a prayer directly after my husband’s first heart attack and suffering the trauma of losing the home we had lived and raised our family in for 10 years. We were, for a short time, homeless. We currently live in public housing and I couldn’t be more grateful in that regard.

Fortunately, our financial situation began to line out earlier this year as my husband’s long-awaited disability hearing was approved. Nearly 3 years of counting pennies, skipping meals, and taking hand outs later I could go to bed without worrying whether I could stretch those 3 chicken breasts in the fridge across 4 days and dreading the summers because I could not fathom how we were going to feed the kids without the help of their school meals. This was a grand old time for my depression because on top of all the worry and the guilt I had the aforementioned responsibility of working my very first job and pinning down 5 classes each through those first few semesters. And that sort of sets the stage for where we are now.

Below I will discuss my diagnoses individually. Yes, they are separate and yes, they are all interwoven. It’s all complicated to discuss and explain, but I’ll do my best.

Clinical Depression: While I only got this diagnosis about 8 years ago, I am certain that I have suffered from depression my entire life. I’ve had life long self esteem and inferiority issues and difficulty with concentration, focus, and relationships, specifically friendships. I’ve maintained thoughts of unworthiness, worthlessness, and guilt, as if I am a burden on those around me. That I cry too much or am too sensitive. I am quite sensitive. A close friend once told me that I am an empath, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes I do think it’s a bad thing. I’m hard on myself and will judge myself worse and before anyone else. This is specifically hard to deal with within my family as I have had to take the mantle of advocate for everyone. I’ve spoken at length of the struggles I face getting help for my kids and my husband, trudging through IEP meetings, and calling out people who use words like “retard” and “fag”. I have been forced so far out of my comfort zone that if I allow the depression even the slightest crack it will flood in. I’ve gotten better at this fight, but I still lose sometimes.

Anxiety: This one hasn’t been with me as long as the depression but started once we began to realize something was up with Gunner. Instead of fully recovering from trauma and moving on I love to internalize it. I think I put on a good face most of the time, but it has gotten so bad that even now, with everything that we have gotten through and managed to come out the other side, I do not trust it. I wake every day, not with a smile, but with a suspicion that today will be the day that everything I’ve worked for will come crashing down. My husband will fall sick again, something will happen to one of the kids at school, I’ll lose my job, have a car wreck on the way there, get a phone call that a loved one died or is sick. This sometimes manifests in OCD type behaviors. For example, I wake several times a night to make sure each member of my family is breathing. I have to see their chests rise and fall at least 5 times. I never let my kids wake Jeremy or come in to the house first after outings because I don’t want them to be the ones who find Jeremy dead. I worry. I worry so, so much. Sometimes I spiral and bite my nails until they bleed. For many years I suffered from dermatilomania, a body focused repetitive behavior aligned with self-harm where you basically pick at your skin or scabs to relieve internal tensions. This should be in a category of its own, but as I currently am not suffering from derma, I’ll let it go.

Imposter Syndrome: This is the newest one. And while it is not an actual diagnosis, I had no clue that there was even a word for the feelings that I began having once I started achieving personal successes. I am killing it at school and will graduate soon with an associate degree and 3 state certifications in early childcare and direction. Soon after I’ll begin pursuing a bachelor’s and managed to score a job in my desired field after just one semester in the program at a highly sought-after day care in my area. These are all good things! Amazing accomplishments some one like me should be proud of and own. It’s not that easy though. I’ve touched on this in a previous post, I think. It’s just so hard to see myself as a productive, professional type person. I bounce between feeling as if I don’t deserve my success and feeling crushing guilt at pursuing something that takes so much of my time away from my family, who still very much need me around. I am aware that a lot of people feel this way but combined with everything else I have going on upstairs, it makes it particularly difficult to overcome.

General Fear: Another not-actual-diagnosis, but something that goes hand in hand with the anxiety section of our tour is fear. Soul draining, insomnia inducing, heart breaking fear. Death is a biggy in this department. I fear for Jeremy, my mom, my grandma. Jeremy’s bad heart, my mom because, well, I don’t know what I would do without my mom, and my grandma because she is dealing with so many health issues. These three are the gates and cornerstone holding up my feeble mental fortress and if one of them is removed, everything will come down with them. I don’t really have any friends, so my family is supremely important and dear to me and I am constantly afraid of losing one of them. I also fear for my kids. The unending questions that come along with a kid/kids with special needs or circumstances. Will either of them ever be truly independent? Will Gunner be able to live alone, get a job, hold relationships, drive a car, get married? Will Daphne discover her truth? And in carrying that truth, will the world treat her with kindness? With her friends accept her decision? Am I prepared to deal with all this, god forbid, alone? The fear of doing *all this* by myself is maddening. I’ve never just been Brittany in my entire adult life. I’ve always been one half of a team. Surviving under different circumstances is something that, for over a decade, I never even contemplated. Now it’s every day life and that is terrifying.

With all this being said, and for those of you who don’t know me very well, this doesn’t mean that I’m sitting here hanging by a thread. I am still productive and love my school and work and family. This is all inside and as things have gotten harder to deal with I have come to the realization that I need the help of a professional. For several years I have relied on the help of different medications (currently I take Wellbutrin, Zoloft, and Vistaril. You can research these if you want) but I think it’s the right time for me to seek additional help. As of today, the referral has been submitted and now we wait. I hope to keep things documented through this blog both as documentation and anecdotes to share and as a means of measuring progress (or lack there of) and I hope some of you might share the journey with me. Thanks for listening/reading 😊

#mental health #mental disorder #positive mental attitude #anxious #anxitey #imposter syndrome #face my fears #fear #autism momlife #mom #momlife #lgbtq #teacher #movingon #therapy #student #studentteaching #strong

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im-here-for-hereditary-blog · 6 years ago

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I guess I’ll post my writing here

Hereditary fanfic I guess.

This is also on Ao3.

Short summary, Peter just gets a chance to bond with Charlie a little. This features my headcanon that Charlie is Autistic so uhh, yeah.

A Little Different

Peter flicked off the television and sighed. There was nothing good on TV and he wasn’t particularly interested in the news. He could hear the familiar sounds of his mother making dinner in the kitchen, and he decided to get up and see what she was making. He could smell the food cooking, whatever it was.

“Hey Mom.” He greeted her casually. She put something back in the fridge.

“Peter, go get your sister will you? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yeah, will do.” He nodded and headed outside. He expected Charlie to be in her treehouse, since he hadn’t heard any “clucking” in the house.

His little sister was definitely...weird. It was plain to see that, but she was still his sister. He honestly got along with her well, even if she didn’t talk all that much, she was a great listener. The air was somewhat muggy as he stepped outside, but it was still slightly better than inside the house.

“Charlie!” He hollered as he approached the tree house. No response. Considering the fact that he was still bored, he decided to go get her directly, and started climbing up the wooden ladder. He hadn’t been inside of the treehouse in a while.

“Hey Charr...” He called out gently as he looked around the room. He thought he heard something like a sob, which directed his attention to the corner she was in. She sat up, while also inching away.

“What?” She responded quickly and flatly. Her eyes looked a bit Red, and she wiped them quickly with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie.

Concerned, Peter pulled himself completely into the treehouse.

“Whoa, were you crying?”

“No.”

He sat diagonally from her, his feet dangling from the entryway. He gave her a small smile, with a tilt of his head, still a little unsure of what to say.

“Uhh...you sure?” He prodded, hoping she would maybe tell him more.

“I’m fine.”

Awkward silence.

“What are you doing here Peter...” she asked quietly.

“Ehh, mom’s almost done with dinner, that’s all.” He mumbled, looking to the corner. A stack of papers had caught his eye. Charlie had moved onto the lone wooden square in the treehouse, the only thing in the room that was kinda like a chair. She looked at Peter intently.

“These yours?” He asked, but reached over to grab them on impulse. Charlie’s face slightly showed concern, but she didn’t move from her spot.

Peter took notice, before looking at the first drawing from the pile. It was crudely drawn, but he could make out a boy in front of what looked to be a slightly cracked window. His eyes were big “X’s” and Peter guessed he was thrown.

“Who’s this guy getting fucking glocked?” He asked, genuinely curious, showing her the paper. Charlie took no notice of his swearing, but looked horrified at him seeing the drawing. She tried to grab it out of his hands.

“Whoa, chill. I’m not gonna tell mom.” He reassured her. This made him even more curious as he made the connection. “...Is this someone from school?” His voice remained gentle. Charlie looked away with unease.

“I…..don’t know”

Peter nodded. He had a way of reading Charlie, and to him that was an indirect ‘yes’. He frowned slightly, wanting to ask if anyone was messing with his little sister. She spoke before he had the chance to think of how to ask.

“I wish I was a normal girl.”

Peter just blinked, slightly stunned a bit, but the statement confirmed his suspicion. He inched closer.

“Heyy, you’re a normal girl.” He blurted out, even though he knew she was definitely…..different. Charlie seemed to know this as well, as she gave him a slightly annoyed look, not believing him in the slightest. It dampened his mood a bit.

“I mean...even if you’re not like other kids, that doesn’t mean-”

“Peter, what’s a dyke”

What.

“They...called you that?” He asked, a little shocked.

“Not directly, but I heard it.” She responded, leaning over and grabbing a few papers. She handed Peter some of her other drawings. He smiled as he took them, she was opening up a little. He didn’t know how to answer her question though.

“Uhh, I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I’m 13.” She huffed. A quick clucking sound followed.

Peter paused, trying to think of the best way to explain this. This wasn’t a topic his family ever discussed, or came across. He hoped his parents would know better, but he wasn’t sure.

“It...uhh, it means a girl who likes other girls… ‘like-like’ ”. He didn’t include that it specifically meant a girl who looked or acted like a guy, mainly since he didn’t want her to feel bad about how she looked.

Charlie just blinked.

“Um…..Why is that an insult.” She murmured, hesitating at first. Her eyes glanced over at him, somewhat fearful as she waited for his answer.

“I dunno... Some people don’t like it or something.” He told her, starting to thumb through her drawings. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m ok with it, people are dumb I guess-” Charlie seemed to relax a little at his response, but still kept her eyes on him.

He was looking through her drawings now. One was of a squirrel, detailed, but still in her sketchy style. It’s tail was very bushy. Peter had to smile at it’s bulging eyes. The next page had a turtle, with lots of patterns on it’s shell. Her drawing of an owl caught Peter’s attention the most. It’s feathers were made up of different shapes, and it reminded him of those “relaxing" coloring books. Part of him really admired the creativity of his little sister. He turned the paper towards her.

“I really like Mr. Owl-” He began, but immediately his heart dropped a bit. Charlie looked as though she was about to burst into tears. “Whoa, what’s wrong?”

“It’s ugly and I hate it.” She whimpered, suddenly unable to restrain herself. She lowered her head in attempt to hide her fresh tears. “They’re all ugly. Like me.”

Peter suddenly felt a rising rage at whoever was bullying his little sister, but didn’t show it. Charlie kept her head down as he knelt in front of her.

“Hey, Charlie.” He told her firmly. “You better not believe that. Whoever said that was a dick.”

She awkwardly glanced to the opening of the treehouse. “Dick” wasn’t a word she heard very often. She thought she knew what it meant...

“Your drawings are great! I love them!” Peter put both his hands on her shoulders, slightly shaking her to get his point across. She slowly lifted her head up, her face still slightly puffy.

“Why...”

“Because you’re so creative! I bet the kid in your class is jealous of you!” He affirmed and gave her a smile as he said this, hoping it would improve her mood. She looked at him.

“Mm...Maybe...” She murmured, but her eyes appeared grateful. Peter was trying to get a smile out of her. She didn’t budge from her serious demeanor.

“I think you should hang Mr. Owl on the wall in your room.” He suggested. Charlie just shrugged. Still no smile. Peter decided to resort to force. Since his hands were still on her shoulders, he took the opportunity.

“Hahaha stop!” She yelled as Peter suddenly ticked her neck. She shoved him and he didn’t object, because her mood seemed slightly better. He gave Charlie a quick hug before her smile left, since he knew she’d go back to her serious look within minutes. Very lightly, she hugged him back.

“...Thanks...”

“You two coming in for dinner?” Both of them looked down as their mother’s voice came from outside. Oh yeah. Dinner.

“Yeah Mom, we’re coming...” Peter hollered back, as they both got up. As they went down the treehouse ladder, Charlie was already back to her deadpan look. She let out a few clucks on the way into the house.

Peter knew she was feeling better.

#hereditary #hereditarymovie #hereditary charlie #hereditary peter #Implied/referenced homophobia #bullying #idk #whispers charlie is bi #writing

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sighingtirf · 6 years ago

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Just saw a conversation between a couple people about how they’d love to see a Hunger Games type of thing, but with “TERFs” as the contestants, and sending mutated dogs in after us and essentially just torturing us for fun and entertainment

And one of them said that we’d definitely be killing each other out of our own free will, because “knowing them they would kill each other and then their own allys because they dont agree a 100%"

And holy shit, the projection

Radical feminists consistently disagree with each other, and while there are certainly some groups (who are loud but make up the minority) who go around bullying people and harassing those who disagree with them, there’s such a bigger difference in opinion here, and (for the most part; albeit there are some topics “rudefems” tend to get vicious about and target people for) I feel safer expressing my varying views and opinions than I ever did while I was with the genderist crew. And unlike in genderist circles, if there’s people being nasty and awful because of a difference in opinion, there are other women who stand up for the person being harassed. Even if they truly disagree, there’s tons of posts calling out that kind of behavior during disagreements.

Meanwhile, among genderists, you make a casual post with one wrong word and immediately get 50 hateful anons. There’s constantly call-outs for people who use terms slightly differently. You’re constantly guilt-tripped and threatened to the point where you’re scared to even follow someone who has a slightly different viewpoint than you. You have to re-read a post that you made about your own personal experiences 95372984 times before posting it to make sure it, at the very least, has perfect wording and caters a million times over to apologize for the fact that your personal experiences aren’t perfectly in line with their thought experiments. You’re under immediate suspicion if you so much as reblog from someone who has been deemed problematic (for anything ranging from “I don’t think aces are inherently a part of the lesbian-gay-bi-transgender community” to “gender doesn’t exist”).

You say “femme and butch are lesbian-specific terms with meanings that are rooted in the lesbian experience and culture” and get hundreds of people insulting you, threatening you, sexually harassing you, calling you “TERF”, messaging you to threaten you, kicking you and anyone who so much as considered what you had to say out of the group, stalking you on your post talking about abuse you faced so they can call you abusive (for saying please don’t use femme and butch outside of lesbian contexts) and demanding an apology and threatening to kick you out of the autistic trauma survivor support group if you don’t apologize.

Old ladies who haven’t even heard the term “transgender” can go to a trans activist event, ask someone at the back of the crowd if they’re cross-dressers because she genuinely doesn’t know and is asking to learn more, and the entire crowd will start chanting “SHAME” in her face until she walks away.

Open a feminist bookstore that has a few books written by radical feminists? Trans activists attend the grand opening to barricade the entrance and threaten anyone who tries entering, run around pouring wine on the bookshelves, trip the fire alarm, and scream at the women who poured their time and energy and money into creating the store.

Exist as an old woman and ask the question “who’s attacking?” in response to a “TERFS ATTACK, WE FIGHT BACK” and try to do your job and take photos of the event you came to take photos of? Trans activists beat you up and then blame you for it, saying you “deserved” it, “it’s your fault”, “you asked for it”.

Buy a billboard and put a dictionary definition on it? Get doxxed.

Be a lesbian of mixed race, and work hard to direct a movie about a trans boy, and commit two crimes while making it: 1.) cast a cis girl to act as the trans boy, and 2.) include the phrase “I feel like a boy trapped in a girl’s body”? Trans activists put a sign at her podium reading “fuck this cis white bitch”, scream over her whenever she tries to speak at her event, shout “fuck you scared bitch” at her.

Silently exist as a biologically female person who is homosexual (aka, exclusively attracted to other biologically female people), or turn down a trans woman, or--god forbid--say the words “lesbians don’t like dick”? Lots of rape jokes. Normalized and celebrated rape fantasies. Gaslighting. Conversion tactics. Threatening people who so much as ask for communication before-hand as to “are you cis or trans” or state “I’m not interested in dating trans people”. Sexually traumatizing and abusing lesbians directly. Joking about how gang rape should be punishment. Talking about how “cool” it would be if trans women were filmed raping these women as a threat to other lesbians and showing how “lesbians secretly want it”. Turn around and scream at traumatized lesbians that “nobody says that / does that”, then go back to ignoring the problem and brushing this violence under the rug and minimizing the problem and agreeing with the perpetrators if ever forced to confront an incident.

A survivor of severe abuse can speak out and take a stand against her incredibly powerful and widely supported abusers, do an incredible amount to help other victims of sexual abuse, be open and vulnerable about her trauma to a world that hates her for existing and hates her even more for speaking out, but when she rightfully snaps at and yells back at a pedophile who came to scream at her at her own event, generists hate her. Didn’t matter how validating she was, the only thing she would have been allowed to do was sit there and take it and apologize profusely for somehow “not doing enough”. Her events were cancelled, people all over genderists circles were yelling about how awful she is and how much they hate her and how she deserves the worst of fates, comments are made about how they “hope she gets stabbed in her vagina”, etc. etc. etc.

I can go on and on and on.

Trans activism is a fucking cult where you’re under threat even if you nod and agree and conform as quickly as possible, while radical feminists consistently disagree and call out each other out if someone tries to settle debates with bullying and harassment.

Maybe they somehow think that disagreement is an issue that should result in violence? If someone thinks that, doesn’t that kind of...make their statement about themselves?

#trans movement #trixy talks

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rossellini-tyrell · 7 years ago

Text

BTS Reaction: They find out you are autistic

S E O K J I N / J I N

(Content note: NON ED related vomiting)

“Ah, you’re up!” chirped Jin. He turned from the stove to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Morning, Jin.” you slurred, voice still cottony with sleep.

Oh Jesus, he’s not cooking-

Your boyfriend beamed as he wrapped your hands around a steaming mug of coffee.

“I made us eggs. Now, shoo, go sit, no helping allowed. Drink your coffee.” he waved you off, moving to plate breakfast. Unfortunately for you, cooked eggs were a sensory no-go, physically swallowing them was next to impossible, and the smell made you feel sick.

You hid your scrunched up nose in your coffee mug as you took a sip, letting the strong scent block out the sulfurous one of the eggs. Before you could think of how to respond, he was in front of you, sliding a plate at your setting with a quick kiss to the side of your head, and diving into his own breakfast. Desperate not to hurt his feelings, you steeled yourself and started methodically shoveling the eggs in, careful not to go too fast or too slow as not to arouse suspicion. You thought you had this under control, until after about two minutes, your body rebelled, and you started to gag.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Jin questioned, his eyebrows furrowing.

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-

“C’mon, up.” he murmured, gently pulling you out of your chair and guiding you over to the nearby bathroom. As soon as you got within reach of the toilet, you all but threw yourself over it, retching violently as your body purged yourself of what it felt was poison. You felt Jin gathering up your hair behind you into a messy braid, and dragging the blade of his palm along your spine. The contact was soothing and it made things momentarily okay.

“Love, are you not feeling well?” he asked gently, a cool hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“I’m not sick, Jin, I have-, I- I-”

“Hey, take your time.” he soothed. “I’m not leaving.”

“I’m autistic, Jin.” you exhaled. “I have problems with food sometimes. I’ve never been able to keep eggs down, even the smell hurts. I didn’t wanna say anything because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so I thought I could be brave and try, for you, I’m so sorry-”

“Sweet pea, no.” Jin gently cut you off. He slid you into his lap, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t control. I don’t want you forcing yourself to do things you can’t handle anymore, not for me, not for anyone. I know how hard it was for you to just tell me this, but I want to know every little thing about you now, so I can take care of you better.” he nuzzled your head. “But first, we need to fill this cute tummy of yours.” he poked your stomach, making you squeak. “Do you like bananas and toast? I want the real answer.” “That is quite literally my breakfast every time you’re not around.” The bright smile returned to Jin’s face. “Okay, Bananas and toast it is for my sweet pea!”

Y O O N G I / S U G A

“Zoolander or The Invention of Lying?” asked Yoongi, flipping between the two choices on Netflix.

“Considering I’ve watched Zoolander about 5 times in the past 2 months, I gotta go with The Invention of Lying.” you replied.

“Cool and nice.” your boyfriend assented, selecting the movie. He tossed the remote to the side and flopped himself halfway on top of you.

“Jesus! Warn someone!” you teased.

Yoongi snaked his hands just under your shirt, but jerked away the minute he touched your skin.

“I could ask you the same! You’re fucking freezing!” he cried. “This won’t do at all.”

You watched him heft himself off the couch, moving towards where he knew you kept your linens. Patiently, you waited for him to be done rifling through your blankets, but you noticed that he was taking an awfully long time to choose one, and you had just put away your laundry, too.

“Okay, I can’t help but ask, but what the fuck kind of blanket has to weigh as much as a small child?” asked Yoongi as he re-entered the room, an eyebrow raised.

You could feel your heart in your throat as you realized he was holding your weighted blanket in his arms, which you had specifically put away, knowing he would be over.

“That’s a weighted blanket, Yoongi. The whole point of it is for it to be heavy.” you explained, trying to dodge the question.

“No shit, Sherlock, but why on Earth would you need this?” he reiterated.

“Because I like it?” you responded, hoping that would get him to drop it.

“If you like it so much, why did I find it in the back of your closet, underneath the old blankets you only use for moving?”

He had you there.

“I’m autistic, okay?!” you snapped, feeling backed into a corner by this line of questioning. “I like the way it feels, and when I’m by myself, I need it to keep me from feeling all frazzled and gross on the inside. It’s what lets me go to sleep when you’re not with me. I put it away because it’s really fucking weird. Does that answer your question, Yoongi?”

You heard the shhnk of several pounds of blanket hitting the floor, and then the couch dipping under Yoongi’s weight as he sat beside you.

“Doll...” he began. “You’ve been hiding this...going through all that alone, all this time?” Yoongi’s voice was sleepy-soft, a special tone he reserved for moments like this one.

You swallowed. “Yeah. I don’t wanna drag you out of your studio every time I’m back on my bullshit again. I know you have songs to write and fans to service.”

“I know how awful that feels, to push everything down because you’re scared you’ll lose everyone if they find out what’s inside of you. I did that for years, and I can’t have you suffering like that for my sake, I won’t let you, baby love.” he pulled you impossibly close, kissing the knuckles on your right hand.

“Promise me you won’t hide around me anymore, and if you don’t feel good, you come get me, okay?”

“’Kay.” you murmured.

You felt him pull the heavy weighted blanket over you both, laying you on his chest as he started the movie, kissing you just under your ear.

“Pinky promise?” he held out his little finger, a tiny little pout gracing his lips.

You wrapped your pinky around his.

“My pinky promises.”

H O S E O K / J - H O P E

Content note: Flashbacks of forced eye contact

“Waow! A snake-u~!” Hoseok exclaimed, hissing and wiggling his hips for dramatic effect, as you both walked in the local park one morning. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s antics.

“Sssssss- gotcha!” He suddenly scooped you up in his arms, gnashing his teeth before planting a kiss on your jaw.

“Imagine if you really were a snake, Hobi. I’d be defenseless. Oh, the tragedy!” you fanned yourself.

Hobi chuckled as he set you down, not quite taking his arms from around you.

“I think I just need some special contact lenses and I’d make quite a handsome snake. What do you think of that, jagiya?” he asked, not really expecting a serious answer.

“Do they even make contact lenses that look like snake eyes?” you wondered aloud.

“I sure hope not!” announced Hobi. “Ah, I had a nightmare last week where your eyes turned into snake eyes. Jin was pissed when I woke him up screaming, you should have seen his face.” He flashed his brilliant teeth.

“Stop, you did not dream that.” you giggled.

“I really wish I hadn’t. I keep wanting to look at your eyes to make sure it’s not coming true.” You noticed his face suddenly become serious. “But I can never really get a good look at your eyes for more than a second. In fact, now that I think about it, you don’t really look at anyone’s eyes at all.” It was chilly outside, but your cheeks felt red and hot under Hoseok’s stare. You wanted so badly to be able to just look at him, but fuck did it hurt you to meet another’s eyes, like looking right at the sun.

Eyes on me, you recall a teacher’s voice, feeling her hand grabbing your head and turning you to look at her, your eyes burning as she forced the eye contact.

“Oh no, don’t fret!” you felt Hoseok pulling you further into his side. “I didn’t mean to scare you, dove. I know you’re just anxious, and that’s okay.”

“I’m not anxious, Hobi.” you said.

“But, you-” he started.

“I’m autistic, not just anxious.” you deadpanned. “I don’t- I can’t make eye contact because it really hurts me. It makes my eyes burn if I do it for more than a second, and trying to do it more often doesn’t make it better, like it might if I were just anxious. I’ll try harder to do it longer for you, though, I’m sorry.”

You felt Hoseok screech to a halt beside you.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t ask things of you that cause you pain. I’d be a terrible boyfriend- a terrible person if I did that.” He leaned in to pepper some kisses on your temple.

“None of this-” he gestured towards you “bothers me, dear heart. I’m not upset that you can’t look at my eyes, I’ll always know you’re listening.” He smiled gently as you squeezed his fingers.

“I want only for you to be yourself, your entire self around me. And if that means I need to check myself, I will. My angel, if I promise to cherish every last bit of you, will you let me be your sun?”

The tiny little pecks he placed on your fingers were warm as he peeked up at you through his lashes, all tingly and bright.

N A M J O O N / R M

Content note: Suggestive material (no sex), brief mentions of daddy/kitten kinks, ABA/compliance therapy

“Such a good kitten.” Namjoon purred, his fingers skating up your sides. “Tell me, who does this belong to?”

“Daddy.” you immediately responded.

“Damn right.” he nipped at the base of your neck. “I think you’ve earned a reward, hmm?”

You’ve heard those words before.

“I need you to stop flapping your hands, or you won’t earn your token.” The therapist’s voice was here now, permeating your consciousness. You didn’t stop. You felt her grabbing your wrists, pinning your hands to your sides.

“Quiet hands, quiet body.” her mantra, repeated at least three times a day. She lifted her hands, and you remained still. A stillness that made you feel full of angry bees and television static.

“Good kids who have quiet hands get a token.” she put a smiley-faced sticker on a chart, ironic, given the grimace on your face.

“Honey, stay with me!” Namjoon’s voice sliced through the unhappy memory, the therapy room fizzling into dust around you. Namjoon was shaking you as your eyes flitted around, realizing that you were in your bedroom, safe. Safe with your boyfriend.

“Fuck, are you alright?” he asked, worry etched into his face. “You just- checked out on me. Was it something I said? Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” you tried to reassure. “I just, when you were talking, you reminded me of...other things.”

“Other things?” he questioned.

“My mind took me back to somewhere I’d rather not revisit.”

Namjoon sighed, his hand warm and heavy on your shoulder.

“Oh honey, if you had an asshole ex, you should have said something. I wouldn’t have tried this with you if it was going to bring up bad memories.”

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Namjoon. That’s not what I was remembering.”

His face fell, a horrified look growing in his eyes.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” he was quiet, his grip on you tightening.

“I was being bad, and-” your voice was warbling, the way it does when you’re about to cry.

“Honey, what are you-”

“I was b-bad because I have a-autism, so they took me to this place where they would hold my hands down and make me look at their eyes, and it hurt a lot, and if I was quiet, they would tell me I was g-good and give me stickers. It hurt a lot, but I don’t wanna be b-bad.” you broke down.

“Jesus Christ.” Namjoon cursed, after he was quiet a moment. He all but crushed you against his chest, resting his head on your shoulder.

“My love, you’re not bad, you never were.” he murmured into your skin, kissing your shoulder. “You didn’t deserve to have that happen to you. You get the same right to be touched only in ways you wanna be touched, like anybody else.”

“I’m sorry I fucked this up, Joon, you were so excited to try it.” you apologized.

“If it’s not something you enjoy, it’s not something I like either, honey. We don’t have to do this ever again.” He lifted his head to kiss your forehead.

“I won’t be them. If you seriously believe I would leave you for this, you have another thing coming.” He was...smiling?

“Uhh...”

“This is the only punishment I’m interested in.” He’d barely finished speaking before he pounced on top of you, kisses tickling your cheeks.

“Joon!” you squealed in glee.

J I M I N

“Hiya, darling!” Jimin called out as he locked your door behind him.

Shit! You’d forgotten your boyfriend was coming over today! Of all of the days you could have been nonverbal, it fucking had to be today. You acknowledged Jimin with a wave.

Jimin frowned, moving towards you to kiss your cheek.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” he mused. You worried your lower lip with one of your teeth, an old nervous habit.

You picked up your phone to shoot him a text, gesturing that he should check his phone when it buzzed. Confused, he opened his messages.

“I lost my voice, can’t actually talk today, LOL :)”

Jimin peeked up at you, a worried look on his face.

“Dear, are you sick?” he asked, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Why aren’t you resting? Sit, sit!” he demanded.

You rolled your eyes, sending another text.

“omfg chim I’m gonna be fine.”

“Fine, my gorgeous ass! You can’t talk!” he started feeling your face, kissing your forehead.

“You don’t feel warm to me. Have you been to the doctor yet?”

“I don’t need to go to the doctor. My voice will be back on its own soon, don’t worry.”

Jimin’s grip tightened on your shoulders.

“Laryngitis is serious business, Jagi. Let me take you to a doctor, please.” he pleaded.

You sighed. Might as well drop the bomb.

“I can’t talk because I’m autistic, Jimin. Sometimes I just lose my voice for a while, especially if I’m stressed out. But it always comes back.”

You carefully watched Jimin’s face as he read your text, letting your fingers fiddle with the end of your shirt. When his hand moved to run through his hair, you winced, snapping him to attention.

“I don’t think I ever considered you could be- it just makes so much sense though, you’re always so quiet, you barely even look at people that aren’t me, your hands are always playing with something. God, how did I not figure this out?” he wondered aloud.

“You weren’t supposed to figure it out. I was trying really hard to keep it from you.”

Jimin set his phone down, a sad look on his face.

“Sweetheart, were you scared to tell me?”

The way you stopped looking at him said enough.

“Darlin’, c’mere.” he pulled you onto his lap, stopping to kiss the back of your neck.

“Thank you for telling me. I know it took a lot for you to do that, and I’m really proud of you. As much as I wish I had known sooner, I could never blame you for trying to protect me.” His hands were gentle as they moved up and down your arms.

“But autism doesn’t change the fact that you’re exactly the person I fell in love with, the one who likes to watch Archer and Stranger Things, the one who lets me play out my fantasies of being a hairdresser, all it means is that now you can be more of yourself than before, and that excites me.” He twirled a lock of your hair around one finger.

“You are always my cutie pie, voice or no. Never forget that.” He planted the littlest kiss on your nose.

T A E H Y U N G / V

Taehyung only had six bandmates, but it felt like he had twenty. That Hoseok guy alone was five people worth of personality crammed into a single body, with enthusiastic responses for everything. He was loud, bright, and fast-moving, a well-meaning affront to your delicate senses. He was probably a very, very nice guy, but trying to contend with him and his other bandmates, that you’d never met before? No thank you. Your boyfriend was so excited for you to finally meet the people that were basically his brothers, his second family, but he didn’t know how trying it was for you to meet just one new person, let alone six vibrant personalities. Between Hoseok being himself, Jimin and Jungkook starting nonsense with your boyfriend, and Namjoon and Jin constantly asking questions, you felt yourself becoming quickly overwhelmed. God bless that Yoongi, though, he seemed to pick up on the fact that your capacity for social interaction was limited.

“You’re not looking so good, sugarplum.” Taehyung startled you, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You could see that his eyes were full of concern through his bangs.

“Are you sure there’s only six of them?” you tried to joke.

“I’m positive.” he let his arm go all the way around your opposite shoulder. “Let’s get out of here a minute, they’re more than capable of entertaining themselves.”

You were grateful for the breather, the uncomfortable squeeze in your chest reducing as Taehyung pulled you both into a large armchair.

“Okay, pumpkin, talk to me.” he kissed your temple.

“I’m sorry, I just got a little overwhelmed.” you explained. Taehyung frowned, not buying it.

“You were absolutely scared, hun. I wouldn’t call that a little overwhelmed at all. Were they bothering you at all?” he challenged.

“They weren’t really bothering me, I’m just, well, bad with people.” you admitted, finding the pattern on the floor very interesting.

“Well, they quite like you, I can assure you of that.” he grinned softly, bumping his nose against your cheek.

“It’s not so much that it’s- I-.” you tried to find the courage to finish that statement.

“Go on. I’m listening.” Taehyung reassuringly rubbed your back again.

“I’m autistic, and all of this is a lot for me. Even if they’re nice, they’re still new for me, and they’re all really energetic, and it’s a lot for me to try to balance at the same time.”

“Oh, fidget.” he cooed, using that breathy voice he used for ballads. “I wasn’t thinking when I wanted you to meet them all at once, I’m sorry.” he left some apology kisses on your hairline.

“It’s okay, Tae, you didn’t know, and that’s my fault.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re weird at all, and I would know, because I’m pretty fucking weird.” he giggled. “And I’m really happy now, because I can get to know you all over again, even the bits you might not like. Will you let me see you as you are?” he peeked up at you over your shoulder.

“I think I can do that.”

Taehyung smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Wanna get out of here? We can always talk to them later, one or two at a time.”

“Absolutely”

“Okay.” he helped you up. “And I’ll always be right there with you, I promise.”

J E O N G G U K / J U N G K O O K

“Hey, baby?” Jungkook hollered from across the room

“Yeah?” you responded, in the middle of your League of Legends game.

“Where is that English guidebook we picked up last week?”

“It should be on my bookshelf, I think it was on the second one from the top.” you directed, unable to get it yourself since this was a multiplayer game with no pause feature, something Jungkook was well aware of, as he played the game too.

Jungkook inspected the shelves in search of said guidebook. As his eyes landed on it, a set of books right next to it caught his attention.

“The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism.” he said to himself, reading the spine. “What Every Autistic Girl Wishes her Parents Knew.” said another. Curiously, he pulled all 3 books off the shelf.

“Did you find it?” you checked in with him.

“I got it, thanks babe!” he pushed the hesitance out of his voice, and got back to his mission.

Jungkook knew vaguely what autism was, but he’d only associated it with young children who did not speak and slapped their hands. He wondered why you would have these books, considering you didn’t work with children at all, as far as he was aware. He made a mental note to ask you soon.

“Woohoo, the enemy team surrendered!” you cheered as you entered the room, cutting into Jungkook’s train of thought. When he didn’t look up right away, you noticed the small pile of books he was carrying. You saw the titles of the books he’d chosen and froze.

“Jungkook, what are you doing with those books?” you asked.

“I could ask you the same.” he replied. “I didn’t know you worked with kids?”

“I don’t.” you clarified, confused.

“Then why do you need books about autism? It’s a pretty weird topic just to learn about casually.”

“Because I’m autistic?” you answered.

The books fell out of his hands as his doe-eyes bulged out of his head.

“You? You’re autistic?” he stammered disbelievingly.

“Yes, Jungkook. I am autistic.” you confirmed.

“But- but how? You talk and you don’t, I don’t know, act like you are, and-”

“That’s because I do a good job hiding it, because people don’t understand. They do horrible things to people like me.” you said, sadly.

Jungkook thought a minute, before his hands went to his head, and then he was rushing to hold you tight.

“Baby, I’m being an asshole, I’m sorry. I’m your boyfriend, and I’m supposed to be helpful and supportive and shit, and I wasn’t doing that.” He kissed your head.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what it means to be autistic. I truly believed it was something kids had, and that it was, well, more obvious, if that makes any sense to you.” you nodded against his neck.

“But I’ll learn. I want to be better, so I’m gonna start learning about what it’s like, and how to help you, because I love you, dammit, and you deserve so much more than the people who are treating you like garbage.” He kissed you hard on the mouth, and bent over to pick up one of your books.

“Can I start by borrowing this?”

NOTE: This has been REPOSTED so it will show up correctly in the autism tag.

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