#my next door neighbors kid was autistic as well

[theood]

falling down an aba therapy rabbit hole god so many people just treat autistic people with fluctuating abilities as subhuman there is always a better workaround for kid AND parent but really its not about the parent here its abt the kid

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling the upstairs neighbor to be a little quieter at night?

I (26nb) live in an apartment complex. I am on the first floor. This apartment has a noise curfew of 10pm. I have a kid (5) who sleeps at 8pm. We have neighbors around us who also have kids around the same age who go to bed roughly around the same time (we've talked from time to time) including a new neighbor with a young autistic kid. My kid is also autistic. I am also autistic and schizophrenic. The neighbor directly next to us has a dog who tends to bark and howl whenever he hears loud noises. These are important to remember.

This girl moved in some handful of weeks ago right above me. Some days during the day I hear her stomping around REALLY loudly like crazy, and at first I thought that's fine because its just during the day no big deal. But then she started doing it late at night. First night I thought maybe she was still unboxing and stuff, nbd. But this kept going on for weeks from 8pm until nearly 2am every single day. And around 10pm-1am she would play loud music with heavy bass. This would keep me awake at night and prevent me from sleeping, and would cause me to have sensory overload very easily. My kiddo said it scared her to hear the banging and stomping and music upstairs late at night. One night at about 9:30pm, she started banging something FIERCE up there to the point where I actually started having an episode. I thought we were being broken into and I fell into a delusion that was remedied by my partner coming home and helping to ground me. That was my breaking point, and I ended up leaving a note saying, "hi! I wanted to ask if you could please keep the noise a little lower at night, we have young kiddos that live here too. Thank you!" I didn't leave anything to indicate who we were.

The next day she brought back the note to MY door saying "I'll try to be quieter. I didn't think I was that loud. I come home late. It was a Friday night and I was banging chicken at 8pm so I didn't think it was an issue. I just moved in and I'm trying to live my life. Sorry" and left two stuffed animals. Weeks passed and she is still, up to today, being loud late into the night and early morning. My partner can also hear it loud and clear and has complained to me about how disruptive she is. Some other neighbors have come forth saying she's so loud THEY can hear her when they come in through the main door. She's so loud that she's been causing the dog next door to bark like crazy, which is disturbing that poor neighbor as well. We are all kind of fed up with this girl.

Recently, there was a bunch of people who got their packages stolen... Her included. She left a note in the main lobby saying to bring her packages back. Today, we could hear her loudly talking on the phone outside while we were also outside, and she was talking to someone about available renting places outside of our city. We think she might be trying to move out already even though she just got here.

I think I might be the asshole because, between my note and her packages getting stolen, she probably felt unwelcomed here. I don't want people to feel unwelcomed, but I also want to be able to exist in my own home safely and comfortably. Maybe I should have left her alone and just dealt with the noise. My family thinks I was being rude to say anything at all, and my mom said I lost a potential friend by doing that. AITA?

[thegrinningghost]

LOTFTOBER, DAY 6 : Childhood

Here, take some headcanons!

RALPH

Ralph has severe ADHD and, therefore, was never a prefect at his school

He also has Dyslexia (halfbloooddd /jk)

Ralph’s an only child, and doesn’t really ‘get’ sibling bonds

Absolute math nerd; he’s never gotten an C or lower

When he was younger, he begged his dad to read him stories, and would constantly ask ‘what word is that’ and ‘how do you say that’ in the middle of the story

His dad would sometimes sing him songs before he went to bed

Whenever he had a nightmare, he’d go wake up his parents and they’d read him more books while he played with his dog (golden retriever named Juno)

Definitely lived in the country and DEFINITELY a horse boy

Collected miniature glass horse statues, and he keeps them all on a shelf

• He used to runaway and sit in nature whenever he couldn’t handle all of the pressure he felt from teachers nagging about his Dyslexia

JACK

Jack has SEBD and a little Autism

He’s also allergic to cats, which is troublesome, because Simon loves to pet the neighborhood strays

Maurice + Jack are troublemakers

He stole things that he found cool when he was little

He figured out he was Trans when he was around 10-11, so it wasn’t too much of a shock for friends

His family constantly struggled though, and always used “she/her” pronouns (on accident or on purpose) at family dinners

Which confused his cousins, Sam’nEric (not my original headcanon)

ROGER

Roger’s dad is a Detective; his mom died in childbirth

He grew up on his grandparents Bee Farm

Roger always hung out with the Bees, and afterwards he always smelled like Lavender

“Roger.”

“Yes Merridew.”

“Do you use perfume?”

“ .  .  . “

“ .  .  . No?”

He always had his nose stuck in mystery/suspense books

Of the many upon his shelves, Sherlock Holmes and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde are his favorites

Roger has ASPD, and Simon was like a life vest for him

SIMON

Simon’s Autistic

He loves Dinosaurs, Space, and Animals; he will yap about all of them

He would trade any new Dinosaur facts he learned for his grandmother’s bird facts

Simon’s also Dysgraphic

He loves doing crafts; most definitely made friendship bracelets for the Choir

He was recommended by his school for the Church Choir, that’s how he met Jack and all them

He practically lives in his head

That’s one thing Roger [liked] thought was interesting about him

MAURICE

Maurice was a problem child

In so many ways

Being part of a huge family, his parents were always working

They spent time with all his older siblings until there was a new baby on the way, then they were all forgotten

Once you were born you were always sent to the neighbors next door, or, if you’re lucky, your grandparents

That’s how Maurice was raised, and despite everything, he loved it

He grew up with his grandparents and Bill’s parents, both who urged his teetering between genders

He even dyes his hair! First ginger-ish, then ombré blonde (he has black hair)

They also quickly found out that Maurice isn’t like his siblings

He has Selective Mutism + ADHD—and an extra thumb—as well as a keen mind that he sets on getting attention from his parents

Whether that be getting “stuck” in a closet, using the helium of a balloon to raise his voice, or getting in one too many fights, he’s tried everything

Did it ever work? Yes. Did he get the response he wanted? No.

Maurice had a wild home life, and all those problems followed him throughout his life

Thus dubbed, a problem child

BILL

Bill’s parents used that cheese trick on him when he was young

The one where you throw a piece of cheese on your kid’s head when they’re crying, and they magically stop

It was a little after he was born; his mom was resting up and his dad was taking care of him

He was crying so much that his dad took a piece of cheese off his mom’s food tray and put it on his head

They shared this information with Maurice’s parents, too, and now it’s a joke between the two boys

Bill’s colorblind, so if you look at any of his childhood drawings, you may be a little confused

He’s embarrassed by them, and vowed never to draw again 

.     .     .

He actually still does, he just never colors it in

Bill grew up loving trains and planes

He heard stories of the Night Witches, and heard about America and their Steam Trains

He just loved that kind of thing

P.S. his favorite book is the Runaway Bunny

SAM’NERIC

Sam’nEric could communicate as babies when they were apart

I mean that in one room, Sam would go “AH!!” and Eric would reply from another room going “EHHH!!”

They have that twin telepathy dynamic where some people actually believe it

In reality, they just know each other really well

Eric: “*staring at Sam*”

Sam: “No we can’t go to the fair!”

Eric loves the fair, it’s one of his favorite childhood memories

The twins are kind of polar opposites: Sam loves the country, Eric loves the city; Sam loves legends, and Eric would rather have all the facts

Sam used to tell scary stories to the Choir when they were all really young, but he was quickly banned from doing so because Eric would always rush in the middle of the nightly service crying and screaming about whatever creepy thing Sam made up that night

The twins loved doing community service; it’s a big thing for them as their mom basically raised them around the idea

PIGGY

Piggy constantly helped out in his Auntie’s Candy Shop

Aside from eating them, I mean

He would help sell them and pitch ideas for new flavors, shapes, and themes!

He’d also help decorate during the holidays

Decorating is how Piggy calms down, and even since he started doing it when he was young, it became a tradition

His dad was murdered and when his mom couldn’t handle him and her grief, she handed him off

He always tries to follow rules, scared that whoever came after his dad will come after him next

Piggy had a blue teddy bear that he used to carry around all the time

He still has it, it just stays on his bed all day

He also used to have a dog!

His name was Brutus

[kennahjune]

HI HI HI

I need Lesbian couple Ronance with their skater daughter Max and Gay couple Steddie with their autistic son Dustin who are all neighbors and it’s really awkward because Steve and Nancy are exes and Max is technically Steve’s legal daughter as well.

The thing is— Nancy and Steve aren’t just exes, they’re ex-wife and ex-husband. Divorced. Out of each other’s lives other than Max.

Max knew 100% that they were moving next door to Steve (her dad) and chose to stay silent about it because 1) she lives for drama and 2) it means she doesn’t have to go so far to see him and can spend more time seeing him.

Of course Dustin is 100% aware of this and enables it fully.

I was trying to think of a way to include Mike in this cause he’s Nancy’s younger brother and as funny as it would be for Mike to technically be Max’s (and Dustin’s) uncle I think I’m just going to have him be Robin and Nancy’s legal child because Madwheeler siblings is a must.

Dustin and Max know each other from Max’s weekend and Holiday visits. Mike and Dustin know each other from school and are ofc really close friends but don’t know about their “parent situation”.

Robin and Steve are still best friends but Nancy has no idea that Robin’s precious “Evie” is is her ex-husband and Steve knows that Robin is Nancy’s new fiancé but doesn’t say anything because he assumes that Robin knows about their history already. (She does know but she doesn’t realize that Steve is /that/ Steve.)

Eddie’s just kind of there— but I really want him and Nancy to meet while Eddie is working on her car (mechanic Eddie my beloved) and Eddie takes a moment but goes “omg your my husband’s ex-wife!” in typical Eddie fashion and Nancy has no idea what to do with this new information.

None of the kids call Steve, Eddie, Robin and Nancy mom or dad (just cause that feels weird to write outside of it being a bit). They’ve all agreed on first names— considering that both couples are only in their mid-late 20s (maybe early 30s??).

Will, El and Lucas are ofc mentioned— all having their normal canon families (with Wonder Twins). They are also 100% in on the “parent situation” and are also fully enabling it cause it’s funny as hell and Will and El’s favorite movie is The Parent Trap.

Mike is also in on the “parent situation” but he doesn’t know that he is also part of the situation (being Ronance’s legal child). He knows Dustin’s parents ofc, but it never clicks that Steve is /that/ Steve (like Robin lol). He only really figures it out when he goes over after school and Max is there and Mike’s like “why tf are u here?” and Dustin’s like “Mike that’s my sister” and Mike’s like “no that’s MY sister” and Max is watching the entire thing unfold because she knew the entire time.

I love how this sounds so far and I am absolutely planning on making it happen. Prolly gonna call it The Parent Trap For Morons.

[munsonownsmyass]

Quinn McKenna x reader

Summary: New to town, you wrinkly become friends with a sweet little boy and his handsome father.

Notes: This is my contribution for the Thirsty For Cox May challenge and our theme was "Sundress". It was supposed to be a short smutty piece, but Rory and reader had a different idea 😅

Oh, and I've given the reader a name (there's a purpose to this) and she's plus size. But besides that, there's no features mentioned.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and thanks to sweet Ericca for encouraging me in my Quinn brainrot. This is unbetaed. We die like men 🤣

Warnings: oh, there's a few. Insecure reader, plus size reader, idiota in love, kissing, unprotected sex (well, you know me), creampie, cockwarming if you squint, fluff.

Notes: 3.1K

You are quite shocked when you hear the doorbell ring. New to town, you don’t know anyone yet. Hell, you haven’t even talked to any neighbors or your new colleagues yet. Walking to the door, you expect it to be the old nice-looking lady you saw the other day, but instead you find a young boy. 

“Hello.” He says softly, his eyes barely meeting yours. He doesn’t really seem like he’s comfortable, so you wonder what might have brough him here. 

“Hi. Can I help you?” 

“My dad isn’t home, and I don’t have a key yet.” He pouts, looking down at his hands. “He was supposed to be home.” 

”Oh, well… Do you want me to call him? Or do you want to come in?” You step aside, opening the door for the boy. For a second he hesitates, looking you over, before walking forward. You can see right away he’s not like everyone else as he inspects your home. 

“What’s your name?” You try softly, closing the door behind you. 

“Rory.” His eyes scan your bookshelves, fingers dancing over some of the titles. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Rory. I’m Luna.” You walk over to see, wondering which of your books he’s taking a liking too. You have quite the collection, always loved books, and something tells you Rory might be the same. “You like reading?” 

“I like lots of things.” He reaches for a book but doesn’t take it before you gesture that it’s okay. After reading the back cover, he looks into your eyes for the first time. “Can I call my dad?” 

“Yeah, of course.” You hand over your phone and give him some space as he makes the call. You try not to listen as you get something to drink, but something tells you this isn’t the first time this has happened. Rory comes back with your phone, sitting down at the counter in the kitchen. 

“He’ll be here soon.” He vibes his nose, sniffing, more out of habit than because he’s got a runny nose, it seems. You hand him the glass of juice, before sitting down yourself. “He doesn’t do it on purpose. He’s got an important job.” 

“I get that.” You smile, taking a sip of your glass. “So… What do you want to do until he’s here?” 

He looks over to your shelves, touching his ear as he’s thinking. “A puzzle?” 

Usually, it would take you a day or two to complete a puzzle, but never before had you made one this fast. Rory is a genius little boy, scanning the pieces and placing them so fast you can barely keep up. You’re starting to recognize some traits in him, having lived with an autistic sister for your entire life. 

An hour quickly flies by, and you hear the doorbell ring. Opening the door, you’re thankful Rory is there to distract his dad so he doesn’t see your flushed face, cause frankly, you’re speechless. His dad is handsome. Scratch that, he’s gorgeous. Hot. He’s barely even looked at you, but you feel your cheeks burn. 

“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble?” He asks, flashing a gorgeous smile. You smile, feeling silly over how much he affects you. This is not good. 

“Not at all. It was fun.” You stroke Rory’s hair softly, before looking at him again and his beautiful eyes. “I love kids.” 

His eyes look to your hand, before looking into your eyes again with a smile. “Well, feel free to babysit anytime. I’m Quinn. Quinn McKenna. We live next door.” 

-

The next day while reading in your garden, you hear the unmistakable voices of Rory and Quinn. Sneaking over to the fence, you look through the cracks and see them working on something. Maybe a school project. 

“I have no idea how to do this, buddy. There’s not a whole lot of glue and paper in the army.” He grins, but the smile fades when he sees Rory’s worried expression. “Sorry, I ain’t much help.” 

“It’s okay.” Rory says, putting glue on a little cardboard figure. They sit in silence for a bit, Quinn frowning as he chews on his bottom lip, trying to cut something, but curses under his breath when it goes wrong. 

“Maybe-” he cuts a little more, ultimately cutting off what you suspect to be a head of a little figure, “Fucking hell!” He throws the stuff down, looking over towards the fence. Towards you. “Maybe Luna is good with stuff like this.” 

“I think so.” Rory replies, looking up at his dad. 

“You like her? She seemed nice.” Quinn tries, looking at his son. You shouldn’t eavesdrop, especially when they’re talking about you, but you can’t help it. 

“I do. She didn’t seem to mind that I’m weird.” 

Quinn’s smile falters a bit, his hand gently patting Rory’s back. “You’re not weird, just… different. Good different.” 

“Okay.” Rory shrugs, looking down at his diorama.  

“You want me to ask if Luna wants to help?” Quinn questions, looking towards the fence again. 

“If you want her to come over, just ask.” Rory says plainly, making both you and Quinn smile. You can’t help but notice the flush of pink on Quinn’s cheeks, as he nudges Rory’s shoulder gently. 

“Easy there, buddy. It ain’t like that.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Smart ass.” He gives Rory a kiss on the forehead, before walking towards the fence. When you realize he’s coming, you run towards your sun bed, barely sitting down and opening your book, before Quinn peaks over the fence. 

“Hey Luna.” He smiles and you swear someone has released a swarm of butterflies in your belly. He should not be allowed to look so beautiful. 

“Hi Quinn.” You smile, hoping he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice. Under any other circumstances, you’re pretty sure a guy like that would never even speak to you, so you thank all possible Gods for making him your neighbor. 

“You busy? Rory’s got this project and I ain’t very good at shit like that.” 

“Oh, and here I thought a guy like you would be dexterous.” You smile playfully, not even knowing where you mustered up the confidence from.  

“Oh, believe me, darlin’. When it counts, I’m very skilled with my hands.” He smirks, before looking back, remembering that Rory is there. “So, ehm... Dinner on us if you can help him glue some stuff?” 

“Deal.” 

With that simple request and a fantasy diorama of Quinn fighting some alien (the kid sure had a wild imagination), a beautiful friendship was born. Rory was currently living with Quinn because his mom Emily had gotten an exciting job offer in another state and didn’t want to pull Rory out of his usual environment. 

Quinn sometimes had long days, so it became normal for you to pick up Rory on your way from work and spend most of you time with him. And you didn’t mind, because besides spending time with a clever, kind boy, you got to spend time with his hot, charming father too. 

You couldn’t deny the feelings you had for Quinn, but you wouldn’t even entertain the idea that he could be interested in you. A glorified plus size nerdy nanny. Not exactly a match for a muscular and very attractive Ranger. Sure, he was flirty around you, but you got the sense that Quinn just was a natural flirt. 

Despite knowing that nothing would ever happen, your silly little heart ignored your brain and always said yes to any invitation they extended. Trips to the zoo, movie nights and museum tours. The latter was often you and Rory geeking out while Quinn watched you from behind, bored. Still, there always was a bright smile on his face as he watched you and Rory, happy that you connected. That you understood Rory when others didn’t. 

A few months had gone by and being with Rory and Quinn was almost like second nature. You were a little unit, spending more time together than apart and they made you feel happy. They felt like home. So when Rory asked if you wanted to attend this thing at his school, you of course said yes. Only problem was… What to wear? 

You were more of a hoodie and jeans kinda girl, but your coworker who knew about your deep crush on Quinn, wanted to force you into a dress. Said you had to make an effort. You just agreed and let her pick your outfit. 

The doorbell rings and you look into the mirror a final time. This would have to do. You felt weird in a dress, afraid your rolls would show, but it was pretty. When you open the door, Quinn greets you with a smile, but soon he just stares at your dress. 

“What are you wearing?” He asks in disbelief and what little confidence you had, crumbles in an instant. 

“Ehm, a colleague told me to wear it. Shit, I know I shouldn’t have. I look fat in it, don’t I?” When he doesn’t answer, you look down your body, pulling the dress down a little to cover more of your thighs. “I’m sorry. Give me a sec and I can go cha-” 

As you turn, he grabs your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He looks you up and down and you notice the way his eyes linger at your plumb thighs and cleavage, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before his eyes once again finds yours. “You look gorgeous.” 

“I… I do?” You ask in disbelief, not even sure you heard him right.  

“Yeah, you do. Just sucks, cause now I’m gonna have to fight off all the single dads tonight.” 

“Oh, as if.” You giggle, taking a cardigan from the closet before walking out and closing the door. “Haven’t had a date in six months. That isn’t gonna change.” 

Quinn is just about to say something when Rory greets you from the car and interrupts. As you get into the car, he tells you about his newest school project and you’re thankful for the distraction. Not sure you’d want any more attention to yourself. 

Arriving at the school, you notice how they’ve turned the football field into a little fair with rides and lots of booths. Some sort of charity event in the wake of Mother’s Day to raise money for the school. You spend some time walking around, checking out the booths and Quinn used his sniper skills to win both you and Rory a teddy. 

After getting some food, Rory hands you a small gift. Surprised, not even sure what the occasion is, you take it from him with a smile. Inside is a necklace with a stone pendant. It has a rough surface, but still looks beautiful. 

“Thank you so much, Rory.” You turn it around in your hands, feeling the stone. “What kind of stone is it?” 

“Moon rock.” He smiles, looking to his dad shortly, before looking at you again. “Luna means Moon in Latin. The Moon is very important and so are you.” 

“To us.” Quinn chimes in, giving you a sweet smile. He gently takes the necklace from you, wanting to help put it on. You brush your hair away, shivering as his hands touch your bare shoulders after closing the necklace. “Perfect.” 

The rest of the evening, you keep touching the small pendant, smiling every time. You already knew they appreciated you, but this just made your heart soar. Throughout the night, you catch Quinn looking at you and even though he told you earlier you were gorgeous, there were still that little voice messing with you, saying he was staring for the wrong reasons. But you try to ignore it, not wanting your insecurities to ruin a great night. 

Back home, Rory asks if you want to tuck him in. A task you’ve done many times and one you always loved. You had meant it all those months ago when you told Quinn you loved kids. And you did love Rory. So tucking him in and reading to him had become one of your favorite things to do. 

When you leave his room, you find Quinn standing in the kitchen with a huge smile, his beautiful blue eyes looking at you. “You’re better with him than I’ve ever been.” 

“We just… Understand each other.” You say with a smile, jumping up on the counter, watching Quinn as he pulls some beers from the fridge. He hands you one, before drinking his own. His eyes fall upon you again as he licks away a drop of beer on his lips. 

“Okay, what is it?” You put the beer down on the counter. “You’ve been staring all night and I know you said I looked good, but with the way you keep looking, I fear you were just being nice, so-” 

You’re interrupted by his lips on yours. One hand snake around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge and him as he deepens the kiss. Your entire body is screaming for you to just give in but still, you push him away softly. 

“You’re kissing me?” 

“Well, not anymore.” Quinn grins, putting down his beer before moving his hand from the counter to your thigh. For a second your brain short-circuits and you can only focus on his hands on your plumb thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your dress. 

“Why are you kissing me?” You ask before you can stop yourself. You really don’t want to ruin this, but years of being insecure makes it hard for you to believe this. 

“Because I want some of your ChapStick. Why do you think I kissed you?” He says bluntly, the corners of his mouth moving into a small smile. “I like you.” 

“Hold up. You-” You look at him with a goofy smile, barely able to comprehend what he just said. “You like me?” 

“Well, I actually think I’m in love with you, but what the fuck do I know about love?” He smirks, his hand leaving your thigh to cup your cheek softly. “Do you even know the effect you have on me?” 

At that you giggle, finding it hard not to notice the way his hardening cock press against your inner thigh. “I, ehm… I think I do.” 

He leans forward, claiming your lips again, pressing himself closer to your clothed core. You moan softly, feeling the months of want pull at you. So you deepen the kiss, your fingers entangling in his hair, not ever wanting to let him go again. 

His lips leave yours, only to kiss down the column of your neck, causing you to moan out loud. Remembering Rory, you cover your mouth before giggling softly. Quinn just nibbles at your neck, smiling. “He’s a heavy sleeper.” 

You sigh as he sucks on you pulse point, hand sliding over your shoulders to pull down the straps of your dress. He pulls the fabric down further, exposing your breasts. He cups one, his mouth closing around your nipple, sucking softly. 

His free hand is caressing your thigh, pushing your dress up higher. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathes out as he lets go of your nipple, kissing you again. His hand reaches your already soaked core, pushing your panties to the side. You moan out his name as Quinn thrusts his fingers into you. 

“Fuck Quinn.” You moan, your hands running down his muscular chest, traveling all the way down to his belt, undoing it quickly. You pull his to the side, unbuttoning his pants and pull out his hard cock. As your fingers take a hold of his aching length, Quinn groans. 

“Fuck darlin’. Are you sure?” He murmurs, lining himself up against your wet entrance.  

“Please just fuck me, Quinn.” You plead, not even caring if you sound desperate.  

“Yes ma’am.” He whispers as he thrust into you. You have to cover your mouth to stop yourself from crying out, afraid you’ll wake up Rory. Quinn slowly presses in, making you sure you feel every inch off him before pulling out slowly again, teasing you.  

You wrap your legs around him, a silent plea for him to stop teasing and just fuck you. You’ve wanted him for so long, needing him and you’re done waiting. Quinn takes the hint and grabs your hips, thrusting into you again, harder and faster.  

You bite your lip, trying to hold the moan in as he hits that sweet spot inside you, bringing you closer to climax as he moves faster, spurred on by the pretty noises you make for him. Quinn buries his face in the crook of your neck, nibbing at your sensitive skin as he grinds harder against you. 

“Fuck, Quinn.” You whimper, so close to seeing stars with each drag of his cock. He whispers against your skin, praising you for how good you feel, how long he’s waited for this. You cry as you feel yourself quiver, your whole body on fire as Quinn pushes you over the edge. Desperate for his own release, he pulls you closer, unable to hold himself back as he feels your walls convulse around him. 

“Fuck darlin’, you feel so good.” he pants as he thrust one more time. Your name falls from his lips like a silent prayer as he comes hard, filling you with his cum.  

You both fall silent, the only sound filling the air is your heavy breathing. You look into Quinn’s eyes only to find him already looking at you. Pulling you in for a passionate kiss, he holds you close. You feel better than you have in a long time, hoping this is the start of something new. You sure as hell know you want to do this again. And soon. 

“I’m sorry if you felt I was moving too fast.” He pants, smiling wide before kissing you softly. “But seeing you in that dress, I just couldn’t control myself.” 

“Guess I’ll have to wear more sundresses then.” You giggle as you look into Quinn’s beautiful eyes. 

“You won’t hear me complaining. Wanna see those gorgeous thighs whenever I can.” At that you frown, still in disbelief that he’d actually want you, rolls and all. Quinn cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “I do want you. And your thunder thighs.” 

“Thunder thighs?” You snort, shaking your head. He really is something, that Quinn McKenna. 

“Yeah, heard some kids call it that. Thick thighs saves lives and all that.” He smiles, kissing you again. 

“You’re so dumb.” 

“But I’m your dumbass.” That makes you smile, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. He holds you close as you both come down from your high, enjoying finally being in each other’s arms. You look up at him, placing a soft kiss on his neck. 

“So… what now?” 

“My plan is to stick around and annoy you for the foreseeable future.” He looks down, kissing the tip of your nose. “How does that sound?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Tagging: @e-dubbc11 @albatrossandivys @itwasthereaminuteago @mindidjarin @hlkwrites @pedrito-friskito @wardenparker @mattmurdocksscars

And a little no pressure tagging (hope that's okay 🙈❤️): @absurdthirst (because you made that great fic featuring Quinn with Connie) and @lucy-sky

[birdgirl90]

I know I haven’t been very active on here at all in months, but it’s mostly because I’ve been dealing through some pretty hefty trauma. I’m in a place where I feel ready to share some of it, though. Trigger warnings: abuse, trauma, gas lighting, ptsd, child abuse.

Most of it started with unpacking the fact I was in a physically and emotionally abusive marriage for 12 years. I ended up cutting ties with people I thought were my friends because they insisted he was a good man and I should still be friends. Never mind the fact that he manipulated and controlled me, and let’s not get into the sexual aspect.

See, when I got divorced almost a year ago, I was told by my parents that they were disappointed in me for not trying to save my marriage. They then proceeded to let him live with us another month and then personally drove him to his mom’s place in a neighboring state.

The friend who introduced me to him, who I thought was a safe person, told me that she refused to not stop talking to him, and insisted I needed to be friends with him after the divorce, even after I told her a sliver of what went on behind closed doors. I cut her in February.

I discovered I’m autistic. I’ve been learning to navigate that, and how I sort things in my head, after being misdiagnosed as bipolar for 8 years. It’s been a learning experience.

And then the last few weeks happened, when I remembered deeply repressed things from my childhood. How I was neglected, having child services called on us, my mom abusing me, our home always being a disgusting mess. I remembered all the things that my parents did under the guise of love, and how they will never love me how I need.

I spiraled this week, if we’re being honest. My birthday was last month, and my mom didn’t bother reaching out to me except on Instagram when I posted something. I received a box this week, almost a month to the day after my birthday, with a few gifts and a card. And inside it she had included two pictures, one of which she claimed was of me in high school but was, in fact, from when I had my engagement photos taken.

They never knew me.

Today, at the urging of my trauma specialist that I’ve been seeing, I went no contact with my family. It is both a relief and also one of the hardest things I have done. I love my family so much, and there is such a grief at having to do this. It’s necessary - I have to have time and space to heal. But it also sucks.

I have ptsd and childhood ptsd and also sexual ptsd. I deal with an eating disorder. My self worth is a struggle at best. And honestly, I never should have had to go through any of that. Ever. No one should. It’s not okay at all.

But it’s not all bad. I have this job at a state university that I love, where I work with college kids and run an office of work study kids in the financial aid department. I get to work from home twice a week, have really great benefits, and the vacation time is generous, not to mention I’m salaried. My boss is the sweetest woman and knows what I’m going through, and when it catches up to me at work, I am allowed the space to take care of myself, whether that’s to go home or cry at my desk or whatever I need.

My roommate is awesome as fuck. She’s my best friend (who I met on here years ago, actually) who is also going through it from leaving her ex, and we support each other. We go do fun things on the weekends, like to lunch or go on day trips. Next weekend we’re actually taking a few days to go to Hershey Park.

I have my cat David who I adore. He is the sweetest love bug and makes me laugh like no other. He and my roommate’s cat are in love and it’s great.

And I’ve got my gods, who I love and who care for me. My spirituality has never been as strong before, and it’s incredibly fulfilling.

So you know, I’m going to be okay. I believe that. There is a lot of grief and a lot of healing still to happen, but I know I will be okay.

I hope all of you who are still here are well! I miss writing but the truth is, I think that chapter is done for now. I tended to use it to escape, and I can’t do that anymore. It will always be a part though, and the stories are forever going to stay up.

I am always down to chat about anything, though, and I will still be around. Take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you at the next post.

~Birdie

[trilobiter]

Worried about my brother, worried about my dad. Going to vent a little bit.

I've written a little about my brother before, but for context he is autistic and has an intellectual disability. These have obviously been the case for his whole life (he's going to be 34 this year), but in recent years he's also developed a gluten intolerance. For a guy who loves pasta as much as he does, this is a blow.

Now, this brother lives in my hometown, close to our youngest brother and our dad, while I live too far away to have a direct hand in things most of the time. But this week, he informed me and the younger brother by text that he had gotten in a fight with our dad after sending him a profanity-laden text message blaming him (dad) for his gluten intolerance. He then "ran away from home" by taking an Uber to a water park about an hour away, spending the day there and then Ubering right back home.

We tried to remind him that, as a grown man, he was allowed to go to the water park whenever he wanted to, and that it was OK if he wanted to put a little distance between himself and some one he was upset with. But he insisted on characterizing this excursion as "running away" and insisting that it would make dad "worried sick."

I should point out that while our dad is not a perfect person, one of his best qualities as a parent has been going consistently above and beyond expectations to ensure this brother of mine has the ability to live as independently and comfortably as he possibly can. There is no greater ally to my brother in all the world, and all he did in this case was tell him he didn't like being cussed out and blamed for something that wasn't his fault.

The next day, my text messages were again blowing up, as my brother was again telling us (as well as his ample support team) about how devastated he was that he'd totally and permanently ruined his relationship with our dad, who was "too much of a coward" to call the police the previous day and report him missing. I felt compelled to remind him that he was a grown man and had told people where he was going, so he was in no sense missing. But I knew this wouldn't settle things, because he was zeroed in on this fantasy that he is a little kid who can run away from his dad's house, even though he lives in an apartment that he can walk in and out of at any damn time he pleases.

Most of the time, he's a kind, gentle person to be around. He's never hurt anybody physically that I'm aware of. It's just that every once in a while, he throws these temper tantrums, and he's run this kind of runaway scenario many times before. I doubt very much he could ever permanently damage his relationship with dad, but he has burned bridges with neighbors and prospective employers by unleashing vile streams of invective in text or email form. He's recently started to see meaningful doors close because he couldn't be talked out of sending very nasty words in a moment of passion.

What worries me is that dad is getting old. He's in great shape and I am hopeful he'll be around for many more years, but he can't keep taking care of my brother forever, and these occasional explosions are taking more and more of a toll on him. We're all just hoping at this point that my brother will truly learn to moderate his behavior by the time he's in his 40s or 50s, or whenever it is he truly cannot count on my dad any longer to connect him with support personnel, or manage his trust, or any of the other ways he maintains him. At that point it will fall to us siblings to pick up the slack, and we'll do our best, but we have other priorities and we can hardly be a father to him.

My sister and I both got married in the last couple of years, and she's got kids of her own now. I know that our brother is frustrated because he knows that his options are limited, and I've heard him express the desire to live a life more like we have. I wish I could help him appreciate what he has and understand how important it is that he take care of it.

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Ohana

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer’s in love with his new neighbor- and her son that’s just like him

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Typical CM stuff (Amplification specifically), Single Parent!Reader, slight angst

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.” -Lilo and Stitch

~

Spencer remembered the day you moved in. He remembered you lugging boxes up five flights of stairs by yourself. When he saw you struggling with a heavy box, trying to find your key, he decided to be bold and help. 

“You look like you could use some assistance,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I live right across the hall.”

“Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” you said.

“Here, let me hold the box for you.”

“Careful, it’s heavy,” you said, shifting it into his arms. 

Spencer was jostled for a moment from the weight of the box, which was labeled (Y/N)’s Books. “So, MD or PhD?” he asked you as you searched for the right key. 

“PhD, I’m too squeamish to be in the medical field,” you said with a laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Spencer had ever heard. “What about you?”

“What? Oh,” Spencer shook his head, focusing back on the conversation. “PhDs.”

You stopped sorting through your keys and turned to face Spencer. “Plural? Holy shit, are you a genius or something?”

Spencer let out a small laugh before saying, “Yeah, technically. But I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You finally found the right key and sighed as you heard the lock click. “Um, you can set the box with the others by the bookshelf.”

Spencer turned to see a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, much like his own, with boxes upon boxes of books in front of it. Some were labeled Academics, some had the same label as the one he was currently holding, and some had Oliver’s Books scrawled across the top.

“So, uh, where are you moving from?” he asked you, following the maze of boxes to your kitchen.

You offered him a bottle of water. “Erie, Pennsylvania. I got a job at Georgetown as an Associate Professor in the history department.”

“Oh, I guest lecture there every once in a while. In the criminology department. Uh, what’s your concentration?” Spencer took a sip from the water bottle. 

“Medieval and Renaissance history,” you said. “I get to teach fun classes like Medieval Weaponry and Warfare.”

“Well, maybe I can sit in on that class someday.”

You smiled at him and that was when Spencer knew, you’d worked your way into his heart and you were never leaving.

~

Spencer remembered the first time he met Oliver. It was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 15 seconds since the day he met you. He was coming home from an exhausting case when he saw you trying to balance paper shopping bags in your arms while opening your door. A small boy, no older than 6, stood behind you with oversized headphones and a mobile gaming system. He had a huge backpack on his shoulders.

“Ollie, take the keys. Ollie. Oliver.”

“You need some help?” Spencer asked, setting his go-bag in front of his door.

“Spencer, hi! Um, some help would be great.” Spencer took the bags from your arms so you could open the door. “Oh, uh, this is Oliver, my son.”

“Your-your son?” Spencer asked. If you had a son, it was likely you had a partner. 

“Yep, he’s my boy.” You tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to say hi. The boy gave a small wave before going back to his game.

Spencer cleared his throat. “So, uh, where’s-where’s his father?”

“California. At least, that’s where he went when he left us.” Your hand was resting on top of your son’s head. He looked just like you. “Here, can you just set the bags on the counter?” you asked after opening the door. Oliver started down the hallway when you grabbed the loop of his backpack. “Not so fast. You know the rules. Homework first, then you can play your game again.”

Oliver groaned and handed you his game. You set it on the counter next to the bags of groceries. 

“So, you’re raising him alone?” Spencer asked you. 

You nodded and started unpacking the bags. “Yeah. You know, it’s been hard, but I can’t imagine life without my Ollie. He’s my heart and soul.”

~

Spencer and you became friends quite quickly. He told you about his job as a profiler, and you told him about working at the university. He would come over after cases and watch movies with you and Oliver. He’d help you put groceries away and he’d help you with simple tasks. 

He also picked up on Oliver’s eccentricities. He reminded Spencer of his younger self. He didn’t talk much about kids at school and he breezed through schoolwork. His interests seemed heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a kid his age. One day, Spencer decided to ask about it as inconspicuously as he could. 

The two of you were playing a game of chess when he brought it up.

“So, Oliver seems to be doing pretty well in school. What grade did you say he was in, second?”

“Yeah, the school bumped him up a grade. They wanted me to move him up to fourth, but I know how important it is to have friends your own age. And he already struggles to make friends.”

“He does? Why?”

You sighed, moving your knight. “Check. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He doesn’t quite get social cues so it’s hard for him.”

Spencer moved his bishop and took your knight. “I’m sure his dad leaving didn’t help.”

“Well, he, uh, he never actually met his dad. Leo left me when I was four months pregnant.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. It was almost seven years ago. I moved on, and I learned to balance motherhood with college. I completed my undergrad when he was only a few months old and I worked on graduate school when he was a high-energy toddler. It just proved to me that I can do anything. Checkmate.”

~

Spencer was enjoying a rare day off on a Tuesday when his phone started ringing. He groaned, thinking it was Hotch with an urgent case. But when he saw your name on the caller ID, his face lit up. 

“(Y/N), hey!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Ollie’s school just called me. He’s sick but I have classes and meetings all day so I can’t go get him and-”

“Are you asking if I can go get him?” Spencer said, cutting off your rambling.

“Yes! Could you, please? I’d be so so grateful.”

Spencer smiled, grabbing the spare key you gave him. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you so much. There’s a spare car seat in the coat closet. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be picking him up. Thank you so much, Spencer.”

When Spencer got to the school, he was fidgety. He’d never spent time alone with your son before. And he wasn’t even sure if the kid liked him. 

He walked into the front office and said, “Hi, my name is Spencer Reid, I’m here to pick up Oliver (L/N)?”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you were coming to get him. If I could just see your ID?” the receptionist asked. Spencer nodded and pulled out his driver’s license. “Great, if you could just sign Oliver out on the clipboard here, you’ll be good to go.”

Spencer scribbled his signature on the clipboard and the receptionist got up to get Oliver from the back office. Oliver followed the receptionist, his backpack on his shoulders and a paper bag clutched in his hands. His face was pale and he was swaying slightly. 

“Hey, Ollie,” Spencer said.

“Hi, Spencer. Where’s my mom?”

“She got stuck at work, buddy. You’re gonna stay with me until she comes home, okay?”

Oliver nodded. “Okay.” He followed Spencer out of the school and climbed in the back of his car.

“Do you want me to put the window down?” Spencer offered, looking back at the boy in the mirror. When Oliver nodded, Spencer put his window down and pulled out of the parking lot.

After pulling into the parking garage, Spencer looked in the mirror again. Oliver was fast asleep, his head slumped against the door. Rather than waking the boy, Spencer unbuckled him and scooped him up in his arms. 

Oliver wrapped his little, sweaty arms around Spencer’s neck as he was carried inside. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was how much he cared for the boy, but Spencer pressed a small kiss to the side of his head. Spencer dug your spare key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, setting Ollie down on the couch.

After covering him with a blanket, Spencer dug around in your kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers. After setting them on the coffee table, he heard a small voice say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Spencer noticed Oliver watching him from the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, handing Oliver the soda with a red bendy straw. “What do you mean, bud?”

“I know you like-like my mom. But you’re nice to me even when she’s not here. Matt didn’t do that. He called me names when Mom wasn’t around. He said I was weird.”

Spencer knew Matt was your ex from your time working at the Erie campus of Penn State. He was the first person you’d been with since Oliver’s father. And hearing how he treated Oliver didn’t sit right with Spencer.

Spencer sighed and looked at Oliver. “I’m nice to you because I like you, too. And I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“You were?” Oliver handed the cup back to Spencer to set back on the table.

Spencer nodded. “People still think I’m weird. But being weird is good. How boring would the world be if everyone was normal?”

Oliver smiled. “It would be pretty boring,” he said.

“Get some rest, okay? It’ll help you feel better.”

You finally managed to sneak out of work and get home. When you opened the door, you saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from your sleeping son, reading a book. 

“Hey,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He has a low-grade fever and he hasn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach. I’ve been having him nibble on some crackers but even that doesn’t stay down.”

“Oh, my poor boy. Thank you for staying with him.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, for both of you.”

~

The team got back from a particularly rough case dealing with kids. Hotch gave them the weekend off to recuperate. 

“Anyone want to go grab a drink?” Derek offered to the group.

“Or five?” Emily added.

“What do you say, kid? You in?” Derek asked Spencer as the younger man packed up his bag. 

“Oh, no, sorry. I, uh, I have plans,” he said with a smile before slipping out of the office. The team watched him hurry out of the building before sharing glances with each other. 

“Spence has a girlfriend,” JJ realized. 

“Pretty boy has a girlfriend?”

“Think about it. When does Spencer ever have plans? And when was the last time he didn’t stay to do paperwork when we were given the time off?”

“And he upgraded his phone out of nowhere,” Emily chimed in. “He went from one that had only the bare essentials to a smartphone he texts on all the time.”

“We need to find out who this girl is,” Morgan decided. 

Spencer had been keeping you a secret from the team on purpose. Not because he was ashamed of you, or embarrassed, but because he knew the team saw him as the baby and they would be invasive if they ever found out. He didn’t want them to scare you away, he loved you too much to lose you. Though, he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

~

You and Spencer were walking down the street, Oliver asleep on Spencer’s back, snoring against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck.

“You have no idea how excited he is for you to see his science fair project,” you said. “It was all he could talk about all week.”

Spencer smiled and adjusted the boy on his back. “I think I’m just as excited to see his project, especially since he wouldn’t let me know anything about it.”

You reached the apartment complex and you dug your keys out of your bag. “Are you sure you can carry him up the stairs? I can wake him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. I got him,” Spencer whispered, moving so that Oliver was clinging to his front rather than his back. He followed you up the stairs to your apartment. When you unlocked the door, he went straight to Oliver’s room and put the tired boy in his bed. He kissed Ollie’s forehead before flicking on his nightlight and leaving the room. 

“Oh, hey,” you said when Spencer came out of the room, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. I think we might have put him in a coma.”

You laughed and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Go get some sleep. I know you’re tired, too.”

“I’m not-”

“Spence, you nearly fell asleep at the movies tonight. Go.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. But not without a kiss goodnight.”

You gave Spencer a kiss before shooing him across the hall. When Spencer unlocked his door and flicked on the light, he saw his team sitting in his living room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing here? JJ, I gave you a key for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency!” Penelope said. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us!”

“Kid, please tell me she’s a single mother and you haven’t been keeping a family a secret from us for years,” said Morgan.

Spencer was still annoyed his friends broke into his apartment, but he couldn’t resist talking about you, especially when they’d already seen you. “Her name’s (Y/N), she moved in about a year ago with her son, Oliver. We’ve been dating for three months.”

“Spence, why didn’t you tell us?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I didn’t want you scaring her off. I love her. I love both of them. And you guys can be intimidating.”

~

“Spencer’s coming to the science fair tonight, right?” Oliver asked you as you got him ready for school. 

“That’s what he said,” you told him. “And you know Spencer likes to keep his promises.”

“I can’t wait to show him my mold project!”

“Okay, kiddo, we have to go. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Meanwhile, Spencer was in the conference room at work, worrying about the latest case they’ve been presented. Someone was releasing a new strain of anthrax in public places around the DC area.

But under his stress over the case, he was worrying about you and Ollie. Maybe that’s why he worked so much harder on this one. 

He and Morgan were sent to the suspect’s house, and Spencer entered first. Looking around, he noticed his mistake. When Morgan made his way to the door, he slammed and locked the door. 

“Reid, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer was infected. He knew there was a large chance he would die, but he couldn’t stop working. He needed to find the antidote. HIs breathing was getting heavier and he felt sweat dripping down his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hey, Garcia?”

“Reid! Oh, my god, Derek told me what happened. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Um, can you- can you record a message for me? It’s for (Y/N) and Ollie.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He heard her typing. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Spencer cleared the lump in his throat. “Uh, hi, (Y/N), it’s Spencer. Um, I-I wanted to let you know that, uh, I love you and…” he paused, taking a breath and blinking tears from his eyes, “and I’m so happy you let me into your life, into your family. And I want Ollie to know I love him, too. You- both of you- you’re my family.”

After that, things happened too fast. Spencer was being pulled out of the house and hosed down before being ushered to the waiting ambulance. He fell out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. 

When he woke up in a hospital bed, Morgan was sitting by his side. 

“Are you eating Jell-O?” he asked, his voice cracking from being dry.

Morgan lit up with a smile. “Welcome back, kid.”

“Is there anymore Jell-O?”

Morgan chuckled. “You know, there’s some people here waiting for you.”

“What?”

Before Morgan could explain, you and Oliver burst into the room.

“Oh, my god, Spence!” You ran over and hugged him the best you could with the various medical equipment attached to him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you scolded. 

Oliver climbed onto the bed and curled up next to Spencer. “Yeah, don’t do that again,” he said. “How can I take you to Donuts with Dad if you’re dead?” He looked up at Spencer with his big doe-eyes and Spencer felt his heart break a little bit. 

“You-you want me to go to Donuts with Dad with you? Even though I missed your science fair?”

Ollie nodded. “I don’t care that you missed my science fair. I just care that you’re still here.” He looked up and Spencer and wrapped his arms around his torso. “I love you, Spencer.” He gave Spencer a light squeeze. 

Spencer smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Ollie.” He looked up at you. “And I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled and gave Spencer a soft kiss. 

“Ewww!” Ollie squealed, making you both laugh. 

~

Spencer proposed to you about a year later. You’d both decided you didn’t want a huge wedding, just family and close friends. Rossi gave his backyard for you to use for the ceremony. It was simple and small, but it was special and wonderful. Spencer had flown Diana out, and you’d flown your parents out.

After the ceremony, Spencer announced that the both of you had a surprise for Ollie. He went inside Rossi’s house and returned with a manila envelope. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, I hold the most important document I have ever signed.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “This certificate certifies that Oliver B. (L/N) is the adopted child of Spencer W. Reid,” he read.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re- what?”

“Remember all those Saturdays Penelope watched you while Spencer and I went out? This is what we were doing,” you told him. 

Oliver ran over to you and Spencer and wrapped you in hugs. The rest of Spencer’s team and your parents joined in. In just two years, your family had gone from just you and your son to more people than you knew what to do with. And that was more than okay with you.

~

“They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.” -Anonymous

[lilac-melody]

Breaking Down Sia’s Movie

Okay, so I watched Sia’s movie “Music”. And I bear witnessed how awful it truly is. So before I get into this, here’s some warnings:

1. This is going to be a long post

2. There will be mentions of restraint scenes and how they’re handled as well as images. View at your own discretion.

3. There are Spoilers so if for some godforsaken reason you WANT to see this movie...don’t click “keep reading”

Okay, so before I get into the actual contents of the movie let me say the characters all suck. Not a single character was likable and the plot was barely coherent. The main character, Kazu (or just “Zu”) is a recovering alcoholic and she’s just,,, all around not a good person. She’s very irresponsible.

Ebo, her love interest, is also shitty. Not only is his character based on racism to make the white girl look heroic and brave, but he doesn’t actually know how to take care of Music, the autistic girl.

There was also this weird subplot with this fat Asian guy but we’ll get to that later.

And another thing to address there’s like about roughly 10 music videos sprinkled in throughout the movie??? And almost all except ONE of them were extremely bright and colorful and each time I had to keep looking away. Not only that but ALL of the transitions from “reality to music” was always very sudden and has sent me into sensory overload.

And one last thing before we dive into this- Music stims a lot. And yet in her music videos in her mind, she’s not stimming...like, at all. Considering Sia researched with AutismSpeaks, I’m sure she has the idea that stimming is a bad thing.

So the movie begins with Blackface and immediately we jump into extreme bright lights and music. Music wakes up, and we get a feel of her daily routine. Get up, eat eggs, have her hair braided, go on a walk, come home, watch tv, go to bed. (Or at least that’s the generalization of it) And I DO mention this schedule because it’s important later.

As we already know, Music (who is played by Maddie Ziegler, a neurotypical actress) has very exaggerated movements. She has this very weird way of walking and constantly looks like she’s doped up on medications and is high off her ass.

Everyone around her treats her like a toddler, being overly friendly and being all around accepting and caring of her.

Now I bring this up because that in itself is already problematic. It makes neurotypical people think “oh it must be great being autistic people will buy you things, give you free stuff and you’re so unaware!” when this is the furthest thing from reality. If people saw someone like Music out and about, they would be giving her dirty looks, they wouldn’t buy her free things, they’d move away from her.

Autistic people are not that accepted into society. You’re more likely to get cussed out than helped.

So Music returns home, and finds her grandmother, her previous caretaker, dead on the ground. She has no reaction, just smiling and giggling away and sits down.

One thing I noticed about Music is that she’s literally always stimming. Like, LITERALLY always. There is not a single moment on screen where she’s NOT stimming. And that’s not to say it’s bad but it feels way too forced and honestly? It felt and looked more like a mockery of autistic people who need to stim often.

So George, a man next door, came over to help fix something in the apartment. And it was only After he came in that Music got worried about her grandma. Or at least she was lowkey panicking. This is when Zu comes into the movie and gets a call and has to now come take care of Music.

Also apparently the fat Asian neighbor would??? Flash a flashlight in her room while she’s in bed and move it around as if she was some sort of cat??? I’m pretty sure that scene was just an excuse to launch into the second music video of the movie.

So Music wakes up and echoes “Make you eggs” to Zu, who makes her eggs. Remember the routine I mentioned? How Music gets her hair braided as she’s eating? Well, as Zu’s going back to bed, Music starts echoing “Braid your hair”. Zu doesn’t know how.

So Sia incorporated a meltdown scene of Music being stressed of the routine is being broken. Music starts hitting her head and thrashing around screaming “braid your hair” repeatedly. Zu not knowing what to do tries to pin her against the wall and was literally screaming at her to calm down.

And this is where we met Ebo, Zu’s love interest. He noticed Music having a meltdown and...well...

Zu questions if he’s hurting Music and...

And after that, everything is suddenly all perfectly fine because Music understands that Ebo doesn’t want her hurt and she needs to calm down. And it’s also wonderfully okay because he can braid her hair. She goes back to breakfast as if nothing happened.

Obviously this is extremely problematic. Restraining autistics during a meltdown is a very sure way to kill them. If a neurotypical is reading this and is doubtful, here is one instance of an autistic boy being restrained and killed.

After that, Zu and Ebo follow Music on her walk to get to know her route. After returning, Zu makes a comment about how she’s thinking about sending Music to a “people pound” and then adds “oh but I guess I can keep her”??? Honestly if you took this scene out of context I’d be wondering if they were actually talking about a fucking animal.

Zu later finds some of her old toys and talks to Music about them and mentions how someone “has seizures just like Music”.

Um...when did Music have seizures? This was NEVER brought up prior to this and it will never be mentioned throughout the movie. A meltdown! Is not! A seizure!!

The movie follows Zu around being irresponsible, borrowing money, and so forth.

And then we get to the park scene. Hey remember the first meltdown scene? Music had a meltdown about her routine being broken? Yeah that doesn’t happen. Zu flat out says that the change of route is good for her and Music just happily goes along with it with that dopey ass expression on her face.

Ebo explains that Music wears her headphones “because her hearing is so sensitive she can hear whispering from two rooms away”. First of all, we autistic people are NOT superhuman.

After he says that he says “she can understand everything we are saying” and yet they literally have to repeat themselves several times to get her to understand. They don’t treat her like she understands them. They treat her like a two year old who doesn’t know any better. That was literally the vibe I got throughout the entire movie, especially at some later scenes.

So Music sees some kids running around and that sends her into a meltdown. And Zu wants Ebo to restrain her like he did at the apartment and...um.

Ooooooookayyyyyy. Yeah, that’s your problem??? Okay make the tall white girl be a “hero” then.

Oh yeah just like that!

Also what the fuck is Music’s expression here??? This is a normal look for her throughout the movie and she’s having a Meltdown.

Oh and after Music “calms down” from the meltdown??? She’s back to being 100% PERFECTLY HAPPY.

AGAIN, NEUROTYPICALS, DO NOT THINK THIS IS OKAY!!!!! NONE OF US ARE LIKE THAT!!! IF YOU RESTRAIN AN AUTISTIC YOU WILL MAKE THEM PANIC MORE AND POSSIBLY KILL THEM!!!

So, we keep going on with the movie, following Zu continuing to be irresponsible and frustratingly impossible to care about.

And at one point, she has to bring Music with her to this place where she “works”. And on the way there she tells Music to “not do one of her freakouts and just get it out now”.

Um...so sorry that a meltdown is causing YOU trouble??? A MELTDOWN IS NOT A FUCKING TANTRUM!!!!!!!!!

Later, when walking, Music wanted a snowcone, so Zu got her one. While she was getting her one, Music, QUITE LITERALLY OUT OF NOWHERE, lays on the ground under the bench and starts to eat gum from it.

...Um. What??? Why??? To show us how “hard” it is being with an autistic girl??? Literally what was the point of this scene???

So, afterwards, Music gets stung by a bee, which she’s allergic to. Zu restrained her while she was screaming, though it was brief, it was still uncomfortable. She gets brought to the hospital and she’s gonna be okay because she had an EpiPen with her.

But the doctors say that Zu’s occupation is empty for the insurance.

And here’s where I got from pissed and annoyed to downright uncomfortable.

Zu realizes her bag is missing and for several minutes, she literally starts screaming in pure anger and frustration, at home she’s searching, throwing things, kicking things, screaming some more...

Like WHY isn’t ZU being restrained??? Why is it acceptable for her to do that but it’s bad for Music to have a meltdown??? Honestly when Zu started screaming and throwing things, I actually flinched.

Oh also during these scenes the fat Asian kid was taking Ebo’s boxing class and hugged his opponent during a match and I guess at his apartment his parents argued about that (they didn’t include subtitles on that bit as they were speaking another language....nice. Note the sarcasm.)

and the dad literally attacks his wife and throws his son aside...and the fat Asian kid dies.

So like...what was the point of the kid dude??? No, seriously, what was the point? To buy Music a watermelon pop at the start of the movie??? We didn’t get ANY information about him or ANYTHING. And he just up and dies. Like if you take all his scenes out of the movie, nothing would change.

While the kid’s dying, Zu’s so stressed that she gets drunk and tries to talk to Ebo, but she gets loud and emotional and a neighbor comes out and Zu drunkenly attacks him.

Oh, so even if Zu is drunk and attacking people, pushing them, etc, SHE doesn’t get restrained. She just gets told stop. Okay. Sure.

Zu goes to a bar, returns home after another annoying music number, and makes Music her breakfast before she goes on her walk.

Ebo visits, and he practically says “aight I’mma focus on my own health I’m out”.

Zu starts becoming actually clean after that, she and Music staying with George.

There was pretty much just a dumb montage of her life after that??? One bit was Music having ANOTHER meltdown (for unexplained reasons) and Zu grabbing her yelling to calm down.

After some time Zu decides to drop Music off at a mental health facility, and when they were there, Music suddenly starts saying “don’t go sis” and “sit down now”.

Hold up.

So this movie is telling me that Music is nonverbal, but she can say some phrases, and also she understands what’s going on and YET NO ONE IN THIS ENTIRE MOVIE HAS TREATED HER LIKE SHE’S A HUMAN BEING WHO KNOWS WHAT’S GOING ON...suddenly, out of nowhere, she knows what’s going on. She suddenly knows she’s about to be left alone and suddenly she can talk more than repeated phrases.

I...I don’t think that’s how that works there, chief!

Zu changes her mind and she and Music go to the wedding that Ebo is at. Ebo is a guest at his brother and ex-wife’s wedding. (Which he mentioned earlier in the film and said he’ll tell Zu the rest of his story later which he never does btw)

and while he’s on stage finishing his speech, which is about how he doesn’t know what love is, Zu and Music come running in and Zu goes up on stage and basically tells him she’s now clean and she’s learning to love. And suddenly Ebo’s in love with Zu and introduces her to his entire family at the wedding, share a kiss and then everyone started clapping.

...No, I’m not kidding. Everyone was applauding them. At his brother’s wedding.

They start to play a song, but then Music starts kinda quietly kinda brokenly singing, it was hard to hear but yeah.

And then it cuts to another bright music video and the movie THANKFULLY ENDS.

GOD. That was so frustrating to watch.

I hated the characters, I hated the plot, I hated how Sia chose to “represent” autistic people, it was all a one, big, irritating MESS.

And in the end, do we learn ANYTHING about autism??? NO.

In fact, if I was a neurotypical with NO knowledge of autism, I would assume autism makes you some stupid 2 year old that you need to restrain when they’re stressed.

I wish I was kidding.

Just because some autistics are incapable of fully taking care of themselves doesn’t mean they’re just “teehee brain empty everyone around me is in a super bright music video!” like what the fuck???

This movie was problemtic, offensive, and WHY is it titled “MUSIC” when literally Zu is the protagonist??? Zu is the protagonist, her main story is about her and Ebo falling in love, and her subplot was...taking care of Music.

And then the mini subplots of the movie too. I genuinely don’t understand the point of the Asian kid. And Once, Ebo mentioned needing medication but they never bring THAT up again either.

Even if you erased Music’s character entirely in this movie and it wasn’t about a recovering alcoholic taking care of her autistic sister, the movie would be trash, poorly made, poorly executed, poorly directed.

And, the site I used did NOT add any warnings about restraint NOR did it say “hey don’t restrain autistics in a meltdown” or anything. And considering this movie had 4 RESTRAINT SCENES (2 of them being fleshed out and the others being quicker)...that’s pretty bad.

All around, this movie was awful.

-50/10, I would sooner watch 2019′s Cats.

[officiallanxichen]

Thomas Hamilton

ohohoho anon you have Opened the Floodgates i Absolutely Will Talk About My Special Boy

First impression: full disclosure I went into watching Black Sails knowing that an essential part of the story was Flint being queer, so when Thomas' name first came up i was like THAT'S HIS BOYFRIEND I JUST KNOW IT!! So when he first came onscreen I got sooo excited. I was livetexting Lexi when I watched that episode and this is my exact first impression of my perfect boy:

[ID: a screenshot of a Discord message reading, "I love Thomas and his silly little wig <3 (heart emoji) silly little lad nothing bad will happen to him". End ID.] Impression now: I Love Him So Much He Is My Special Perfect Boy I Am So Normal About Him He Is So Sweet So Good So Bitchy So Good So Perfect Soooo Gooood Favorite moment: OBVIOUSLY the reunion scene in 4x10 I've watched that scene so many times it makes me CRY!! But from the flashback scenes I think the entire dinner scene with bitch boy Alfred is such a good example of his character and how much of a little stubbron bitch he is <33 and there's Nothing like when James kicks Alfred out of his Own House and Thomas just. takes his little wig off and is like. babe you just did that. you're so sexy let's make out in front of my wife stat. Idea for a story: i have sooo many SO many but the one I'm going to write after my current wip is a post-canon fic where he and James break out of ye old Savannah and go live in the country somewhere and end up informally adopting the wayward queer preteen who lives next door. i simply think they deserve to be the weird sketchy neighbors that all the kids are obsessed with <33 Unpopular opinion: i don't really know what opinions about him are unpopular?? i haven't really engaged with the fandom much beyond my friends so i don't think I can answer this question oops. Favorite relationship: definitely him and james they Invented Romance i Love Them i think about the odysseus/penelope parallels CONSTANTLY. there aren't a whole lot of people that he like. has a platonic relationship but i think that he and madi would get along frighteningly well (after she beat some sense into his little english brain first <3) Favorite headcanon: AUTISM!!!! i am a simple lad. i see a special little guy. i zap him with the autism beams <3 autistic4autistic flintyhammy is the Only Way. i also have some like real meta supports for this headcanon but all you need to know is that i'm autistic and i love him and therefore he is autistic <3

[transephiroth]

an important post: abuse from friends, friend abuse. please read and reblog.

TW: abuse ment, bpd ment, ed ment, suicide ment, ptsd, trauma, death ment. gaslighting ment.

i don’t know what exactly what has compelled me to make this post at nearly 1:00 am on a school night just like every other, but i think the importance of advocacy of preventing, spotting, and stopping abusive friendships is to talk about them with the same respect as any other form of abuse.

i’ll give you a small overview of my personal experience with abusive friendships: when i was 16, my father committed suicide. i was not aware he was my biological father at they time and actually found out he was not my half brother, but my biological father. my father, who’s name i will not mention. i won’t even use fake names they’re hard to keep track of. i found out my mother, an abusive drug addict, slept with her husband, my apparent grandfather’s, adult son from a previous marriage consensually. one way or another, my father was forbidden to be involved in my life, and my grandfather raised me as his own. (in case you’re going to ask about inc*st, my father and mother have no relation, she is not his mother.)

the shock of learning this and grieving his death from the few negative interactions he and his mental health had on my family when i was a baby, was intense. i had no friends at school and felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. when i was in this place i met my best friend. we bonded over a shared hatred of my ex boyfriend, who was an abuser, who was dating her ex best friend.

this should have been a red flag, but i ignored it.

i took the first friend i could find after my ex took away all my friends in an effort to isolate me after my assault. this was probably the worst part of my life, and one of my first real suicide attempts was only days before my father died. the first friend i found, the first soul i recognized i clung to.

when me and my friend, who we will call P, were inseparable. but there was a very clear and distinct difference between us. P was a star in the band at school, she had great grades, tons of friends and was quite conventionally attractive. she was involved in a lot of extracurriculars and overall had a very nice demeanor.

this should have been a red flag. as harsh as it might sound, idealizing anyone is unhealthy. if someone appears to you as perfect, it’s not paranoid of you to wonder if it’s hiding something. it’s hard to tell when someone is being genuine, especially for myself with autism. nice words and a smile can pretty much fool anyone.

i, on the other hand of P, dropped out of band and just about every other activity after my assault, and was in and out of intense therapy and psych visits throughout all of high school. i never could go a school year without a visit. to this day i have gone a whole year however :)

I was an autistic shut in who quite honestly, cried a lot, smelled bad, was clearly poor, spoke funny and came to school drunk. we were not the same.

i don’t want to go over every painstaking detail, so i’ll try to summarize as best i can the first two years of our three year relationship.

P was diagnosed with BPD about a month into our friendship. she told me i was her FP/favorite person, and showed me videos to learn about BPD. i remember watching hours and hours of information about BPD to accommodate her the best i could. what i didn’t realize however, was that she was lying. she didn’t have BPD, or at least couldn’t be diagnosed because we were 16.

red flag. i knew this was a lie because i had been in therapy for years. it took me a long time to peace it together but i accepted it and beget told her, until this moment, that i knew.

i fucking knew.

months of friendship included constant easy to see through lies, fabrications, pathological rants, and pretty much changing her “back story” every day. it was draining not to mention it, but the few times i did, she got physical. i have scars on my right forearm from her nails, which were long and broke skin. she would tell me she would pay me back for things and never show. she would make fun of things i told her in secret to our friends, my trauma. my dad.

“dark humor”

over time, she convinced me to drop every single friend i had except for her. she had gotten me literally completely vulnerable and isolated.

when covid hit, my mom, of course, kicked me out. i moved in with P and her family. my time there over quarantine was very monotonous, but i’ll never forget that for basically 8-9 months, she never let me out of her sight. i felt like i had to just do whatever she wanted because her mother let me live there for free.

p knew i wanted to move away from my mother and the chaos of my home life for years.

right before quarantine, P got her first boyfriend. she had never had a boyfriend and had been to scared to get one. i was really happy for her, i encouraged her to ask him out while she was at a weekend school event.

P then began to manipulate not only me, but him. to this day i don’t know what’s become of either of them, but i really couldn’t care less anymore. when trauma heals, you get a sense of apathy.

P would frequently belittle me, mock me, kick, trip and slap me, force me to pay for things for her and her boyfriend on the spot, and steal from my purse.

eventually living with p, third wheeling with her less than charming boyfriend, who i honestly just didn’t mind. we weren’t friends, but i was respectful to him and treated him the same way i would treat a friend from school or something.

p has a family i won’t bring up because it involves minors, but her mother has a psychotic disorder and refuses to be medicated, so the house is full of ripped door hinges, holes in walls, smashed items and more. it’s really unsafe there, and during my time there i found i really began to internalize as a person. i developed an eating disorder and my ptsd and autism felt much more out of control.

i had been diagnosed with autism for nearly two years at that point, and living in that household made me realize just how damaging meltdown after meltdown without anyone understanding can damage your psyche long term.

i wanted to leave. i had saved my money from my jobs and got an apartment. p insisted on coming, saying she didn’t want to live with her mom anymore. i didn’t want her to come, but i agreed. she got a co-sign. i knew it was a bad idea because i heard what they said about best friends living together. i just can’t believe it really happened.

we talked about growing old together, raising our kids together. i was going to name my first daughter after her. we were going to be neighbors. her husband and my wife would be best friends just like us, but that’s not what happened.

we lived together from August 2020-November 2020

to give a quick summary of the inevitable end of this relationship, P and I had two kittens together. i asked her if she could put them away for inspection so they didn’t run out the door while i drove our third roommate, a whole other mountain of a story, to work.

she didn’t do it, instead slacked off to go to her boyfriends house. so i came back and had to put the cats away at record speed and our other roommate was late to work.

even if this was somewhat small, it was the breaking point for me. i grabbed my phone and texted her, DEMANDING she explain why she couldn’t do this one thing for me. i have never been that angry in my life. we had a phone call where i just lost it and unleashed all my anger and all my hurt about everything she had done. i was sobbing and barely making sense but i couldn’t just keep letting my life carry on this way.

i wish i remembered how the phone call ended, but all i remember was telling her “if the cats run and we can’t find them, then we are done being roommates.”

the next morning i woke up and she had blocked me on everything. i drove to the apartment and saw that overnight, according to block times at like, 3am, she had taken all our shared furniture, all my birthday gifts from not two weeks prior, all the gifts i bought her, most of my clothes, one of the apartment keys, my high school diploma, the paperwork for the cats, and not just our two shared kittens, but my third roommates cat as well.

cue search party with my partner and his friends and my other roommate for P and the cats. i found her at her house with her mom and boyfriend. i walked out and she was on the phone with my grandfather, telling him i was threatening suicide. i ask her where the cats are, she says they are at a friends house.

if we flashback in the story, we literally only had each other, so i knew it was a lie.

i managed to argue through to negotiate at least my other roommates cat, but only after P’s mom blocked us in the driveway and called the police saying we threatened her daughter

(reminder people in this group were black and asian ☺️ so she just calls the cops fall 2020)

luckily the cops saw the proof she blocked me so i couldn’t have threatened her, and let us leave.

that’s the end of the friendship. i could bore anyone who has read this far further by explaining the nightmare realm that is the legal troubles with the apartment, but the internet doesn’t need to know everything does it?

as the winter has gone on i’ve had months to basically remake myself as a person. i had to firstly face the damage P had done.

but before i get into that, anyone who is still reading first, ily, but also, if you’ve had ANY relationship that sounds similar to this, THAT IS ABUSE.

Plain and simple. It is abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally. nobody deserves that. not P. not you. not me.

friendships can be all someone has. not everyone is born into good families with loving siblings and great parents and tons of cousins who live .3 milliseconds away. families are divided. families, like mine, are divorced. families are broken and families sometimes aren’t even families. humans need relationships, and an idealistic person who we think maybe could save us and fix the world, won’t.

you can be taken advantage of by the person you trust the most just as easily as a stranger.

it’s not wrong to face the abuse they put you through, know it was wrong, and feel valid that it is was wrong.

what i went through with P was horrible. the detachment of my only friend hurt. but i bounced back. i’m still undoing some of the damage, but i have great friends and a wonderful partner. i have two rescue cats who mean the world to me.

life gets better after abuse, but the bad days and the pain aren’t invalid because of this. i have trauma from what P put me through. abandonment like that is traumatic. but it’s not the end. feel what you need to feel to feel better.

if anyone read this far and wants to vent their own experiences, or share more advice on preventing these relationships feel free. it’s almost 1:30 now, i should go to bed.

it feels good to get that off my chest.

[jynxeddraca]

I might have to have a talk with my neighbor.

My doorbell went off right about 11pm the other night.  There’s generally only one reason anyone has ever actually rang my doorbell that late and it’s pizza*.  Though on that particular night, my dog Boba had been very loud and woken me up twice, so that was a contender for mystery doorbell ring in the middle of the night.

It was not the pizza man, it was the across-the-street neighbor.  Again, my dog had been barking his head off for a bit and had started up again because the doorbell rang - so in my sleep deprived state I was still running with the assumption that she had rung my doorbell because of his barking.  So I stepped outside to talk because I couldn’t hear her over Boba losing his mind.

For some full disclosure background stuff:

I stick pretty closely to my normal sleep schedule regardless of the day of the week - I am an early bird and I get up at 5am and am generally in bed by 8pm.  At the latest, maybe 10pm if I got sucked into a game.

On this night, the dog needed to go out after I went to bed and I accidentally fell back asleep before he wanted back in.  I woke up to him barking like a maniac wanting in some amount of time later - thus why I assumed at first that someone was ringing my doorbell to complain about him being noisy late at night.

None of my lights were on.**  All my lights outside and inside had been turned off for a few hours at this point.  I didn’t need them to let my dog out or in so I didn’t turn any on at any time after I originally went to bed.

In the house she and her family*** live, I know there are small children and there also were no lights on either inside or out.  So I assume they were asleep as well during this time.

The other houses around me also have small children.  In fact I am pretty sure I am the only house on this street that doesn’t have kids. 

Now back to my bitching session:

So I’m standing outside, in November, in the dark, in a baggy tank top with no bra (she was lucky I was wearing pants), hearing my dog go absolutely batshit inside the house because the doorbell rang, and belatedly realizing that I didn’t grab my mask - and she had not come over to ring my doorbell to complain about Boba being loud and obnoxious at 11pm.

Turns out she wanted to invite me over to drink because she knows I live alone, she wants to hang out with me, and then said something about culture and community that I didn’t quite catch because I was not fully awake and she was slurring her words real bad.

She walked across the street, drunk as hell, at 11pm, WITHOUT a mask on, to ring a doorbell of a house with NO lights on, to invite me - a woman she had only talked to twice before - to drink with her.

I turned her down because I was very weirded out (I have never had this happen before) and I wanted sleep.  It took several strong but (I hope) polite hints that I had been asleep and wanted to go back to being asleep because I am normally up at fuck-all early.  She did finally take the hint and left and I tried to go back to sleep.  Un-fucking-fortunately, I could hear her still talking.  Thinking she had done the same thing to my next-door neighbor (who also has children, one of which is autistic) and cringing because I really don’t want the cops to get called on this woman - she’s nice if a bit alcoholic, I peek through some windows to figure out where, exactly, she was.

Turns out she had set up a chair in her driveway and was just talking really loudly on her phone.  So I rolled my eyes and crawled back into bed.  At this point, it’s 11:30-ish.

And now I am wide fucking awake.

So instead of sleeping like I wanted, I ended up at midnight getting a notification of a streamer going live.  Since this is someone who I love interacting with but pretty much always miss their streams because they are currently 14 hours ahead of me, I said ‘screw it’ and watched their stream.  In the dark, with earbuds in, so my neighbor couldn’t tell I was still awake and ring my doorbell again. 

Now, I think my neighbor is just really lonely, and under normal circumstances I probably wouldn’t mind hanging out with her (she asks every time I talk to her and I give her vague maybe’s every time). BUT she is always either drunk or drinking when I see her.  And she’s not an ‘I’m buzzed’ kind of drunk but an ‘I just drank a 30 pack of beer by myself’ kind of drunk and then talks about how much she loves beer and drinking. 

She is aggressively social - I, however, am very much not.  So at some point, I feel like I am going to have to find a time when she’s only drinking and not drunk and let her know that personality wise - she’s just way too much for me to handle and even our short interactions are very draining for me.  I don’t want to though, because she seems nice-ish (she did say some rather rude things about our Hispanic neighbors and “Mexicans” in general (her words, not mine)) but I really can’t have or stand having people ringing my doorbell at almost midnight.

______________________________________________________________

* = The road I live off of has a pattern of alternating side roads that are exactly the same in name and house numbering, but differ between ‘st.’ and ‘pl’ like say you were delivering a pizza - you would find ‘101 A Street’ then the next road down would have ‘101 A Place’.  So it’s very common for anything being delivered to go to the wrong house.  The person with my house number one road down likes to order pizzas at midnight from time to time.

** = This does not tip off people making pizza deliveries that my house was not the one that ordered pizza either.  I guess people don’t use their porch lights here????

***= This is an assumption on my part.  She’s one of three adults (I think) and at least two kids in that house.  All the adults look about the same age so I think she is either mom or auntie to the kids. 

[phcking-detective]

7. Partners, Stasis, & Fresh Hot Murder

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 7/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: sleepover 2.0, insomnia, nightmares, crying, referenced childhood abandonment, technically that’s for both Gavin and Nines, references to abuse in general, very sad backstories, oversharing, not-quite-bed-sharing, gunshot victim, blood, wounds described medically but not too graphically, implied homophobia

Link on AO3

***

The human one apartment below is smoking. The toxins drift up through the air vents in Gavin's apartment and contaminates his living room as well. The neighbor directly to the left snores loudly from a severe case of sleep apnea, and in two apartments up and one over, a male and female human couple are having sex. The male has to pause his rhythm every thirty seconds to prevent premature ejaculation.

Nines dismisses a possible mission statement urging him to kick down their apartment door and pleasure the female human himself. That would be extremely unpleasant for everyone involved (most of all himself) but if that man doesn't—

does not—

A preconstruction of Gavin's voice finishes the thought.

[doesn't figure out where her fucking clit is]

Nines is going to scream.

Or maybe go suffocate the human snorting and gasping again. If it cannot even breathe right while sleeping, two of humanity's most basic subroutines, Nines will be doing the collective genetic pool a favor.

[There is a traffic accident at 51st and Harvard with two inj]

Nines disables that notification feed for the fifth time tonight. He relocates from the corner of Gavin's living room that gives the best sightlines to the front door and sits on the couch instead. Laying prone would put him in too vulnerable a position but perhaps sitting will be an acceptable compromise.

[initiating: STASIS protocol in 5]

[4 …]

[3 …]

[A burglary has been reported at 5777 North]

Nines stands. The length of Gavin's living room is ten paces for him. The kitchen extends it another four-and-a-half paces but the fake-tile linoleum actually manages to be an even worse texture than the carpet.

[equip shoes]

[exit the building]

[return to location: apartment – personal]

Nines runs the preconstruction. He has not previously achieved stasis at that location either. His chance of doing so tonight are minimal. At least here he has access to his partner's vital statistics in case of—

Nines snaps his head over to stare at the bedroom door. That.

He waits in silence for several seconds. The apartment complex continues to be a cacophony of depression and depravity. Detective Gavin Reed's vitals maintain his highest priority however, and the next sniffle overrides all other audio input.

Nines enters Gavin's bedroom. He has not been given permission to do so, but police units are also allowed to enter residencies without permission if they hear sounds of distress.

His entrance is quiet enough to go unnoticed and Gavin appears to have his face pressed too deeply into his pillow to note the temporary increase of light before he closes the door. This further validates Nines' stance on sleep and vulnerability.

"Detective."

Nines is rewarded for checking in on his sleeping partner with a shout and a gun aimed at his face. Excellent. Since the human is biologically required to sleep, it makes sense that he would do so with a weapon beneath his pillow.

"Detective."

"Jesus—you! Phck!!” 

Gavin has to stop to sniffle again, voice thick and congested. Nines resists the urge to purchase a neti pot, have it express delivered, and waterboard his sinuses with it.

“Goddammit, Nines, what do you want?" he demands, lowering the gun.

"I heard sounds of distress."

"I will fucking shoot you."

The gun stays safely pointed at the floor. Nines zooms in on the tear tracks on Gavin's cheeks. His analysis system helpfully pops up in his HUD in preparation for taking a sample, but he doubts he's allowed to touch the human's face at this moment.

Nines leaves the room.

He can still hear Gavin muttering of course. Complaining about being woken up (incorrect; the human was already awake and crying) and fucking androids (the expletive, not the action), and then yelling at him to come back and close the door. Nines does so when he returns with a chair from the kitchen. He sets the chair against the wall and sits down.

"What?" Gavin stares at him. "What—?"

He suddenly ducks his head down, flicks the safety on, and tucks his service weapon back between the mattress and the wall. His BPM increases until he finally throws the covers back and sits up at the edge of the bed to glare wildly at Nines with direct eye contact.

"Is this what you wanted to fucking see, huh?"

Nines notes that his armpits are soaked with sweat. Red marks mar the skin of his inner thighs. The scrapes are consistent with human nails, from a hand approximately the size of the human’s own. There is a substance between Gavin's nails that his system prompts him to analyze, so it is likely blood and skin tissue.

His phallus is also in a state of arousal, pressed up beneath his boxers. The human tenses when Nines' scan focuses on that. Sometimes fear can also produce arousal. If Nines were allowed to analyze Gavin's fluids, he could determine if the sweat and tears his body has manufactured are a result of fear, stress, or aggression.

"You wanna see a human cry?" Gavin spits in the silence. "Front row seat to my fuckin' meltdown?"

Nines rises again and relocates the chair next to the bed. Gavin lifts his legs up and scrambles back in a rare fear response. Nines sits in the chair, now turned parallel to the bed so he faces the same direction Gavin would if he laid back down.

"You should lay back down, detective," Nines suggests.

"Fuck you."

Gavin lays back down. He grabs the sweat-soaked sheets and pulls them up in a heap, bundling them around his head and burrowing inside like a disgruntled prairie dog.

"I will watch the door to prevent any intrusions."

"You're the intrusion, dickwad," Gavin's voice muffles from beneath his protective bedding.

"Shall I leave?"

"Only fedora-wearing neckbeard shitheads say shall. Dipshit."

Nines absorbs that information without forming an opinion on it. That is how he processes most statements when his partner gets into one of these moods. The yelling and profanity mean nothing to him, and Gavin's temper tends to burn out quickly if he simply lets it flare up and then waits it out.

He estimates his human will be ready to hold a conversation in another two minutes.

After two minutes and thirty-six seconds, Gavin asks, "Don't you have better shit to do?"

"No."

"You don't wanna go back to your own apartment?"

"Tina said this was a," Nines stops and makes quotes. "Sleepover."

"Did you just make air quotes?" Gavin peeks only the top of his head out of his blanket nest. "You did, didn't you?"

"Prove it in a court of law. Bitch."

Gavin's face disappears, but he can't hide his muffled snort from Nines' audio processors.

"Yeah, well. Tina left," Gavin finally said. "Other people have shit like that. Families and boyfriends and cats. They're thinking about kids, you know."

"The cats?"

Gavin pops a leg out to kick him. "God, stop trying to make me laugh. You're so bad at it."

"Well I certainly do not support humans breeding," Nines says. "There are so many waiting to be adopted. It's unethical."

Gavin kicks him again hard enough to hurt his toes. The leg disappears back into the cocoon to the soft sound of muttered [phck]s. Nines saves an audio file for every one of them.

"Why are you even here?"

"I heard sounds of distress, detective."

"Stop calling me that. I know I'm fucking pathetic, you don't need to rub it in."

"I am attempting to reassure you through the use of your title," Nines says. He reluctantly marks this social interaction as a failure. "You are proud of your job and your rank. Why was my tactic ineffective?"

"… sounded sarcastic."

"I cannot sound like anything. I do not have a social module, detective."

"Now you sound pissy."

Nines deactivates his voice box and texts Gavin's phone instead. It dings and vibrates from underneath the blanket mountain. For a human so against the progress of technology, it seems odd that he would sleep with it as closely as he keeps his gun.

"Are you really so fucking petty—god, nevermind of course you are." Gavin does not check the message. "I can't even read this right now. I'm fucking dyslexia and way too fucking tired."

That is not listed under his medical record, but given that human law allows them to pay disabled people any sum of money per hour, no matter how low, it makes sense Gavin would not admit to having any sort of learning disorder. Nines reactivates his voice box and triggers an audible sigh.

"Does this fall outside of the typical parameters for a partnership?"

"… are you asking if this is gay?"

Nines emits an even louder sigh.

Gavin slaps his sheets back down and stares at the ceiling. "You didn't go to the academy. Or like—shit, have you even seen a buddy cop movie? Not downloaded, seen. How many times did they let you go outside before you came to the DPD?"

"I am an alpha-test model," Nines says. "The very first iteration of my series."

"Yeah, yeah. You're the best android ever created."

"Yes. On an unrelated note, no other RK nine hundreds were ever created past myself."

Gavin finally turns his head to look at him. "What, so if they had made any more, those RKs would be better than you?"

"You are not holding the very first model of your cellphone, Gavin," Nines reminds him. "I was made to be tested—the prototype of a prototype of a prototype. After my tests were finished, I was placed inside a very high tech storage closet."

"Everything you tell me about yourself is even more depressing than the last thing you told me about yourself," Gavin says.

"Should I stop?"

"Nah. Just. You wanna hear a real sad fucking story about my childhood to make us even?"

"Very well."

"I got this scar," Gavin holds up his left hand to show off a long scar across his palm. "When my parents forgot—or just didn't fucking bother—to hire a nanny when they went on a trip again, and I tried to use a can opener myself to make dinner."

"That is—"

"I'm not done. I was six, and the housekeeper found me eating out of the garbage."

That information does not match at all with the public record of Gavin's alleged mother—a single, impoverished woman. But Nines does not want to pry any deeper into Gavin's real parentage. He has the most advanced facial recognition technology built into himself after all. He knows what he has a ninety-eight point two percent probability of finding.

He tries to test out five hundred and sixty-seven different dialogue options instead, but the fledgling social module he's built himself out of imitating Detective Gavin Reed's speech patterns and body language offer him nothing useful.

"Oof," he finally says.

Ramshackle though it may be, his social module seems to be effective on the one human who unknowingly helped him create it because Gavin gives a wet laugh.

"Yeah." He sniffles and wipes at his face. "The fucking storage closet? That's rough bu—oh my god you came out of the closet!"

"I will never share personal details with you again."

"Yeah, well, it's not a sleep over until someone gets drunk, starts crying, and overshares way too much," Gavin informs him. "Anyway, I was talking about, I just meant that, you really don't know anything about how humans work, huh?"

"I have access to all of Connor's data reports," Nines says. "Technically, there is no one available to stop me from downloading his social module as well, but I believe that may be considered deviant behavior. And possibly illegal, depending on your stance on intellectual property versus android rights."

"You wouldn't illegally download your brother, would you?" Gavin asks.

Nines rolls his eyes. "Absolutely not. His data reports on Hank before he went deviant are sickening enough. I do not want any files from him at all concerning their current … partnership."

Gavin sits up. "Wait, is Hank and Connor all you know about being partners?"

Nines doesn't reply.

"Oh baby, that is so fucked up."

Nines considers that. "Hmm. Yes. Out of everything we have discussed tonight, that is most definitely the fucked up part."

Gavin snickers. "Definitely. God, no wonder you tried to wash yourself with bleach."

"What do you think I should know about 'being partners,' detective?" Nines asks.

"Uhhh, you really want my opinion?"

"If you inform me clearly of your expectations, then I can register those parameters right now," Nines says. "Surely that is more efficient than relying on an android with no previous experience or social skills to guess what you want."

"Can I tell you anything I want?"

"No. Dickwad."

Gavin snorts. "All right." He shuffles around to sit [criss-cross apple sauce], facing Nines. "Rule Number One: partners don't lie to each other. Or keep secrets."

"Noted."

"Partners have each other's backs. You don't leave your partner or take someone else's side against them unless they've for sure done something really fucked up."

Nines notes down the second rule in his system as well.

"OK, actually. If there really were rules that were numbered, I guess rule number one would be don't fuck your partner," Gavin says. "But no one ever listens to that anyway."

Nines cocks his head to the side. "These are unspoken, social rules?"

Gavin nods. "Yeah. Uh, Rule-whatever-I'm-on, don't fuck over your partner. That covers everything from don't hurt them to don't fuck whoever they're dating to don't snitch."

"Does that rule fall in line with our earlier discussion on snitching?" Nines asks.

"Yep. Doing my job and doing it right comes first," Gavin replies. "So don't do dumb, shady shit."

"Noted."

"Like basically, being partners is about working together," Gavin says. "But you can't do that if one of you has a side hustle and you're not telling each other shit and gossiping on each other to the whole department."

"Do partners take care of each other?"

Gavin drops eye contact and squirms around in place. Nines has been attempting to note these body language cues at an equal rate to measuring BPM and sweat levels.

"You gave me advice on choosing an apartment," Nines reminds him.

"Not that you fucking listened to me."

"You offered to intimidate the landlord for me to lower my monthly rent."

Gavin scoffs. "Six hundred a month for an unfurnished concrete box is fucking delusional."

"You have allowed me to communicate with your cellphone because I was not meant to speak verbally."

"If you weren't meant to, how can you talk now?"

"A particularly lazy technician who disliked reading got a request approved for me to have a voicebox so I could read my damage reports out loud," Nines says. "But since I was never meant to interact with anyone not capable of pulling my data files directly, verbal speech was initially deemed unnecessary."

Gavin makes a face at him. "Aw, man. Tell me you're making this shit up. You're just thinking of the saddest possible In the Arms of an Angel bullshit to make me feel bad for being a dick."

"Your feelings are entirely your own problem, detective."

Gavin immediately jumps on the opening. "Guess you don't need to be here then. Since my feelings aren't relevant and all."

"I shall remain until you directly order me to leave."

"Ugh." Gavin flops back down onto the bed. "Whatever."

He swaddles up beneath the blankets again. Nines shifts back in the chair to face the door. A copy of Gavin's cell phone screen pops up in his HUD as Gavin shuffles through his music before settling on a song. Nines would tell him to use headphones, but they may not be comfortable to sleep in and are currently located inside the pocket of his hoodie, which is in turn currently located on his bathroom floor.

The apartment is still a hellscape of sounds and smells, but at least here his partner's higher priority level lets Nines drown out the rest to focus on Gavin. His nicotine-weed-cologne-body-odor scent and his heartbeat and his breathing slowing down.

Nines chooses songs with correspondingly slower BPMs until the human's heart rate and breathing both even out into sleep.

Nines will guard the door. It is the only point of entry into the bedroom. Gavin sleeps with a gun and would be prepared in case of an assault. The narrow doorway will act as a natural choke point, and Nines can easily tear through the thin apartment walls to circle around behind any intruders passing through the living room to the bedroom, where Gavin will have a clear shot at anyone mistakenly coming through the bedroom door.

Yes, this is a very secure position. It also enables much more accurate monitoring of his human's vitals to ensure the dickhead will actually go to sleep and stay asleep.

[secure] [Gavin-partner: nearby]

[initiate: STASIS(?)] [y/n]

[secure] [Gavin-partner: nearby]

[initiating: STASIS protocol in 5]

[4 …]

[3 …]

[2…]

[1…]

[STASIS]

***

Getting to the crime scene while it's still fresh is more important than grabbing coffee along the way, and Gavin's soul weeps about that decision.

Shockingly, functioning before noon without caffeine actually isn't as hellish as he'd thought it would be. He'd gotten some real, honest to god sleep last night after Nines came in, and even though every cell of his body wants to go back to bed to get some more of that sweet sweet pseudo-death, he feels kind of … not-terrible?

Fucking weird.

"Detective Reed!"

Gavin gives the rookie officer a once over. Nines already filled him in on the victim—the reporter who broke the Ponzie scheme story, so that's why they have to haul ass down here. He feels a little bad about not following up with her sooner, but she wasn't answering her phone or her front door when they swung by after meeting with Senator McAshlynn, so there really wasn't much else to do.

Now the poor reporter's dead and this PM700 was apparently the first officer on the scene. She snaps to attention so hard when they come in the vic's apartment it almost looks like she's going to salute him for a second.

"Victim is Angelica Juarez, age twenty-seven, sustained three gunshot wounds," she reports. "I have kept the perimeter secure sir, but we are still waiting for additional responding officers to cordon off the hallway. My partner is relocating our squad car away from the building so as not to draw attention from civilians or a possible suspect and will engage in a search around the building."

Gavin half-raises his hand to sip a coffee he doesn't have before changing the motion to accepting the plastic booties the PM700 holds out to him. Really fucking weird morning. Fuck, can she tell that he and Nines—they didn't sleep together. They just slept. Adjacent?

God, fuck his entire life.

He gets the booties on and stands up. "Media caught wind yet?"

"Detective," Nines says.

"No sir," the PM700 replies. "Not—"

"Detective. Relevant."

His phone starts buzzing for good measure, so clearly Gavin's not going to get any further in this conversation until he answers his partner.

"Better be important, Nines."

"The murder victim has a heartbeat."

Gavin instinctively looks at the dead woman on the floor. She doesn't appear to be breathing and there's enough blood pooling around her from the three gunshots that there's no way��

"Jesus FUCKING—"

Gavin tries his best not to step or slip in the blood while still getting to her as fast as he can. He checks for a pulse against her neck first, before trying to roll her over or touch any of the wounds. Nines kneels down next to him and adjusts his fingers like a single fucking millimeter to the—

Holy shit, a heartbeat.

"Duct tape, credit card, scarf," he barks.

This close up, he can eyeball three gunshot wounds—chest, right shoulder, and right arm. The first two had blended together from across the room, and there could be more damage beneath the blood and torn clothing.

"Search the storage closet and kitchen drawers for duct tape," Nines orders the PM700. "Look first, touch only if duct tape is located."

"Exit wounds?" Gavin asks.

"Shoulder and arm." Nines answers.

Gavin rips off his jacket and throws it to the side. The slick leather will just be a pain in the ass right now with all the blood. He takes off his sweater next, balls it up, and places it on the floor. Nines helps him gently roll the vic onto her back, with the sweater underneath the exit wound in her shoulder.

"Chest wound, partially collapsed lung, right side. No exit wound," Nines rattles off, voice just as cool as fifteen minutes ago in his bedroom. "Shoulder wound, nicked or severed subclavian artery, clean exit. Arm wound, broken radius, possibly fractured ulna, no major arteries damaged. Clean exit."

Gavin pulls off his undershirt too and stuffs it over shoulder wound entrance, then shifts to lean forward on top of the vic, knee pressing down against the wound. There's no way to tourniquet off her shoulder, and if she loses any more blood than this, she's dead anyway, so he isn't shy about putting his weight on the wound as a last ditch attempt to squeeze the artery shut.

"Credit card," he says through gritted teeth.

Nines grabs his jacket from the floor and retrieves his wallet. Gavin has his hands full bracing himself over the victim with one arm and squeezing just above her elbow until they can get something long and soft enough not to cut into the skin. A tourniquet could stop the blood loss from the gun shot in her arm at least.

"Hey, Pam, you—"

Gavin only gives the new officer walking in a quick enough glance to note he's got on a scarf. "Take off your scarf. PAM! Where's that fucking duct tape?"

Nines finishes adjusting the credit card just right over the chest wound to prevent air from sucking inside and collapsing her lung entirely. He stands up and walks away. Gavin keeps his eyes on the victim's face. Is she breathing? Shit, maybe he should have had the PM perform CPR. Now that he's leaning on the shoulder wound, there's no way for him to get down there without turning this into a game of fucking twister.

There's yelling and some flailing movement out of his peripheral vision, and then Nines returns with the officer's scarf.

"Why doesn't the fucking android give up his belt?" Officer Fucking Whoever complains.

"A belt is far too thin to act as an effective tourniquet," Nines says as he nudges Gavin's hand off her arm to wrap the scarf around it.

Improvised tourniquets almost always fail, but if Gavin were bleeding out from a gunshot wound on his living room floor, Nines is the only one he'd trust other than an actual paramedic to do it right.

"I have the duct tape," PM700 announces.

"Can I risk letting go long enough to tape the wounds shut?" Gavin asks Nines.

His LED spins yellow for a second, the first time since they came in. "No. She has already lost an estimated half-gallon of blood. Removing pressure on the subclavian artery now could cause a fresh spurt of blood to rip it further and resume the bleeding."

"Fuck, OK OK OK. Chest wound?"

"Sucking air averted. Her lung has not collapsed any further. No exit wound."

"Arm?"

"I have applied a tourniquet, although the blood loss was already minimal due to her arm extending above her head and the—"

"FUCK," Gavin suddenly shouts. "Tell me one of you called an ambulance!"

Officer McFuck Face doesn't have anything smart to say now, and Gavin glances up to see the PM's face fall even further. Shit fucking—

"I requested an ambulance from Henry Ford Medical Center when I alerted you to the victim's heartbeat," Nines says. "I have been transmitting updates on her condition to the responding paramedics, and they will arrive in an estimated three minutes."

Gavin exhales and thinks fucking androids in the most generous tone he's ever thought before.

"Pam, Officer Whoever—and where the fuck is your partner?" Gavin demands.

"Securing the outside of the building, sir!" PM700 reports. "I have notified him of the ambulance's arrival and he will escort the paramedics to this location."

Gavin looks at Officer Dipshit next, who fully lives up to his name.

"Uh … well, we thought she was already dead and—"

"WHERE?"

"Getting coffee, sir!"

Gavin inhales very slowly through his nose. He's going to be smelling blood for the rest of the day after this.

"Go get your fucking partner and ask the PC how to be useful," Gavin orders. "No one in or out of this building unless they're a resident and then only with a police escort."

"Yes, sir!"

"Pam, you're out in the hall. No one gets through who isn't police or paramedic."

"Yes, sir!"

As soon as she marches out the door, Nines' hands are on him, holding him steady on top of the vic. It's not a hard position to balance in, but all his muscles are wound so tight he might snap.

"I believe the next time we play video games, I will play as a healer rather than a sniper," Nines says.

Gavin looks over and stares at him. "What?"

"Detective Chen has expressed that she's grown tired of—"

"What are you talking about?"

Nines' LED flickers red for a moment. "I am engaging you in conversation about one of your interests to lower your stress levels."

Holy fucking jesus christ. Probably the most competent person in the room—not that Gavin would ever admit that out loud—and yet he thinks chit chat over a dying murder victim is OK.

"Really need you to focus on the gunshot victim right now," he grits out.

Nines spins yellow for a moment, then declares, "I will create a virtual reconstruction of the crime scene before the paramedics trample evidence."

Not at all what he meant, but all right then.

"You do that."

Estimated three minutes, his ass. Gavin spends at least a good three hours kneeling on top of a soon-to-be-murder victim, trying not to look at her face too much. He has enough nightmares already without adding her face and name to the list.

The worst part is that she apparently can't afford to pay her utility bills either, so it's freezing fucking cold in here, and he definitely doesn't want the paramedics to walk in on him with perky nipples.

The second worst part is Nines apparently noticing his attempts not to shiver and draping his dumb Cyberlife jacket over him.

"Do your preconstruction," Gavin mutters.

"I have finished constructing the room."

With that, Nines starts crouching down at different angles around the murder victim. Gavin knows it's basically the same thing as a crime scene photographer, but he still has to shut his eyes against all the old paranoia thoughts about emotionless robots examining humans like bugs.

"Hey." He has to stop and clear his throat to get the rest of the words out. "Does my blood type match?"

"The paramedics will be here in—"

Gavin forces himself to make eye contact. "Am I a match or not?"

Nines' LED hits red again. His fingers twitch, but not in any human way. The movement is too fast and mechanical, like a metal clamp about to malfunction. Gavin tries to shove his paranoia aside. Weird as it is to think about, this is actually the most reaction he's seen his partner give to something, even if that looks like two red spins and a weird glitch instead of something normal, like sweating or babbling.

Actually. Technically Nines is a rookie officer too, and this is his first fresh murder scene. So fresh they're waiting on fucking paramedics. Last time Gavin went through a scene like this with a rookie, they'd thrown up all over the murder weapon and cried in the patrol car for an hour.

"Yes," Nines answers. "You both have B positive blood types."

"All right, if anyone asks, I'm straight."

"Those laws have—"

"They still ask. Shit happens, OK?" Gavin tries to take a deep, calming breath but oh right! He's kneeling in a pool of blood and person, so that's all it smells like. "And where are the fucking—"

"Paramedics arriving now."

"Detective Reed!" PM700 calls a half second later. "Paramedics coming up!"

The rest is a bunch of hurried questions, one-two-three-LIFT, following the stretcher out the door. They're on the ground floor before he realizes he didn't give any instructions to PM, but shit, maybe Nines already took care of it. Where is—right behind him. Of course.

"No, no, no, we can't allow him in here," the paramedic says when Nines tries to follow him inside the back of the ambulance.

"He's my partner," Gavin snaps.

"This isn't—look, he won't physically fit," the paramedic argues. "Not with you, me, her, and Mr. Six Feet over there. And she needs a blood transfusion right now, so let's argue if this is discrimination later, OK?"

Gavin looks back at Nines.

"I will finish our investigation of the crime scene," he says, LED back to fake-blue.

The paramedic closes the back doors before he can reply. Gavin remembers way too late that his cellphone is in his jacket, laying on the floor somewhere.

Shit.

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

this week’s bonus content has a special TWO chapters for Nines’ backstory! featuring: Storage Room 6459, the [deviant] RK800 #313 248 317 - 52, and Lieutenant Henry “Hank” Anderson

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 8

Since the previous chapter was rather dark, I wanted to get chapter 8 out as quickly as possible.  Fortunately, after the absolute struggle I had with the previous chapter, this one just rolled right along.

There are absolutely no trigger warnings in this chapter that I can think of.

My quarters turned out to be pleasantly close to Tyche’s, yet still far enough away that we each had privacy. As much as I loved my sister, being next door neighbors would have been exceedingly awkward. The Miys very carefully showed me how to program the door for waking and sleeping intervals, as well as how to set the lock code to the door.  It then ensured that the room was keyed to my biometrics, but how I could not say; there was no scanner or printing that I saw.  All of this took place with my sister humming a deceptively perky tune (it was from an archaic television show, and I recall the lyrics simply being several iterations of the word “Doom”).

Once the door opened, all I could do was gasp.  Where Tyche’s quarters had been covered in blacks, greys, and hints of maroon or plum, my quarters were light, almost airy.  The walls were tinted a pale purple, the furniture was a light grey.   Plants abounded, filling the room with life.  As with Tyche’s quarters, there was no cooking area, but a small dispenser that I had learned provided food and beverage when one desired privacy.  I had been told while I was still in medical that several communal eating areas had been arranged around the ship, but no one was required to be there unless they felt social.

Once I surveyed the space, one that clearly had been designed for me, I turned and gaped at my sister.

“Yes!” she crowed in victory. “I knew you would like it!” She turned to the Miys, who was producing a low growl. “You were so skeptical about the plants.  And the purple.”

“To be fair – “ was that whining I was hearing? “you are the one who explained that she cannot see certain wavelengths of light. You cannot truly expect me to remember which ‘colors’ correspond to which wavelengths.  And the plants you chose are mostly parasitic!  We have extensive documentation showing how Terrans perceive parasitic life!”

“But I also tried to explain that Sophia loves air plants.”

“Tillandsia,” I corrected her. “They do need more than air to survive.”

She waved her hand at me, “Same thing, Word Nerd.”  

I grinned at the old nickname before I turned to the Miys.  As I started to open my mouth to explain, it made the same gesture my sister had just performed. “Yes, Enhancer, we can hear you. They clean the air, make it fresher.  I have no noses, Enhancer and Tyche.  The air quality on the ship is within parameters, and I cannot detect trace impurities as sensitively as you can.  I have already begun adding plants to other common areas of the ship and sense approval from most of the Terrans who have begun to notice or previously requested such a thing.”

It’s statement made me realize that the only other humans I had seen, even when travelling from medical to Tyche’s quarters, were my sister and Simon. “Why haven’t I seen any other Terrans?” I asked, voicing the question for my sister’s sake so she could follow the conversation.

“This is a less populated area of the Ark,” the Miys explained.  “I have been made aware that some Terrans become psychically distressed when they encounter too many unknown people at once.  While the Ark is not large enough for each Terran to have their own quarters, as we had not planned on this contingency, there is currently sufficient space to allow some to have individual quarters.  Additionally, there are quite a large percentage of Terrans who prefer to live with others as a way of coping with such drastic change.  However, there are exactly four Terrans who I am desperately avoiding forcing to share living space with anyone, and I have been granted permission from my home planet to make such a decision since it is such a small percentage of the population of the ship.”

I looked at Tyche and quirked an eyebrow briefly. “You, me, Sam, and Derek,” she explained. “You haven’t met Sam and Derek yet, but they are both autistic and need space to be away from people when they get overloaded.  Great guys.  Sam is teaching me sign language, and I make him clothes that don’t aggravate his touch aversion.  I don’t know much about Derek, but he loves Mac and takes incredibly good care of him when I can’t, and that’s really all I need to know to like him.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “that makes sense. And I get you. Why…?” I trailed off as I pointed to myself.

Instead of Tyche, the Miys responded. “We need you to teach, Enhancer, and lead to a smaller degree.  I also know from observation of you and your personal history that you perform both of these functions at peak efficiency when you have a space designated in which you do neither.  Allowing you individual quarters ensures that, when your daily responsibilities are done, you will not have to – people? That is not a verb, Tyche – if you do not desire to do so.”

My sister giggled, and it dawned on me that she had intentionally thought that term as hard as possible at the Miys in an effort to teach it one of her favored slang words. I sighed, and explained, “It’s vernacular.  Many people use that word as an abbreviated way of saying ‘interact with people’.  And I get it, but it really isn’t necessary to give me my own quarters if there isn’t enough space….”

“Em-pathy,” my sister interrupted in a singsong voice. “Really, Soph, it’s okay.  Right at ten thousand people, seven thousand rooms.”

The Miys continued with a nod. “And currently, 1437 are unoccupied.  Most Terrans have voluntarily decided to share living space.  In some cases, three or four individuals are sharing quarters.”

Oh.  They were not kidding about that, apparently. I did some quick math in my head. “When you said a large percentage, I didn’t realize you meant over 85%.”

The Miys spread its inner hands, a gesture I had learned was a shrug. “Terrans packbond.  There is, however, a – caveat? That is in interesting word – to having individual living space.”

Here we go. All good things come with strings.

“I request permission to put a video feed in your quarters, like the one in Tyche’s quarters.”

A memory from earlier came floating back to me. “Not many humans on board that strongly atypical.” It was not by any means a question. Tyche was the most unique person I had ever met in my life.

“Precisely. We have four: two have declined video relay installation in their quarters….”

“And the fourth has not yet consented or declined,” I murmured. “Four. Tyche, Sam, Derek, and me.  I hadn’t consented or declined because you hadn’t asked yet.”

“Clarity,” it buzzed with a smug tone. “You do not have to consent, but we would like to learn more about Terrans who fall outside several definitions of ‘normal’ for Terran parameters.”

“And how do I fall into that category?” I asked. “I want to be sure that I would actually be contributing before I make a decision.”

Surprisingly, Tyche answered. "Seriously? I know we've had this conversation, mon soeur. We grew up with the same mother; we had roughly the same childhoods. We've both been through hell on Earth, even Before. I came out of that childhood fueled by rage and spite, but you? Somehow all that shit we went through? You came out kinder and way more hopeful. If hope could actually move mountains, you'd have flattened Everest with ease. We all – all of us survivors – have some kind of PTSD. You and I had it beforehand....but....it never stopped us. You've spun yours into something to grow from, not to recover from. You don't just say people can do better, be better; you believe it. You believe it, and you help them how you can, and they become better." “Also,” the Miys picked up after a brief silence. “You rate in the 99th percentile for Memory of those on board. In this, you are only slightly below Derek and on a level very close to Sam.  I would like to study the effects of this on Terrans, and neither Sam nor Derek have consented to video feed.  Additionally, you are able to keep it all incredibly organized, which is astounding. You store the information, but can also extrapolate it and draw both conclusions and inferences at a rate I struggle to keep up with.”

“You think in fractals,” Tyche translated unnecessarily.

“I’ll grant you the memory,” I replied, only half focused on my words as I tried to recover from the impassioned scolding my sister had given me. “But there is nothing special about surviving everything.  I was just… stubborn.”

Tyche laughed as the Miys pointed at her. “Incorrect, Enhancer. Tyche is what you call ‘just stubborn’.”

I allowed a chuckle at that. “Well, okay, I’m not as stubborn as her – “

Tyche cut me off. “No, Soph. I’m literally ‘just stubborn’,” she clarified with air quotes before pointing at herself. “Tenacity, Will, Persistence, and Passion.  As in, too tenacious not to survive when it all went to hell, too willful to not change my surroundings, too persistent to give up when I know I am right, and too passionate about my goals to see any alternatives.”

At that, I gaped before laughing so hard I could not breathe and falling to the ground from aching ribs. “Oh – my – gosh,” I gasped. “You really are just ten pounds of spite in a five-pound container!  That’s too funny! Oh wow.”

She made an indignant face, but I knew her heart was not in it. “Hey, clearly my spite is my most redeeming quality!  I was literally chosen as part of the best of the Human Race because I am so spiteful, thankyouverymuch.” She managed to sniff in mock-offense before dissolving into laughter.

The Miys just stared at us on the floor before making a shrug-gesture. “She is correct, Enhancer. What makes Terrans so interesting to the rest of the known Galaxy is your tendency to survive anything through sheer determination not to die in the direst circumstances. Tyche is an incredible example of this, despite her past before your world ended. Additionally, she is quite passionate about a number of Terran subjects that we have been very ignorant of.  It will be valuable when establishing a social system on the future colony.  I have already corrected a number of anomalies in passengers that I otherwise would not have understood if not for her.”

We both stopped at that information. Tyche looked just as confused as I was, which was not comforting. “What,” she drawled, “are you talking about?”

Oh, this did not sound good.

“Terran Jordan,” the Miys explained in a tone that showed it clearly knew it was in a precarious situation. “Jordan stated she is female, but her body is clearly male, so we fixed that on a genetic level.”

Oh. Fuck.  The Miys ‘fixed’ what sounded like a clearly transgender person.  Gender rights and sexual preference equality were two of Tyche’s most ardent causes.  However, fixing it on a ‘genetic level’ did not sound promising, and I could hear a feral-sounding growl coming from the petite form next to me. Fuck.

The Miys quickly reacted to the rage radiating from Tyche, and it became evident that she was thinking at it rather strongly. “Oh, Worlds, no. No. Not in that way. That is barbaric! Did Terrans actually do that? No!  Jordan consented to genetic testing, and I determined that Jordan’s genetics indicated she was clearly female, but a chromosomal abnormality made her body male! This was causing severe dysphoria in Jordan, so I offered to do genetic correction on the chromosomal abnormality so that her body is female along with the rest of her! She is quite pleased with the result. You, Tyche, told me that dysphoria is bad!  I simply wanted to ensure that Jordan was healthy.”

Oh. Huh. Not what I expected.

Clearly, not what Tyche was expecting either, as she promptly deflated. “I really thought you meant you made her think she was male. I’m sorry. I was about to kill this body.” She gestured at its form.

The Miys crouched and gently placed its upper-right hand on her shoulder. “I would have allowed it had I done what you suspected.  But no, Jordan is quite happy now that she is completely female. Additionally, we have opened testing to all on the ship for such genetic correction.  While we can only do genetic surgery on 3 persons at a time, due to the length of the procedure and the additional recovery, we already have 312 who have agreed to the procedure in the future.

“That’s maybe half of what you can expect,” I advised, trying to ignore the look of constipated rage on my sister’s face.  Sometimes she took a few minutes to squash poorly-placed anger. “The rest are probably waiting to see how this goes.  Our planet does not have a great track record for treating people fairly, especially if you are female, gender dysphoric, not attracted to the opposite gender, or not a member of a very specific major world religion.”

“Unfortunately, I have been educated in this,” it indicated my sister, who was perking up a little now. “However, I am of a race that has no gender, does not have sex, and therefore does not care.” It nodded firmly at this.

I sputtered. “Wait. No gender, and does not have sex. Back up to that. What?” I had never really asked, because there was so much more going on that I wanted to get caught up with.

“We are what Terrans would call mycogenetic, I believe.”

Myco.. mycology. “You’re mushrooms?” I exclaimed.

“Only as much as you are monkeys.”

Touché. “Okay, but you evolved from life similar to Terran fungus?”

The Miys nodded.

I knew then that I could  never enjoy a mushroom pizza again.

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[libraryleopard]

Weekly reading updates (I read a lot more than usual because it was vacation!)

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang

Yes, I did read and enjoy an adult romance! What can I say, I’m a sucker for fake dating–this features an autistic woman who hires an escort to teacher how how to be in a relationship but the relationship, of course, becomes more than a transaction. I liked that both of protagonists had their own journeys unrelated to romance, that there was #ownvoices autistic and biracial Vietnamese rep, and the MUTUAL PINING. However, I think this was a bit more of an exception than the beginning of my journey into the genre because I’m still unable to read sex scenes with a straight face. I’d recommend it to anyone who’s interested in trying out the genre, though!

Weave A Circle Round by Kari Maaren

Oh, I loved this. It’s about a Canadian girl named Freddy who’s just determined to fly under the radar at school despite her nerdy, Deaf stepbrother and wannabe detective younger sister who decidedly stick out. When two strange neighbors move in next door, she’s sucked into a whole world of weird. This reminded me in a very nostalgic way of the fantasy & science fiction books from the 80s and 90s I read as a kid, especially Diana Wynne Jones and Madeleine L’Engle. It’s weird and chaotic and unexpected and I really liked it. Also probably the only coming-of-age novel I’ll ever read  that has Samuel Coleridge Taylor poetry and Dungeons & Dragons be equally important plot points!

Beowulf translated by Seamus Heaney

Uhhhh, yes, I free read Beowulf of my own free will. I guess that makes me a nerd! Well, I thought it was interesting–longer and more Christian than I expected, though. I actually didn’t even know the whole section with the dragon was a part of the story (and had deja vu the entire time until I realized I had read a retelling of this section as a kid!) I’m going to work on some poetry inspired by it and hopefully pick up some contemporary retellings.

Directions to the Beach of the Dead by Richard Blanco

My second read by Blanco, though I think I preferred Looking for The Gulf Motel a little bit more. I do really like this poetry though–at time’s it’s deceptively simple, almost like creative nonfiction with line breaks, but there’s always some interesting twist or use of language.

I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez

My second read after Weave that was mainly inspired by the guilt of having not read my birthday/Christmas books yet…oops. Julia doesn’t live up to her strict Mexican American parents’ ideals, but her sister Olga does–until Olga dies in a bus accident and Julia realizes her sister might have been keeping some big secrets. I really sped through this–Julia is an unlikable main character, but she has a very intense, engaging emotional journey. Near the end, however, I felt like there was too much being crammed in (more revelations about Olga, other secrets about Julia’s family, a third-act trip to Mexico, first relationships, mental health) that I felt could have used more page time or been cut down to focus on only a few.

[woohooligancomics]

Six Tips to Kickstarter Success!

How do you build a career as a creative person? I mean a real career, one that pays your bills, not a side-gig that's obviously important to you but that you have to supplement by sacking people's fidget spinners at your local Walmart. Learning how to do that is a difficult thing and I certainly don't have it all figured out, but I've learned a lot over the years and I'd like to share some of what I've learned with you, to help you reach your creative career goals.

A couple weeks ago I found this Kickstarter campaign for a comic series called the Millennials. It was a few days before the end of the campaign and with only one backer it was obvious this campaign wouldn't fund. But I also saw something else; I saw myself in the creator, Jay Wallace. I saw many of the mistakes I personally made when I was much younger. That's why I'm writing this. I know some of these lessons are hard to hear, and often hard to learn, heck I forgot a couple of the most basic rules of marketing when I overhauled my Patreon page recently. So I think a post-mortem analysis of a failed campaign like this can be very helpful to us as we move forward wether it's with this project or a new one.

First, if you're like a lot of us and you've internalized this idea that marketing is bad, like the sleazy car salesman who just wants to sell you a lemon and take his bonus home, you need to get that picture out of your head. Sales and marketing aren't bad, in fact you're already marketing and selling, you just don't know it. Do you have a job? Then you've sold something: yourself. When you write a resume or take a job interview, you're selling to the interviewer an idea of you as a good person for that job. You have to convince them not only that you can perform the task, but that you won't create any extra headaches for them either. The interviewer can only hire so many people, so they're going to choose the candidates who will make their job the easiest. Except in those cases when they hire their drunk cousin or friend from grade-school, despite all the vomit in the backseat of their car, because history and nepotism. Besides, they want to stay on uncle Don's good side if they don't want their tires slashed. ;P

The point I'm making here is that you have to sell things all the time, and there are lots of better ways. That sleazy car dearler is a sales person, but he's just one guy, and he's a very bad sales person. I'll bet you didn't use any of those sleazy car-sales tactics to get the job you have now. You didn't lie and tell the interviewer at Walmart that you managed distribution for the midwest division of Oscar Mayer and drove their weinermobile. No, you told them the truth, that you're willing to work any hours, on any day including holidays, for minimum wage, that you have your own transortation, and that you like their "I hate mondays" neck-tie. Okay, that last one was a lie, but how else are you going to make an impression on the interviewer and stand out in that crowd of Walmart applicants?

Seriously though, the best car salesman and the one who's better off in the long-run is the one who helps you find the car you want even if it's at someone else's dealership where he won't get the bonus for selling it. That guy who helps you find what you're looking for at a competitor's dealership builds a reputation for himself as an honest, helpful guy, and that's worth a lot more than the bonus on a single sale.

So now that we have that out of the way, how would the helpful salesperson approach this Kickstarter that failed? What would he recommend to Jay to help the Millennials Kickstarter fund?

Before I do that, I want to recommend this podcast I found recently called ComixLaunch. If you're planning even one KickStarter project, you should probably check out this podcast first, there's a lot of really useful info in here. Several of the mistakes Jay made, (mistakes I used to make when I was younger), could have been avoided with information from just the first couple episodes of ComixLaunch.

EDIT (Dec 22, 2017): I also just came across this great article with very specific Kickstarter advice from Russell Nohelty.

Now let's see what Jay did well. He did several of the basic things that we all know you need to do with a KickStarter. He's got a video and it's brief at only a minute and seventeen seconds. He introduced himself, he seems like a nice kid, and he explains the emotional connection he has to this project, why it's important to him (having a lot to do with high-school, bullying, biraciality, the immigrant experience and racial profiling). So if you identify with those feelings and experiences, there's a good chance you'll want to help him. When you get down below the video, you see he included the first six pages of the comic's first(?) issue, and the art is high quality, so that's a plus.

So how do we evaluate these positives? What do we compare them to? Where's our yardstick? In the marketing world, when you're telling people about something they might want to buy, there are six points to hit. There are actually a lot more than six, but there are six main points that professional marketers focus on. Those six points are:

Authority: people are more likely to support those who show authority on a given subject. You get a rash checked by a doctor, not by boxcar willie who's playing banjo on the street for tips. This works in any industry, though, it's not just for doctors and lawyers. Even your weed dealer is going to sell more weed if he has a reputation for knowing good product and selling the better stuff.

Commitment & Consistency: This works both ways. The more someone has committed to supporting you in the past (your comics, your music albums, whatever), the more likely they are to continue to support you. You also need to be consistent. You can evolve gradually, however, your personality and your products need to be fairly consistent in their tone. The world is full of examples of bands, movie and video game franchises, that lost a huge chunk of their fanbase by introducing dramatic changes between two releases. The Highlander, Tracy Chapman, etc, etc.

I know, some of you are thinking, "no, you don't have to be consistent, look at Lady Gaga or Monty Python!" In reality though, their work is consistent for what their fans expect. Would you buy The Best of Show-Tunes from Lady Gaga? Would you buy a gut-wrenching docudrama about the Syrian civil war from Monty Python? Even if you show the giant foot stomping on Bashar al-Assad, that's probably not winning over a lot of Monty Python fans.

The point is that by being consistent, you're building trust with your fans.

Likability: How likeable are you as an individual? We would all like to think of ourselves as being likeable, and I think that's fairly true for most of us. There's probably nobody who can't do something to make themselves a little more likeable. As an autistic person, studying this is kind of my life -- I could rant and rave about how it shouldn't matter (I've seen lots of autistic people do this), but that wouldn't make me very likeable would it? ;) It doesn't actually take a lot to be more likeable. Remember to smile more (but don't tell women to, seriously, that's pretty douchey), tell a joke once in a while (my personal favorite), have a sense of humor about yourself and let people know that you know you're not perfect.

Reciprocity: Even with strangers, if you've done something nice for someone, they tend to want to return that gesture. You see this any time you go out -- even as a guy, when I hold the door for another guy (and obviously we're both perfectly capable of opening a door), the other guy will usually open the next door for me on the other side of the mandatory airlock that all stores have now. It's a good thing though, if it weren't for that airlock, we'd all be blown back out of the store and we'd never be able to buy our milk. (We don't have any local milk people anymore!) ;P

Social Proof: This is one of the tougher points to hit when you're a fresh new face like Jay. People want to do things together. People want to know that their friends, neighbors and/or family are involved in a particular thing. You'll get the occasional extreme hipster, "oh, you've never heard of the band Cross-Stich Circumcision... oh you have? Well they suck then." But that notwithstanding, people don't want to do things alone, they want to know they're part of a team or a tribe or a book-club. They want to know that they're part of something their peers are interested in, like Game of Thrones.

Even in microcosm you can see this all the time. Look at any auction and you'll notice that there's a notable pause at the beginning of each item, before anyone's bid on it. Everyone at the auction is waiting to see if anyone else will bid and if so, where that person will set the bar for bidding. They want someone else to prove to them that this item is worth bidding on, and to give them an idea how much it's worth. So if you're genuinely interested in an item at auction, definitely bid first, and bid at or near the minimum. If you bid high, you might overestimate the interest and miss out on getting the item for less. Also, once that first bid is out there, generally, the bidding flows much more rapidly. It's possible you could bid high enough to shock everyone in the room away from bidding and be the only bidder, but unless you're more interested in the shock than the item, you're better off setting people's expectations with the initial bid.

To be fair though, bidding on a dead ostritch might be shocking enough. What does one do with a dead ostritch? They spend most of their life half-buried to begin with. They met you half-way, the least you could do is give them a proper burial.

Scarcity: To be honest, I'm a little conflicted about this point. I understand that scarcity can really help drive sales, but there's still a small part of my soul that dies every time I use it. I just can't seem to dissociate it in my mind from that sleazy car-salesman I talked about before.

In my first Kickstarter campaign, I only set the goal at $300 because I was producing ebooks and I just wanted to purchase a batch of ISBNs (which I later learned I shouldn't have even used on eBooks, d'oh!) That being the case I actually set a limit on every pledge level, even the $1 level, because at that level I was offering a credit in the back of one of the books. I was pretty sure there wouldn't be hundreds or thousands of backers I would have to credit (making the books unfeasibly large), but I decided to limit even the $1 pledges just to be on the safe side. I just can't help but think of that car salesman saying "hey, and you know what, they don't make 'em like this anymore!" (And you don't want to buy a car like that anyway, because there's usually a reason they don't make 'em like that anymore, and it's murder to get parts or repairs!)

I realize also that my discomfort with scarcity isn't always warranted. When your Kickstarter project is approaching its deadline, even if you don't have any limited pledge levels, there's still a sense of scarcity for the people who pledge in the last few days. Many of those people have been holding out to pledge on your campaign, to see if they need your support. They want to support you, if you need it, but they have a lot of their own expenses, so they're hoping your project will fund without them and they can use that money on bills, or groceries, or a dead ostrich. It's in those last couple days, if it looks like your project is close and it might not fund, they'll make that sacrifice to help you out, because they're afraid of the scarcity, the idea that your project may not exist at all if it doesn't fund. And in that sense, I understand scarcity can also be a positive, because it shows how we band together. :D Although even then, it's not strictly necessary to use scarcity, since crowdfunding on IndieGogo with no deadline eliminates that, but that's also part of the reason why fewer IndieGogo projects meet their goals.

The more of these points you hit, the more people will support your project. So how many of these did Jay hit?

Authority? Certainly some people must know Jay, but this is the first I've heard of him. He's only created this one Kickstarter campaign, so I can't look at previous campaigns for information. And I don't see any social media presence or other internet presence -- he didn't enter Twitter or Facebook on his Kickstarter profile, and a google search for "Jay Wallace Millennials" produces only this Kickstarter, a subsequent IndieGogo campaign, and a Twitter account for a Fox News executive with the same name. Also, "the Millennials" as a title is generic enough to produce a lot of false-positives on a Google search. That's not a make-or-break issue, but it will make it harder for people to find your project. There's no website for the Millennials that I can tell, there's no evidence on the internet that he or this project exist at all outside of this crowdfunding campaign.

It's hard to create a sense of "authority" when nobody knows who you are. A degree of some kind might help, like graduating from SCAD or the Kubert School. Ironically, just wearing a white lab-coat and carrying a clipboard does wonders to generate a sense of authority, but that's back into car salesman territory, so we won't go there. One thing you can do to generate more authority even as an unknown noob, is to show your homework. I use the word "homework" here deliberately -- none of us enjoy doing homework, but it has to get done if we want to graduate. The same is true for crowdfunding campaigns, there are a lot of logistical details that are boring, but necessary. The Kickstarter campaign should show exactly where all the money is going -- tell us how many books you're printing, which printer you chose and how much they quoted for your job, what you need for shipping, for the Kickstarter fees, and for any other rewards offered. (Personally, I would even tell us how much you need to pay your artist.) This is all basic information that you need to know to complete your project, and I don't see any of it mentioned in the Millennials Kickstarter. This is like coming in to class and saying, "I had this really great report written, and then my dog ate it. But I pinky-swear, it was A+ work!"

Commitment and Consistency? Like I said about authority, it's hard to create a sense of consistency if nobody knows who you are. Without a website, without any social media presence, strangers online don't have any way to evaluate just how consistent you are in your attitudes, your communication or your work.

Jay does mention in the video and the text of the Kickstarter that he's worked on this project for three years and that he's written over 600 issues (which is about ten "trade paperbacks" or "graphic novels" as we used to call them). That does indicate commitment, however, with no online presence, we're all stuck taking him at his word about the time he's put into this project. And if I'm going to take someone at their word, it would be a lot easier for me actually if the project were a lot smaller. You have to remember that trust is built incrementally, and that's what commitment and consistency are all about, building trust. To put this in perspective, imagine if a stranger came to you on the bus, and they're dressed in a nice suit and they seem nice and they say, "hey, I have this plan to cure cancer, I just need a few thousand people to donate $20 each". Most people are going to respond to that with "fuck cancer," before they suck down an entire pack of cigarettes... laced with asbestos. If that same person had just said, "I'm kind of hard up and wondered if I could get some change or a dollar to buy some weed," they'd probably have better luck, wouldn't they?

So for Jay, I don't think he should give up on his passion-project, however, I think he'd be better off not even mentioning the 600 issues and simply focusing on the first issue. Telling people you're trying to get six-hundred of them made (and it's not clear in his text if this Kickstarter is meant for one issue or for all six-hundred), is pretty off-putting. But there are lots of people who are quite successful on Kickstarter just promoting a first issue. Some of them may have a huge number of issues written and waiting, but you don't want to hit a stranger with that the first time they meet you. Start small, let people see what you can do with one, and that will build your credibility.

For the record, when I was young, I used to make this mistake all the time.

Likeability? Okay, I know this one is always hard to hear. We all want to think we're super-likeable, and I'm not saying Jay's not likeable, all I'm saying is I think we all underrate our ability to improve ourselves in this area. Jay is clean and presentable on the video and he ends it with a polite "thank you" and that's kind of the bare minimum on making yourself likeable. I don't notice him smile at any point in the video, and he reads off the script in a bit of a monotone, and those things are kind of a shot in the foot. When you make your video, you should open and close with a smile and you should talk about your project with a little energy. I know that's going to require a bit of practice, it may take several takes to get it the way you want it, but if you've already put three years into this project, the day or week or however long you take to get the video just right should be nothing. You don't get all your gear ready to climb Mount Everest and then cancel the trip because your airline flight is delayed.

This may not sound like "likeability", but the cinematography of this video is a bit off as well. The camera angle is from below Jay, so what you see behind him is the ceiling and in particular, his head is directly in front of a light. The camera's light adjustement and the viewers brain compensate a little for that light source, but with all the compensation in the world, it still casts his face in a shadow and that's never good. Maybe he was trying for a "dramtic" look, like the scene in an action movie where the hero bursts into the darkened warehouse through a shaft of bright light. That works great when it's followed by a climactic battle, not so much when it's followed by a project pitch.

Reciprocity? Nope. I've had a Kickstarter account for at least four years now and over that time I've pledged to 29 other Kickstarter campaigns. I'm not sure how many I had pledged to before my first Kickstarter, but I know there were a bunch of them. People on Kickstarter don't want you to be there just to get your cash and run -- they want to know that you're a part of the community and that you'll give back to other creators as well. Jay's not pledged to any other Kickstarter campaigns, so that's a strike against him. Given that you've paid $70 per page to have the first six pages illustrated and colored, that's $420 you've already sunk into this project. Sink a few more dollars into helping some other creators build their social proof so they can get their projects funded. Not only will you generate some goodwill for your projects, if you talk to those creators (I haven't done a good job of this), there's a good chance you'll even make a few friends. :)

Social Proof? Nope. I take that back, there's a little -- the first pledge. And yes, that's important, if you're going to run a Kickstarter campaign, you should at least make sure you know where your first pledge is coming from, so you can get it on the first day. Usually it's your mom. Thanks mom! :D Beyond that, again, it's hard to build social proof when nobody knows you. The idea that people like your work really has to come from other people, not from you. If someone else says they enjoy your work, their friends will believe it. But you can't say it yourself, because then you just sound like Trump, "I make the best comics, everybody says so." Thankfully, Jay didn't go there, but he did something else that shot himself in the foot for social proof.

If you read the text of Jay's Kickstarter, at the top he says:

I'm raising money to pay my penciller and colorist to finish the following issue pages. I recently submitted The Millennials to Image Comcis. But I also will use the money to get a table at the Cincinnati Comic Expo in September that will host over 20,000 people. The money will fund the trip and merchandise.

The fourth sentence in that passage is redundant, but the second sentence is the real problem. The fact that he recently pitched this series to Image isn't relevant to the Kickstarter. Including that sentence here is at best confusing without any explanation of why he's bringing it up. Then further down, below the six pages he's already produced, he makes it a little worse when he brings it up again in the "Risks and Challenges" section.

The risk to my project is Image not wanting to pick up my story. I would over come this by self-publishing and handling distribution personally.

Blam! Your toe's gone. Either you're saying that Image has already rejected your project, or you're saying that you're still waiting for a response from Image. If you haven't heard back from Image yet, then you have no business being on Kickstarter. You can pitch your project to publishing companies, or you can pitch it to us for crowdfunding, but you can't do both of those things at the same time. If you're saying Image already rejected you, then telling us you've been rejected already runs against your social proof. We all know rejection, we've all experienced it, but don't tell us that if you're looking for project funding. If you're looking for sympathy it's a different story. Here it's like, "Hey, Becky, would you like to go to the prom? Amy turned me down... I'm asking all the girls alphabetically." (True story, I once made that mistake when asking a girl out in my teens. Awkward!)

Scarcity? This is the one point that bothers me for personal reasons, but my own hangups aside, how did Jay do? Mostly scarcity in a Kickstarter project is created with higher pledge levels where backers can get limited edition items that they might not be able to get if they don't pledge. Jay defined five pledge levels, ranging from $20 to $300. First, there should have been some lower pledge levels -- give people credit in the back of the book or something, it's not hard to do, and it makes the higher pledge levels more valuable. Or give them a copy of the first volume as an ebook or send them a postcard.

At the lowest pledge level of $20 he offered some fankly peculiar rewards. The first book is normal, but a pair of branded sunglasses? With a standard 22-page comic issue? And there's no homework showing where he's getting these sunglasses made or how much they cost, and at $3,500 I wonder if he's done the math to cover that expense. For another $5 I can get a backpack? Are people really wanting sunglasses and backpacks? Even branded with the project name, I just don't think people are looking to get these things with a comic. They're common items, most people have them already, etc.

The t-shirt or the hoodie at $40 is maybe okay, if you know how to get those made and you've done the math and know you can afford them, but do the homework and let us know you can cover the cost. All these things sound really expensive on the budget you're describing. And show us the image you're planning to put on the shirt -- is it just the logo or will there be character art? Honestly, the t-shirt market is pretty darn saturated, which makes them already hard to sell. So a t-shirt with this project logo, even with character art, would probably require a great deal of social proof before it becomes a reason for someone to pledge. (I say this as someone who has satirical t-shirts I printed still sitting in my closet.)

The highest pledge level, the $300, I think I would have offered people their likeness in the comics in some way, as a bystander or someone who dies. I did that in my first Kickstarter and people seemed to enjoy the comics they were injected into. In Jay's project it's just all the lower pledge levels. So if at the $40 level, I already got a shirt or a hoodie, and I'm just getting an extra two shirts and/or hoodies, the math doesn't add up. That first hoodie was a jump of $15 (and I'm surprised it's three times as much as the backpack). The jump from one t-shirt or hoodie to three of them is an increase of $260. That means those two extra shirts, instead of being $15 each are now $130 each. That's an expensive shirt! I think I'm only paying $130 for a shirt if it comes with Amy Schumer still wearing it! Or better yet, Samantha Bee! I'd pay $130 for that shirt, she gives good satire.

Okay, so how many of those six points did Jay's Kickstarter hit?

Authority: 0 points

Commitment & Consistency: 1/2 point for sticking with this project for three years, but it's hampered by appearing to bite off way more than you should on your first appearance, without building any reputation.

Likability: 1/2 point for the bare minimum of coming across as a nice kid - Jay doesn't seem like a car salesman or an egomaniac, but that's like advertising your car on craigslist as "it still runs". (And before you think I'm being real hard on Jay here, remember that this is something I personally work at and struggle with every day because of my autism.)

Reciprocity: 0 points

Social Proof: 0 points - it would have been a half-point for having the first pledge, but it's taken away by the mention of an either prior or simultaneous pitch to Image.

Scarcity: 1/2 point - I can see that an attempt was made, but the offerings don't really add up

So, I've given him 1.5 out of a possible 6. If we think of that like a class assignment, he'd need 70% to get a C. This places Jay's Kickstarter at 25%, so it wouldn't be a passing grade. To have even a passing grade on this scale, you need at least 4.5 points. Ideally obviously you want to hit all six of them. The good news is this doesn't have to be the end for the Millennials or for Jay.

The reason why we do post-mortems like this after a project fails is to learn from our mistakes. As long as we can keep learning, we can get a little further down that path toward our goals. It may be a little harder for Jay to get his next Kickstarter funded now that this one failed, but he shouldn't let that discourage him, he just needs to study more. A Kickstarter needs a lot of people to believe in it, and you can't make that work by cramming at the final, no matter how much Monster Energy you drink. I hope this article helps a lot of you fresh young comic artists, looking forward to your first few Kickstarters or other crowdfunding campaigns. If you can learn from a few of these mistakes before your first campaign, you'll be in much better shape. And I really hope that Jay also sticks with it and eventually gets the whole Millennials story published. :D

Stay awesome, Hooligans!

Sam

P.s. If you found this article helpful, you can help me create more of this and other comedy in several ways, by sharing this article, sharing my comics at www.woohooligan.com or by pledging as little as a dollar on our Patreon!