#only issue is that driving is sensory hell for me so I struggle with it a lot

[wickjump]

i kinda want to live again

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[mogai-sunflowers]

y'know, i've been visiting your account for awhile.. and this isn't limited to your most recent post: if you're struggling that much with your weight and it feeling like a "gut punch" in regards to your transition and how it likely won't be available, try exercising, doing runs, going to the gym and going on a diet? it's not easy at all, it's harder than it should be, especially with your present disorders, which will difficult your path all the way through: but it def will help, even if just a little bit. you've got to try, or atleast attempt yourself doing it. ik it's kinda repetitive knowning that somebody has (probably) already told you this, but believe me— it's worth it. this world also doesn't care for anyone who is genuinely fat, which doesn't necessarily mean you should lose weight for that- it just means that the world is unfair and even the biggest differences affect everything/nothing. promotion in positivity towards individuals of these sizes will be ever so slightly affective, especially towards those whose health is at risk (for their eating methods). i'm just worried abt you, sorry if this seems disrespectful. i genuinely hope you get better, sending my love to you. ❤

hey anon, i'm not particularly upset with you because i can tell how genuine this was and believe me, i do appreciate deeply how you care.

that being said, it's generally pretty disrespectful to tell someone to do those things to lose weight, for whatever reason, especially when they're in the middle of a mental health crisis. i'm not saying this to make you feel bad, just saying that i and many others don't particularly appreciate being told these kinds of things when we already feel bad about our bodies.

for me personally, all of the things you mentioned are not feasible for me for many different reasons. i can't do most, if any, diets, because I have really bad ARFID due to my autism, so most of my diet is literally the only foods i can eat without constantly throwing up. i can't eat most vegetables for that reason, and i also tend to get very anxious with diets because they feel restrictive, which is actually the number one trigger for my binging episodes.

i cannot drive most places because i get too overstimulated on the road that it's legitimately dangerous for me to be doing so, so i can't drive myself to a gym, because the nearest gym to me is only accessible via highway, and i have inner ear issues so i get carsick at highway speeds so wouldn't be able to drive myself there. additionally, my executive dysfunction is so debilitating that many days, it can feel like climbing Mt. Everest just to make myself a bowl of cereal- working out is about 100 times harder than that on my executive dysfunction- and that's not even getting into how workouts make you sweat a lot, and I have really bad sensory issues with getting sweaty (and can't really shower on my own, which would pretty much be required after every work out)

i also very likely have an undiagnosed physical disability, because i cannot stand or walk longer than 10-15 minutes without my entire body hurting like hell, so consistent runs and exercise would be quite difficult for me.

i know there's no way you could have known any of those personal details about me, so i'm not in any way faulting you for that. but they're my reality and i have to live with the reality that almost all conventional modes of weight loss are not an option for me. my best bet is to stick to my current personal eating disorder recovery plan which has actually been a blessing, and work harder than ever on accepting who i am without having to change myself to do so. i won't lie, it's a steep uphill battle. but i actually have many more good days with my body image than i do bad ones, so that keeps my hopes up most of the time.

so yeah, for future reference, it's a bit insensitive to give fat people unsolicited weight loss tips, especially if they're in times of crisis (believe me, i've heard enough of those tips from doctors who never even bothered to ask my opinion /lighthearted). but i do truly appreciate your caring and hope you have a great day /genuine

[unofficial-sean]

Of all my interpersonal struggles, I've never really encountered a friendship-shattering issue such as that I've encountered tonight.

The friend I'm about to talk to has been a wonderful person to me. They've often made themselves available to play games with me and I always enjoy my time chatting with them.

The issue I've slammed into is this: they've self diagnosed themselves with autism. In contrast to myself, i was diagnosed at age 9 with Asperger's syndrome. It is something I've struggled with all my life, and I'm now 23.

Some may not like to hear this, but i think self diagnosis is bullshit and insulting. Even more so after the events of this night.

They invite me over to go to a bar on the same block as their apartment. I'm excited to spend time with them. We just got off playing Overwatch together. They mentioned some bands were going to be playing there. I paid it little mind.

I arrive, we pregame, and then we go to the bar. It is as loud as any given bar is; with chatter and speaker music. I'm used to that. Its past my comfort level, but it's not debilitating. I order a Cosmo, they order a water, and because they paid my entry fee, i bought both of us the grilled cheese they said they wanted to try.

Then the band comes on stage. They start doing mic tests and the volume was excruciating. I had to cover my ears with both hands. I wasn't sure when they were going to stop, so I could not finish my drink or my dinner.

I figured they would adjust their volume after the test, but i couldn't have been more wrong. When the band began to play, it was as though someone trapped me in a box with a flashbang, or perhaps fired a gun beside my ear. It was painful and all-consuming. I may have managed to work on my drink and foods little more before, but now I could not remove my hands and fingers from my ears.

Sensory overload does not begin to describe to severity of the situation. I wasn't sure when they would stop. I just sat there beside my "friend," visibly in distress, while i waited for the band to stop so i could eat. They didn't stop. My friend finally caught on and typed a message on their phone and placed it in front of me, asking if I'd like to go outside. I nodded. The staff even noticed and offered me shittu foam earplugs that didn't help.

My food is already cold at this point. even outside, i am still covering my ears. Moreover, it is below freezing. I cant finish my dinner because it's gone cold. The band is so loud that it is unbearable even outside. I walk back inside to get my card. I sit back down with my card, outside. Staff tracks me down and insists i sign the fucking receipt. All the while, my friend is sitting there unbothered by the noise. They are more bothered by me and my suffering under the sound.

They aren't covering their ears. As a matter of fact, after they asked me to go home, they blamed me for not bringing hearing protection, and insisted that they wanted to go back. So i had to sit in my car to sober up before i could drive home.

I ran the engine, turned the heat up all the way, including the heated seats. I fell asleep for over an hour. I only woke up when i was roasting alive. I shut it all down and rolled down the windows. It was past midnight. Past closing.

They wouldn't grant me the kindness of sleeping it off in their apartment. I had to sleep in my car so they could return to that sensory nuclear bomb of a bar.

It was this that i concluded that they are not autistic. Even though I'm high functioning, that volume was sufficient to force me into being mute. It was hell. And worse, my friend lacked empathy for my situation, and instead seemed annoyed with me.

"self diagnosed with autism." Fuck off, all of you, with that. You think you have autism because you're socially awkward or some shit? It's an insult. It spits in the face of people who actually suffer from it. I gave them, and my other friends, the benefit of the doubt on the self diagnosis, but after this, i am certain they don't know the first thing about the experience of autism.

I'm done with them. Done. DONE. DONE. DONE. DONE. DONE. DONE.

[icanonlybe-human]

Today was another day of bad functioning.

Got out of bed at 1.30pm. Ate an apple at 3. Then actually had a shower but purely because the sensory was driving me nuts and I didn't want to make Ju uncomfortable... or realise something is wrong.

I went to the supermarket, in my comfy clothes with my at home bra because I could not make myself wear a bra where, on a day like today, feels like it's made of thousands of tiny needles. And as it turns out, I'm glad I didn't wear my proper bra, because I had a constant panic attack/PTSD episode in there. As soon as I got in, I had to just stand in the corner of a row, just to catch my breath. I just had to focus on what I was getting, and even though it's the same as every other time I've been there, I got lost. This is the only supermarket I like to go to down here, and I got lost. I went into the chip isle, and two tall, bulky men came up behind me without me realising and started talking and laughing so loud I could hear it through the noise cancelling. So that PTSD panic plus the autistic panic of "they changed the shelves, where is my safe food" just made me a mess. I was shaking so bad and by the time I got back to the car, I was ready to scream or vomit or both. But no. I had to go and wash the car.

I can tell you now, that washing a car, especially when you have to scrub it a LOT to try and get bug guts off (that didn't actually come off btw) isn't a great idea. Shakiness? Way worse. Nausea? Hell yeah. Black spots dancing in front of my vision. And I was still feeling like I was having a heart attack because no, the anxiety attack did not stop.

My total of eating today was the apple, some hot chips from hungry jacks because yes I do need the positive reinforcement after doing simple shit like going outside because if I don't, I won't in the future because that small reward gives me that little bit of serotonin to make it okay. Ish. And then a bacon and egg burger for dinner.

I told Ju what I'd eaten today, and she had the audacity to try and shame me for it. You know what? Fuck you. How about you try being in my shoes where getting up to look after your body feels fucking pointless and you have no energy to do it. Why don't you try doing something so tired it makes you so tired that you sleep 12 hours each night on the weekend because you're so fucking exhausted from acting and being sleep deprived because you're brain refuses to give you a goddamn second to rest. Why don't you try and see how you feel when your brain is eating itself from the inside and everyone you tell about either says "oh that must suck" or just acts like they didn't hear what you say. Or when the one reason you said you'd stay alive is because of family only for this weekend to be proof that they can be perfectly happy without you. Why should I care what I put in my body at this point when I'm struggling to find reasons to live day to day. I don't care about long term issues or weight gain when I'm focused on whether I'm going to be here next week.

So yeah. Fuck Ju for trying to shame a burnt out, suicidal, manic depressive autistic and fuck everyone who tries to shame mentally ill people out of their "condition". Fuck 'em. FUCK THEM.

[hunnybadgerv]

The First Try | Mass Effect | Guardians in the Darkness

Summary: Not much more to say except read the author’s notes. Nyx snatches Kaidan’s senses to try something new and distracting.

a/n: A Smut Fic Prompt from @painterofhorizons for Nyx Shepard and Kaidan Alenko. They asked for E. Kinky 4. Sensory Deprivation. I thought about this way too much and I decided that maybe this might end up with a pair of experiences or maybe even stories, but I’ll have to see. Since I always wrote Kaidan as a very visual lover, and a bit of a voyeur, I can only imagine this could be difficult for him. But then I also started thinking about how Shepard might react, especially given the circumstances of Alchera and their demise—that, however, is not included in this piece because it has expanded into its own story.

Read the entire fic on AO3

Under the cut because it jumps right in.

The First Try

-1-

Dim lights cast the room in a warm orange-yellow hue. The fish tank filters hummed their low comforting sound, which was only broken by the wet smack of lips and desperate gasps for breath. The occasional rumbling growl of wantonness of the smooth surfaces of the bulkhead. Nyx Shepard slipped her hand into Kaidan’s and used that grip and a bit of leverage from the thigh against his hip to flip them over and get her lover beneath her.

“Kaidan,” she purred, leaning down to kiss him before he could answer her.

He just hummed against her mouth, both his hands going to her ass to pull her hips more firmly against his as he pressed his erection against her.

She managed to get hold of hands again and pressed them into the mattress above his head as she loomed over him. Her blonde hair cascaded around them as he smirked up at her. He lifted his hips under her as if to prove he didn’t need his hands to excite her. This, however, was a fact that Nyx would never question, hell, sometimes him just dropping his voice by a handful of notes could take her apart and set them on an erotic excursion.

“If you don’t cooperate, this is not going to work,” she lectured with a bright laugh.

“This was your idea,” he countered, lifting his head off the mattress to try and steal another kiss.

Of course, Nyx met him halfway, because how could she not? He sucked on her bottom lip as he leaned back once more, adding a quick nip before she could escape completely. Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for her, even though he’d eagerly agreed when she suggested it. She shifted his hands until they were both above his head, so that she could get the soft restraints on him. He bent upwards once more, this time sucking her nipple into his hot mouth.

Nyx froze there, her eyes slipping closed as she hissed and arched into him. With a soft hum, she savored the rough sensation of his tongue and the careful scrape of teeth against tender flesh. “Fuck,” she breathed, leaning heavily against his wrists. She was loathe to pull away, to steal his fun, break his attention. “Could you behave?”

A lurid pop sounded through the room once he released her. “Not with your breasts in my face,” he teased, leaning up to pepper her blushing decolletage with lingering tender kisses.

She did her best to ignore him; Kaidan did not make that easy at all. But she just needed to reach the bedside table is all. If I can just, she thought as she held his hands in one of hers and stretched over him. His mouth latched onto the underside of her breast, sucking downright hard this time. There was no way it wouldn’t leave a mark, a deep purple bruise formed quickly and pulsed under his tongue.

Struggling with his hands and her own breathing, it took longer than it should have to get the Velcro ties around his wrists. When she shifted again, to try and attach the anchor to the frame of the bed, Kaidan wriggled beneath her. The fact that he hadn’t gotten her out of her pants yet was the only thing that kept Nyx from falling apart completely when he pressed his face between her thighs without the least trace of hesitation of shame.

Deciding to tease him, she slipped her fingers into his hair and rocked her hips. The greedy groan that rose from his chest sent a shiver along her spine. When she rolled away from him, Kaidan yanked at the restraints she’d gotten on him. Nyx giggled in victory; her hand trailed down his bare chest.

“Never hated pants so much in my entire life,” Kaidan told her. The fire in his amber eyes took her breath away.

Nyx draped herself along his side, pressing her bare chest against his warm skin. “That sentiment doesn’t carry the weight it used to, mo chuisle. Not when you say that all the time.” She pressed a kiss against his lips.

A pensive look crossed his features. “Then perhaps you should just stop wearing pants altogether. It’d solve so many issues.”

Nyx didn’t fight the laughter. “That an order, Major?” Again, she didn’t give him a real chance to answer before kissing him. Her mouth lingered on his; their tongues teasing and tasting each other with decadent sensuality. She loved kissing him, holding him tight, and focusing every ounce of her attention just on him. In some ways it was almost meditative, losing herself in this, in him.

He hummed when the tip of her nose brushed against his. “Would you listen if it was?”

“Probably not. My command, so I still out rank you.” She kissed him softly again. “You ready?” she asked sweetly as she pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“You know this is going to be murder for me?”

Nyx brushed her fingers along his hairline. “If it gets to be too much, just tell me. And, I like I promised, we’ll go slow.”

“Watching you is at least half the fun,” he argued.

“And as much as you’ve seen,” she teased grabbing the blackout blindfold from the nightstand, “you’ll have plenty of fodder for that brilliant imagination of yours to make up the difference.”

Leaning against him, she slipped the covering onto his forehead, where she left it. Soft, chaste kisses deepened, and by the time she broke that connection, she’d inched the mask down over his eyes. Now, whether he opened them or left them closed, Kaidan would be trapped in complete and total darkness. There was one of his senses he wouldn’t lose entirely, though it was being thrown off by the spiced candles in the room. The earthy fruity scent that wafted around them bore a strong resemblance to red wine—one of their favorites.

The commander pressed a kiss against his chin, then to the center of his throat. She felt the motion of him swallowing beneath her lips, and she couldn’t resist opening her mouth to taste that divine Adam’s apple. It earned her another healthy groan.

“How’s that imagination working for you, Major?”

“Little spotty at the moment, Commander. Think you could dial it in for me?”

She grinned against the center of his chest. “Any suggestions?” she asked. Her lips teasing across the bare plane of his bare chest in a seemingly random pattern.

“Oh, you seem to be heading toward the neighborhood,” he teased with a smirk.

“You always do enjoy that, don’t you?” she breathed against his skin. She dragged her nails down the tops of his thighs, over the thick fabric of his duty uniform trousers.

Kaidan just sighed, the shakiness of it only encouraging her.

“My hands on your hips,” she whispered against his skin between wet kisses. “Grabbing your ass.” She drew her nails over his ribs, savoring the tremble in his body. “Pulling you deeper into my mouth,” she teased. Her kisses and sharp little bites skimmed his waistband. She move her hands and gripped the tops of his thighs, pressing him against the bed.

“Fuck, Nyx,” he crooned when she flicked the tip of her tongue against his navel.

One hand inched upward, pressing against the front of his hip, but purposefully avoiding the bulge straining against the fabric. No need to rile him up too much before she wanted him on the brink of losing control. With another warm kiss pressed against his tummy, she knelt between his legs. With a light touch, using just her fingertips, Nyx pried open his belt and managed to manipulate the fabric in such away as to avoid putting any undue pressure or friction against his cock.

With a growl he lurched forward as if to sit up and intervene, but his motion halted sharply and he fell back against the pillows as the restraints clanged against the frame of the bed. “Damnit,” he muttered, remembering that practice was over and it wasn’t just his willpower keeping his dexterous hands out of the game.

“Forget?” she asked, her breath caressing his skin.

“Not exactly,” he grumbled.

“Lift up.”

Kaidan hissed when Nyx scratched her nails along his backside as she inched his trousers and boxers down together. Drawing her index fingers over the side of his hips, she plucked his underwear up and over his thick erection.

She bit her bottom lip as she slipped off the edge of the bed and yanked his remaining clothing off. Her hands pushed his legs apart a bit roughly. Her lover chuckled. With a light touch, her fingers traced over his thighs before disappearing altogether. He’d hear her movement—the rustle of fabric, the soft tap of her boots on the floor as she walked. The bed sank to his right as she perched near his arms.

“You look amazing,” she whispered as she leaned over to undo her boots. “All stretched out in my bed.”

“You just like seeing me naked.”

Nyx hummed and pressed her hand across the muscular plane of his chest. “Yeah, I do,” she agreed, leaning over and kissing his lips.

Kaidan dove into it, stretching toward her and pressing his tongue past her lips. Shepard sucked at it greedily, a tease at what she had planned for him. He groaned as she pulled away, still tugging at the thick muscle.

“I know you can get those boots off faster,” he stated. Impatience laced the wantonness of his lowered voice. She liked that register—the fuck me register.

“Thought you liked when I took my time?”

Kaidan grinned wide and mischievous. “I do. When I can watch,” he clarified. “Right now, I think you’re doing it just to drive me insane.”

Her fingertip traced the pulse racing along his jugular. “I thought maybe you’d be thinking about it. The slow slip of buttons through fabric. Dark fabric shifting apart, baring skin burning with heat and blushed with wanton frenzy.” Nyx let one boot drop with a heavy resounding thud.

“Fuck.” The whisper escaped his parted lips on a ragged breath.

Shifting her weight, she worked at the other. “The careful deliberate reveal of bare skin in dire need of your touch.” His hands yanked again at the restraints, testing them. Her other boot echoed off the floor when she pushed it off.

He turned his head toward her voice. “Nyx,” he growled when she shifted off the edge of the bed again.

She said nothing, barely moved, leaving him in relative silence.

“Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” she assured him. “I’m just enjoying the view.” It was true. He was gorgeous. His neck and chest glowed with a heated flush. The muscles in his arms flexed almost regularly whenever he tugged at the restraints, which he now gripped like a kind of lifeline. Even his hips strained. His cock twitching against his belly as if every inch of him couldn’t help but beg for more.

Kaidan growled when her observation continued.

Nyx decided to give him a bit of a reprieve, leaning onto the bed again. “If you want music, just say so. But I figured we could start with just the noise canceling,” she explained. All he’d be able to hear then would be the sound of his own breathing, his own voice as she shredded his control. Maybe his own heartbeat racing in his ears.

“Ready?”

He flinched, then instantly relaxed when she brushed the backs of her fingers over the line of his jaw. His head turned toward her touch. “And if I say no?”

“Then we wait until you are.” Nyx brushed her fingers through his hair and dotted his forehead with gentle kisses. “Do you need more time?”

His head lifted slightly, and she pressed her kisses more firmly over his brow. Kaidan took a deep breath then shook his head. “No, I think I’m good. Just want to fucking touch you.” The movement of his hands resulted in another demonstrative rattle. “Or have you touch me,” he added with a chuckle.

Nyx compensated for his lack of touch, and caressed his cheek tenderly as she smiled at him. “I love you. And remember, if it’s too much … just tell me. Say something. You remember the word, right?”

“Yeah. I do. I will,” Kaidan replied. He tipped his head toward the sound of her voice, and Nyx pressed her mouth to his. With considerable care, she set the little devices into his ears.

  -2-

The world shrank even further when the sound of her breathing and her voice disappeared. For the moment, he could feel her lips on his, could still sense her presence. But when the kiss ended, he felt suddenly and strangely alone. A little bit vulnerable. He turned his head toward the side of the bed she’d been on, then finally stared straight ahead.

Damn, these things are effective, he found himself wondering. No matter what direction he looked in he couldn’t even find a sliver of light. And the only thing he could hear was his own breathing, it sounded so damn loud. He knew he wouldn’t see anything coming, wouldn’t hear where she was, what she might be doing or planning … or enjoying. He clinched his jaw at that realization.

It was hard to imagine not hearing her. In fact, he rather disliked it when she muffled her reactions to him, even when it was necessary. His mind wandered to that time he’d cornered her in the cargo bay. Dared her to not make a sound. A rumble flowed through his chest at the thought of it.

In the next moment he was painfully aware that the only he could feel anywhere was the shift of the air in the room. He blinked a few times, tipping his head slightly. It couldn’t be as long as it felt, he knew, because his groin still ached, but it felt like it had been forever since she’d put in the earbuds.

“How long are you going to just leave me here?” he asked.

His position wasn’t new by any stretch of the imagination. Kaidan Alenko had been draped naked across Shepard’s bed before. He’d even been tied to that very same and other pieces of furniture in that room, but this was different. Even knowing it was futile, his keen eyes darted back and forth still searching for the slightest sliver of light, his ears strained for even a trace of a sound beyond his own breath. He still found neither.

It was strange. He knew she still had to be there. She wouldn’t just leave him like that.

When a soft touch grazed the inside of his knee, Kaidan jolted and whimpered in surprise. It wasn’t a sound he expected, but then again the touch seemed to come out of nowhere. It happened again, brushing across his pectoral. The muscle in his chest tightened and jumped in response.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about all this yet. Nyx was still playing with him, teasing him, taunting him. Kaidan wasn’t sure if he wanted more or wanted it to end so he could see her, watch her or hear her, at the very least.

Soft touches danced over his body, and like she’d teased, his imagination took over quite easily in the absence of sight and sound. The next time that ethereal tickle brushed over his ribs, he groaned and imagined her leaning over him and tilting her head to let the ends of her hair graze his stomach. He was almost certain that was what caused that particular sensation.

Her lips grazed his nipple and he could swear he knew exactly the look she was probably giving him. The fire in her blue eyes and that wicked little smirk she saved just for him.

She kept it up. Little surprise touches and kisses here and there. Sure, his imagination was now completely dialed into this whole endeavor, but he wanted more.

“Touch me,” he said, his words echoing in his skull. “For real, no more teasing.” He swallowed and added a wanton but polite, “Please.”

Her palm felt like fire against his skin as it pressed up the side of his ribs. He could only groan as he pushed into that touch. Then there was the tickle again, paired with damp kisses. He hissed when she playfully bit his nipple, groaning again when her whole tongue lathed over it as if in apology for the slight. His hands shot forward again; he wanted to bury them in her hair. Then he could guide her lips up to his, so he could kiss the breath out of her. A growl at the futility of his movement hung in his throat, and he wrapped his hands tighter in the straps for something else to hold on to.

Kaidan lay there, letting her touch him in all the places she chose, though none of them were the place he wanted to feel her most. He loved every caress, writhed beneath every kiss, but she’d planted the seed in his head. The promise of one of those sights he never got enough of. Hell, any time her hands ghosted over his hips and onto his thighs, he could see it. Blue eyes cast up at him, lips parted with shaky breath, that determined look in her eye that let him know he would fall apart at the whim of her tongue.

“Nyx,” he hissed and pressed his hips upward. She hadn’t even touched his cock yet, but he was aching for it.

With the bite on the inside of his thigh, Kaidan cried out. His entire bodied tightened painfully when the back of her hand grazed his testicles—or at least that was his guess at how she’d touched him. He could just be pulling at strands of memories from other times she’d teased him to excess.

His cock strained for her attention. She ignored it. Kaidan felt like his skin was going to crack open at any moment.

“Nyx,” he gasped breathlessly. “I don’t know if I can take much—” his admission fell apart on a guttural shriek that echoed inside his skull. Kaidan pressed his body back against the mattress with all his strength and he could fell the tingle and crackle racing along his skin with raised goosebumps. She’d just … he couldn’t even think about it in the moment. Stars dazzled behind his eyelids and his body shifted with her as she eased him deeper into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing onto the restraints a little higher, not to fight them but to anchor himself. He could only feel what she allowed him to. Eventually his imagination gave up trying to picture it; he couldn’t focus. He was awash in a sea of sensation. His stomach tightened, then his groin. His incoherent voice echoed inside head, while his nerves sang. Her nails skimmed his hips, her hair tickling his skin, while her mouth did things he could not even guess at.

“Damnit, Nyx,” he gritted out, yanking again at his binds. “I’m close. Fuck.”

She didn’t stop. Not that he ever expected that she would. In fact, she upped the ante and pressed her fingers to that spot behind his balls. A low groan reverberated in his ears. Even when he warned her, and despite the fact that he could not keep his hips under control, he knew there was no chance she’d pull away. She always guided him over the edge.

“Oh, shit. Nyx,” he crooned, thrusting upward as sparks and static danced across his skin as he came.

His short panting breaths echoed in his clear mind. Every inch of him felt relaxed, if slightly sore from the tension that had built up. He just laid there, his skin chilling from the combination of sweat and the cool air. Eventually his breathing evened and the tension in his shoulders eased. He had no idea how long she’d had him cut off from the world, but as he lay there gasping for breath he was sure it had to have been hours. It felt like it.

Then she returned, inching up along his body and trailing soft kisses across his chest. Her bare leg brushed against his and he grinned. A soft groan lodged in his throat.

“I hope those fucking pants are gone,” he said with a tired laugh, already knowing the answer.

The tip of her nose grazed the line of his sternum in what he took to be an affirmative nod. He groaned, his mind flashing back her trying to lash him to the bed.

“Then I think you need to come closer.” Her lips grazed his and they kissed deeply. “Closer,” he whispered against her mouth. Her body eased against his, making him hum in approval. “No, not yet,” he said when her fingers curled through the hair near his ears.

He stole another kiss, trying to be as convincing as he could be with so few cues to her reactions. “I want to taste you.”

She pushed herself up, one hand in the center of his chest. He could almost imagine that adorable wrinkle of her nose that almost always accompanied his request for her to sit on his face. “I didn’t say it the way you hate,” he argued. “And I can’t see. Can’t hear. Can’t even touch you. Mostly,” Kaidan conceded, licking his lips.

Nyx hadn’t left the bed, maybe she was considering it. Maybe she was talking to him, arguing about why she was not going to straddle his face. He couldn’t hear any of it, if that was what was happening. He just held out hope. Maybe she’ll give in this time.

The kiss she planted on his mouth was gentle and soft. So, when he felt her hands in his hair and her weight shift on the mattress, he didn’t dare move. He waited with unraveling patience. Kaidan growled in appreciation when her leg slipped under his shoulder. “Oh, fuck,” he exhaled against her inner thigh. He didn’t wait for her to settle over him. No, he couldn’t wait; Kaidan lunged forward. This time when he buried his face in the apex of her thighs, he pressed his tongue through her folds and sucked her clit into his mouth.

Again, he found he didn’t need to see or even imagine her above him. And as hot as it would have been to stare up into those brilliant blue eyes when she shuddered to pieces on his tongue, he still knew when it happened. Felt every quiver in her body, tasted the tang of her on his tongue, sensed the release in her tight, muscled body even as she knelt over him and tightened her fingers in his hair to the point that his scalp prickled from a thousand points of pain as she held onto him.

Feeling her relax, her hand covered one of his. Loosening his grip, his fingers threaded with hers. She squeezed his hand then he felt the bed move with the shifting of her weight. Another squeeze of her hand and her fingers slipped out of his.

  -3-

Shepard released his hands, returned his hearing, and slipped the blindfold up onto his forehead. Kaidan didn’t open his eyes at first. Leaning over him, she brushed her fingertips over his brow and waited. When he finally did open them, blinking and squinting at her in the low light, Nyx held her hand against his brow to shield him from the dim lamp on the nightstand. She didn’t say anything, but waited for him

“Okay,” he admitted with a slow swallow. “You might be onto something with that.”

Nyx chuckled and pressed a kiss against his shoulder as Kaidan draped one of his arms around her. “Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. I’m exhausted,” he admitted as he savored her comforting touch. Her hands squeezed at the arm by his side, massaging at the muscle to relieve any soreness that might crop up.

“Did your imagination take over?”

“No, actually. You were driving me insane. I couldn’t keep a straight thought in my head for more than a second or two,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. Kaidan grabbed her and rolled toward her, pulling her beneath him. He wriggled just enough to settle himself between her legs as he leaned over her on his elbows.

Nyx grinned up at him, perfectly contented with the change. “The way you reacted,” she teased.

Kaidan kissed her hard. “Yeah, well. We’ll see how you react when I spend hours teasing every inch of you.”

“Hours?” she countered. Nyx giggled when he buried his face in her neck to tease at the thin sensitive skin over her jugular.

“Yeah, even you, with your iron will, would be coming apart at the seems,” he mumbled.

“That was only like twenty minutes, Kaidan.”

His head popped up like a meerkat checking for predators. “What?”

Her fingers traced down the length of his back as she nodded. “Check the clock. We haven’t even been up here an hour yet.”

Kaidan peeked at the end table, a sly grin curving his lips before he looked back down at her. “Good to know,” he growled at her, inching toward her again. “Then I don’t have to feel the least bit bad about not being ready to sleep.”

He shifted his hips against her and Nyx broke into a fit of laughter when he nipped at her collarbone. She draped her legs around him, steering his lips back to hers as his amorous attentions ramped back up again.

“Sleep’s for the weak,” she cackled when he retreated to her neck again.

[butterflyinthewell]

Dad took some steps today. He needed the therapist right there because he was so off balance that he would’ve fallen without support along with his walker. One of his feet is curling sideways and inward because he hasn’t been putting weight on his feet. That will be a problem and he may need a brace to straighten that out. It’s related to the whole “don’t use it and you lose it” aspect of Parkinson’s disease, and I was afraid of this.

I hope he gets to walk again as much as he could before because he will be stuck in one room for the rest of his life if he doesn’t. I think that’s the one incentive that makes him want to get back on his feet. My fear is he will then proceed to get up at night like he was doing when he got hurt in the first place. He still keeps mom awake till 3 and 4am because she’s a people pleaser who will give until she’s dead. Black hole people like my dad love finding bleeding hearts like my mom.

I’ve told mom to just put her foot down and go to bed, but I stayed up once to see what really happens. Dad whines and complains if mom says she’s going to bed. Suddenly he will want to be put on his bedside commode (which takes forever and then you wait for him to go and heave him back into bed), or he will want a sandwich or just anything that makes mom have to be busy on his behalf until she’s wide awake again when she was sleepy enough for bed before.

Just...AUGH...every good thing always comes with shit right behind it.

I think I’m going to ask my counselor or psychiatrist if there’s a way to screen for ptsd. My mental health is in the toilet and I’m having bizarre dreams and nightmares several times a week. My sleep is disrupted now, and that’s never been a thing for me. I’m constantly hyper vigilant. I’m having anger outbursts and the kinds of thoughts that intrude upon my mind are horrible.

If something happens to mom, I am helpless in all the issues that matter. Food, I can figure out, but I’m worse than useless for everything else. I cannot move dad to his commode or wheelchair, and he needs some support to move onto them. I’m too small, he outweighs me by over 100 pounds.

Most of my bad dreams are things happening to my mom, or there’s word that something happened and I can’t get any info on if she’s okay or not. Another kind I have is I’ve contracted COVID, or someone who comes in to see us has it and spreads it, and I’m the only survivor. Other dreams are the body horror type where I amputate my own body parts with a saw and hand them to people because I feel useless. I had one recently where I literally ran up to Hannibal Lecter with a knife and fork and told him to eat me, but he took the silverware away and wouldn’t do it because “no, you’re not rude.” I said I was, but he wouldn’t do it. I was so angry! I was angry about that dream all day!

I don’t believe I deserve anything good and I don’t see myself as a good person. I don’t deserve help.

I’m scared a lot. Just...I can be sitting here watching a cute kitten video on YouTube or eating dinner and get hit with a wave of fear.

None of this is how my mind usually works. I’ve never been in mortal danger(recently), but I’ve had my routines and life disrupted to such severe degrees that I feel like I’ve lost control of my life, and to me that’s almost the same thing as dying. I’m autistic, and autistic people are more prone to trauma from ‘mundane’ things that a neurotypical person wouldn’t flinch at.

I’m just worried the “not life-threatening” aspect will immediately disqualify a diagnosis.

In June 2019, I went into burnout after home health visits for dad threw all my routines away and they’re still getting destroyed by it because they can’t keep a consistent fucking routine.

July that year was my dad getting his DBS batteries replaced. It was sensory hell because I got my period the day of the surgery and spent the whole time nauseated and cramping, but being silent about it...only to get called selfish and horrible for mentioning how bad I felt after we were all home again. (Outpatient surgery)

September 2019, mom’s gallbladder almost blew up and she was rushed to the hospital. I was alone with dad, without warning, and had to function using emergency reserves that I didn’t have because I was in burnout. I ran around terrified that any mistake I made would get me screamed at by both my dad and sister. Mom was out of the house from Friday to Tuesday. Dad did nothing but demand and demand from me and yelled at me for melting down. I was almost out of meds and for awhile didn’t know if or when I would get them. I had to grocery shop with sister’s help and she kept getting upset at me for arranging the cart like mom did, and I ended up forgetting things I needed even though I had a list right in front of my face the whole time. I was that out of it.

An aid had to come bathe dad because mom couldn’t do it for at least six weeks. That happened whenever someone could come, so dinner, my showers and mom’s ability to do things were disrupted by waiting for the call that the aid was coming. Coverage only lasted six weeks and then the help was yanked the second mom was declared fit to lift more than 5 pounds again.

October 2019, our car died and so routines got thrown further out of whack because mom and I had to depend on friends and family for rides to grocery shop or go to church. Trips stopped being at a set time and turned into “whenever someone can drive you” so I was uprooted from my day with little warning, and we didn’t get a new car until early December.

December 2019: We Christmas shopped late because of the car bullshit, mom barely got the cookies baked in time, and it was just a super stressful Christmas season.

I struggled through the death anniversary of my dog because that year he was gone as many years as he had lived and I spent most of it in a disassociated state.

Then mom had her bowel obstruction the day after Christmas and was in the hospital from Friday to Sunday. Yet again she was gone and the routine was blown apart without warning. My sister gave me shit the first time I wore my new ear defenders to the grocery store. Dad did nothing but demand and demand from me when I had nothing. I ruined a dinner that I didn’t know how to cook and went hungry but made him eat leftover ham from Christmas.

January 2020, the COVID shit started on the news.

March 2020, I went to the grocery store with mom and shelves were empty like a nuclear war was coming. I was terrified that I would catch COVID and kill my parents by passing it to them. Church closed. Stores opened for senior hours at butthole o’clock in the morning. Weekend routines were destroyed. Choir practices stopped. More routine disruptions.

August 2020, I started having anniversary distress related to what happened to mom the year before.

Then dad fell and broke his hip. I still clear as day see him in his blue shirt, sitting on the stair chair, being pulled backwards out the front door by paramedics with the ambulance lights flashing red and blue under the midnight sky and white street light.

Late September, as I’m struggling a bit with the anniversary of what happened to mom, worrying about dad getting COVID and beginning to relax because “dad is going to be away till he can walk again...” there comes that phone call from shithole New Orange Hills saying they’re sending him home and we find out they lied to us about every promise they made.

October 2020, dad was brought home and now he’s laying in an electric bed in the family room where mom can hear him if he needs her.

Writing that down has me realizing I’ve been experiencing almost continuous upheavals to my routines. Routines give me a sense of safety, and every time things settle something else throws it all to shit again.

So either I have ptsd or I’m possibly developing it, and I’m scared because this seems so ridiculous compared to the reasons other people get it.

[queenjunoking]

Imprint

CW: Asphyxiation - Encasement - Manipulation - Noncon

Waking up that day had been horrible. Everything was dark. I had been afraid of going blind. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move anything. I was inside something. It was unbearably hot and dark.

My arms and legs were each inside some kind of sleeve inside of whatever I was inside. I couldn’t move them around at all. Even though I knew they were at my side, I couldn’t feel them against my body. I started panicking even more. I tried to thrash around, but there was something of my horrible cocoon that wouldn’t allow me even the smallest wiggle.

I tried to scream. It’s what made me aware of the other horrible things. I couldn’t shut my mouth all the way, there was a tube I couldn’t dislodge. I felt tubes in my nose and I knew they were giving me air.

I couldn’t help but cry, if I had tubes for air then the other had to be for food or water. There was no reason to give me those things if I was going to be let out soon.

I screamed until my voice went hoarse. I could barely hear myself. It was an odd sensation. You’re so used to just being able to hear what you're saying that the idea of virtual silence when you know you’re screaming makes you feel utter loneliness. No one can hear you.

Not even you.

Time lost meaning almost immediately. There was only darkness and my own thoughts. I tried to count the seconds passing, trying to give time meaning, but that only made it worse. Counting the seconds in that cocoon only made them longer. What did it matter if I counted to twenty minutes? That just meant I knew twenty minutes would pass. How long would I have to keep counting? Hours? Days? Weeks? The idea of tracking time was its own kind of hell and with another round of tears I decided to abandon it.

The darkness was interrupted by the air being cut off. I tried thrashing again in vain. After a few moments I felt something coming out of the tube in my mouth. It was tasteless, but had a thick consistency. I gulped it down as quickly as I could, hoping that if I finished it I would get the air back.

A small trickle of water made its way down the tube, mostly likely to clean to goop out of it as well as to give me hydration. Once that stopped the air returned.

I couldn’t stop shaking. I was helpless. I had to drink whatever goop was being sent down the tube. Whoever put me in here could shut off the air. They could just decide to turn it off whenever they wanted too. They could just get bored of this one day and just shut it off.

I cried a new river of tears, but this one blissfully carried me off to sleep.

Until I was awakened by the air being shut off again. More goop. More water. I was practically sucking on the tubes to get it out faster so the air would be returned. Eventually I felt it fill my lungs. A precious resource I was now constantly afraid of losing.

I couldn’t fall back asleep at that point, I was just stuck in the timeless darkness. It wasn’t so different from being asleep. Except time moved faster when I slept. It came at the cost of not knowing how much time was passing.

The next few days were absolute hell. Or, at least I think it was days. I knew they were trying to trick me. Sometimes when I was awake I’d be fed several times in short succession. Sometimes there would be large gaps between feedings. The only reason I could think of at the time was that it was so I couldn’t use them to figure out what time it was. If feedings weren’t consistent I couldn’t use them to ground myself.

Though I say feedings as if food came out of the tube. It was only goop and water. I don’t think anything happened on the first day. I just got hungrier. I tried to beg for food through the tube in the muffled speech I thought I was capable of, but no mercy came. As time passed I felt myself getting weaker. My stomach hurt. I felt a hunger I had never felt before in my life. This was surely what it had to feel like to starve to death.

But one day I heard something. It was inside my head. A beautiful voice.

I love you. I’m sorry you are in so much pain. I am trying to find you. You will not die.

I struggled and begged the voice to talk again, but it had gone silent. It kept part of its promise, my stomach no longer hurt after I slept.

The days kept passing and I eventually realized the tubes in my nose and mouth weren’t the only ones. I had been fearing going to the bathroom while trapped in this prison, but I realized that someone had inserted a catheter in me. As time passed I needed to use it with increasing need, I didn’t really understand why. As humiliating as that was, I was afraid of the fact that I had nothing to take care of the other needs. But those other needs never came. It scared me to think of why, but I was glad that was never an issue.

Time kept ticking by. Goop, darkness, sleep. Sleep, darkness, goop. Darkness, goop,sleep. Darkness, goop, goop, goop, darkness, goop, sleep. It was a never ending cycle of being trapped in darkness with nothing to do but drink whatever was sent down the tube, sleep, and pray the voice would keep her promise and find me.

When I was first caught I would dream every time I slept. I saw places I had been, heard music, smelled freshly baked cookies and felt the embrace of another human. But as time passed the dreams vanished. I was having trouble keeping it together. All I could feel was the tight walls of whatever prison I was placed inside. I heard and smelled nothing. I saw darkness. Whoever caught me didn’t even have the mercy of flavoring whatever they were giving me.

I would have given anything to taste something again.

There were times I couldn’t stop screaming. I could barely hear myself, but that tiny bit of sound was evidence I was alive and not just thoughts in darkness. Screaming was how I coped with the crushing sensory deprivation. I reached a point where I blew out my voice and couldn’t scream again for what I think was days.

I was constantly tortured by my thoughts. Of everything I had ever done wrong. Of everything I put off. Of friends I wish I had seen just one more time. Music I wish I had put on repeat. Food I wish I had tried. People I wish I had just asked out.

But eventually those thoughts vanished. All my thoughts slowly did. I couldn’t do it anymore. But even though I couldn’t take it, I had no choice but to continue to try. The lack of stimuli was driving me insane. When my voice was capable of it I would just scream. When I had the energy I would thrash the best I could.

Eventually there was nothing. The goop and water stopped flowing for a long time. I couldn’t form thoughts anymore. Being asleep and awake had lost meaning. I was floating in nothingness. Surely I had to be dead.

But then I heard her.

Please eat. I am still trying to find you.

The goop began to flow again, but this time it tasted like strawberries. I could feel tears welling up at the mercy. I was alive.

Whenever the goop flowed I would hear her speak, asking me to keep eating.

That she loved me.

That I was strong.

So I ate for Her. The air no longer turned off when I was fed. It had to be a blessing from Her.

When I woke up I would smell a strawberry scented perfume. I had never smelled something so alluring, so intoxicating. It had to be Her smell. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted to nuzzle against her neck and inhale the smell. I wanted to be close to her.

I’m coming to find you. I know where you are now. I’m going to save you.

She would sing to me on occasion. When I felt tired something I could hear her singing a wordless song. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I began to dream again as I fell asleep to the song. Of wonderful fields. Of the intoxicating smell of strawberries. Of Her.

But I could never see her face.

My faith never wavered. She had to be close. Obviously She talked to me less in the beginning because She was so far away. Now that She was close She was able to talk to me more. Comfort me. Sing to me. I didn’t know why She was wasting her time on someone like me, but I was desperate to meet her.

But then the air turned off for the first time in a while. Since She gave me Her blessing. I began to weep. Not for my own life, but for the fact I might never get to meet Her.

You’re strong. I believe in you.

Her voice tickled my ears. I would be strong. For Her. I had no choice but to exist in the airless prison, but I steeled my conviction. I would not die, because she believed in me. Even when my vision became blurry I never lost my conviction.

Then I felt some of the pressure release on the prison. I tried to move and found the odd cocoon I was in was no longer being bound to whatever I was laying on. I tried to thrash about, to get someone’s attention, but a gentle hand pushed me back down.

I felt something on the outside of the cocoon shift and I heard a sound other than Her voice for the first time in a very long time. It was the sound of a zipper.

The cocoon that surrounded me was peeled away and a blinding light scorched my eyes, followed quickly by air entering the cocoon. I took a greedy gulp of air as I held my eyes shut against the light. It had to be Her. Like a goddess She was too bright to look at directly. I felt my heart drop, I would never get to see Her.

I felt a hand stroke my cheek. The first human contact I had received since I woke up here. “Please look at me.”

Tears formed, it was Her. She did her best to pry her eyes open and look at Her through the tubes that were still in my face.

I lacked the words to describe Her in a way that she truly deserved. The light behind her created a radiant aura, positioned perfectly to show off her divinity. She had gorgeous blond hair that put any other person who ever lived to shame. Her eyes were the color of a bright ocean, a place I had always loved. A place I could always see if I was allowed to look at Her. Her smile left me star struck, I’d never see something this beautiful again.

She didn’t say anything else as She began helping me out of my cocoon. She gently removed the nose tubes, gently stroking my hair as I flinched at the feeling. She removed my catheter and gave me a hug when I cried out at the feeling.

“You did such a good job.” The words put the words of the greatest poets to shame. Nothing anyone else had ever written or sang could match the beauty She wasted on me.

She helped me remove my arms and legs from the sleeves they were trapped in. In Her infinite kindness She helped me stretch out my limbs. I tried to thank her, but my voice was still wrecked from all the screaming I had done. I broke down sobbing. She was wasting this kindness on me and I couldn’t even thank her properly.

“Shh… it’s alright.” She embraced me and my tears instantly dried up. “My little butterfly had a tough time in that cocoon. But you got through it for me. You did so well. I’ve saved you.”

I couldn’t help myself. While she embraced me I took a deep breath in through my nose. It was just as I had fantasized. She smelled like strawberries.

She reached down and picked up a backpack and placed it on the table next to me. The first thing she did was take out a bottle of golden liquid. “Drink.”

So I did without question. It had the consistency of the goop, but it was delicious. Even better than what I had been tasting in the tubes. She gave me some water to wash it down with.

It was the next thing she pulled out that puzzled me. A collar. It seemed to be made of some kind of metal and oddly thick. She held it to my neck and I did nothing to stop her as she closed it. I ran my fingers over it quizzically. I couldn’t find a seam. I looked at her confused.

“You did so well to make it through all this. I’ve saved you. You are mine now.” She cupped my face and ran her thumb over my cheek again. I leaned into it and closed my eyes. I felt safe.

I kept them closed until I heard a click. I looked down and saw that She had attached a leash to it. “It’s time to go home.”

She tried to help me to my feet, but it had been a long time since I had to stand. But I didn’t need to stand. I knelt onto the ground and showed Her I could crawl. She smiled at me. “You’re such a good girl, my little butterfly.”

She started to walk out of the room and I did my best to follow her. My heart felt light. She had kept her promise. She had saved me. I crawled after her as fast as I could. We walked down a hall that was lined with rooms that had metal doors. Just like the one we had left.

She led me out of a door and to a waiting car. Once we were inside I held onto Her arm for dear life. I was afraid She might vanish. She had saved me from that room. From whoever captured me. Whoever was torturing me. She spoke to me like magic to let me know She was there.

She had kept Her promise. She had freed me.

I was going to be happy spending the rest of my life showing Her my thanks.

For my savior.

For this goddess.

[the-phoenix-heralds]

Coping with Online Classes while Neurodivergent

(Mostly aimed at those with ADHD and Autism, as I have ADHD and NVLD)

Organization

If you aren’t already keeping a planner this is a great time to start, It will allow you to not only remember the overload of information you are getting but also to organize it. (Also don’t be afraid of modifying how you use your planners, I for example am now using a completely different planner than the one I have been using for the past 2 years)

Also It will help you keep track of time (especially now that everyday seems to blend together)

Google calendar is great as not only is it online (and you are able to keep it both on your computer and phone) but Zoom is also allowing teachers to schedule classes on through it so they show up automatically on you calendar

If you haven’t already joined/made a class group chat, DO IT! being able to ask classmates/friends for advice/help is going to be more important than ever now, I have been relying on mine to keep me accountable and attending my classes on time

It is completely reasonable to ask your teachers to set a “firm” schedule, ie “we only meet for classes on Tuesdays and assignments will always be due on Thursdays”. Even if this is only true in *most* cases it is still a huge step forward in establishing a schedule and a sense of normalcy.

Use Google Drive and Bookmarks to organize your digital resources, sorting them first by class then by type (textbook, questions, data sheet, etc.) or how ever else you deem appropriate. This will save you time and keep you from losing documents

Gmail allows you to add searchable and colour-coded labels to your emails, these are great to wrangle your now completely overwhelmed inbox. My teachers tend to send their Zoom invite emails out directly after class meaning I might not need them for entire week, so I now tag them “zoom” so when I’m scrambling a few minutes before class I can find them in one search  

Coursework

do not be afraid to directly ask teachers how their marking criteria and curriculum have changed. Even if they are only able to give you an approximate answer, this should still help you prioritize your work and know how much time to give each assignment

also do not be afraid to tell teacher how/if you are struggling, many of us have spent years learning how to cope with a “normal” learning environment. Asking us to adapt all of our coping strategies and modifications in a few days is unrealistic and many teachers thankfully understand this

Also don’t be afraid to get creative with adapting your new coursework, If you usually answer questions orally you can use the speech to text function in Google Docs or submit audio of your answers via email

Productivity

DON’T DO YOUR HOMEWORK IN YOUR BED OR ATTEND CLASS FROM THERE. I know how tempting it is, but It’s amazing how much easier attending class is for me from my desk. Differentiating spaces helps you mind organize what you do where, you don’t have to have a desk just somewhere that preferably Isn’t your bed.

Set a schedule to follow during the week, but also be realistic with what you know you can and will accomplish. For example, I have to be in Zoom classes every morning at 8:35am, so I have to be up by 8 and be “presentable” (this is very low bar for me, it literally only means that I don’t look like I got mauled by raccoons) and have made myself breakfast and coffee by 8:30.

Take structured breaks at certain times of the day and go outside/open a window, eat, refill your water or just to simply take a break from the internet/screens.

Try using noise cancelling headphones or earbuds to limit the amount of outside stimuli, and arrange your desk so it is not visually overwhelming (ie. no huge piles of work or text books)

Zoom

Zoom is currently sensory hell for me and I haven’t seen a lot of information on what to do so here’s whats working for me right now

Asking for notes before class is a classic accommodation so don’t be afraid to ask your teacher, chances are they are already providing notes to someone else (If a teacher shoots you down ask a trusted friend for a copy of their notes, or to take turns note taking)

Ask your teacher to mute microphones during lectures and to only turn them on for discussions/questions, It’s amazing the amount of background noise this eliminates

Find the best place for internet in your living situation, or If possible switch to wired Ethernet (I went from 1.5-3 MBS to 150 MBS just by switching to a wired connection even though I was already less than 2M from a WiFi modem)

If it’s visual stimuli that’s the issue, Zoom let’s you choose if you only see your teacher/ how many of your classmates you can see at any given time and also lets you reduce the size of the window. It will also outline whoever is talking in lime green, to help direct your focus

download an audio mixer, this should give you the ability to cut the audio frequencies above and below the range of speech, while this won’t cut all the distracting noise it should reduce it and cut what sounds the most “artificial” (which I have the most issue with)

you can also download KRISP a program that does this for you (If you email them you can get it for free for the next six months)

Find ways to fidget that can help you focus, I for example have been knitting during class discussions because it not only helps me focus but the added input also helps me interrupt people less and listen better (other recommendations are Rubik’s cubes, stress balls or even doodling)

Don’t be afraid to turn off your camera for a few minutes to work or take a break, taking a break before you shut down is always better than after you do

also don’t be afraid to mute the class, If you already have the notes and understand them you are mostly there for the attendance/participation marks anyway

Now even though I advise talking to your teacher before you turn off/mute any part of the zoom I also understand that many teachers won’t be willing to make those accommodations and that most of this can be done easily without the teachers knowledge. As long as you are trying don’t feel guilty for adapting online classes to fit your specific needs.

Other Tips and Tricks

make friends with the SEA’s (Special Education Assistant’s or your equivalent) even if you don’t get support, they are having to adapt classes for their students and are able to offer an incredible amount of insight and help (they are also some of the most compassionate and determined people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing)

along the same vein make friends with other Neurodivetgent students, not only so you know what is working for others but also because the more people asking for help/accommodation the more likely you are to get it (never underestimate collective bargaining)

If you are new to self advocating or communicating adaptations through email take a look at Understood.org , they have amazing and simple to understand information on different learning issues in all ages from infancy to adulthood as well as common accommodations and why they are used. It’s an amazing tool to not only explain neurodiversity but also to find solutions and how to communicate them to others. They also now have an entire page on how to adapt to covid-19 as a student and as an educator

Finally do not be afraid to ask for help, everyone is going to need help and grace during this time, you do not need to be ashamed of it. (I personally am battling some shame over asking for more comprehensive accommodations during these times)

@dashing-hyphen @galazybunny @mouwwie

[ziamhaze]

Hi, I hope you're well! I just want to start off by thanking you for all the wonderful fics you have blessed me with!

I just finished Red vs. Black and was hoping you wouldn't mind answering some questions I have. As someone who risks his own life to save others, how does Liam justify being with someone he knows has killed innocent people? It'd be one thing if Zayn had only killed those directly involved with what happened to his family, but he's killed innocent civilians over minor inconveniences (such as the teenagers in the convertible). Does Zayn still think he is justified in doing so? Does he ever feel guilty about it? If not, how would Liam and Zayn be compatible if their moral compasses are so different?

Also, did Zayn's father ever make his way to the UK? Or was that just a lie he told Zayn to comfort him? Does Zayn ever find his family, especially his younger sister?

I know it's a lot, but I'd really love to hear your answers if you want to give them! Again thank you for all of your wonderful works!

So sorry it’s taken me this long to reply, but I didn’t forget!

To start I’d like to thank you for clicking, and finishing, Red vs. Black.  It isn’t the shortest of fics, nor is it the most delicate - to put it lightly.  For the latter alone, thank you.

These are such poignant, important questions.  Ones that are nearly word for word what I asked myself while planning the ending.

                         SPOILERS FOR ALL OF RED VS. BLACK

1)  How does Liam stay with Zayn after learning of all his senseless killings?

Honestly, I questioned this the most when feeling out the concept.  As a fic writer it’s expected of me to write not only a romance, but also a happy ending.  Of course fics exist that do neither, but they’re very rare and not exactly well-loved.  And truthfully, a massive point that I wanted to get across - and which in effect answers this question - is that despite people’s pasts, they cannot overcome them without being given the opportunity.  100%.  No ands, ifs, or buts.  For a prisoner to assimilate back into society and not go back to their old ways, they need to be trusted with a job.  With a salary (no matter how small), they need to trust themselves to be able to not buy anything that may contribute to poor habits: drugs, alcohol, weapons, gambling, a means of transport that will give them the ability to visit bad influences (more of a psychological thing, but still).  A lot of prisoners are never given this opportunity (especially in the United States), and therefore fall back into their old ways, which are more often than not coping mechanisms to deal with the fact that they can’t fit into society as easily as privileged people to begin with; it’s a terrible cycle.  However, there are plenty of success stories of those that truly wish to change and are lucky enough to stumble upon an employer or mentor or sponsor of some sort that hands them an inkling of hope/trust that they use to fight their way back up.  The fic is fantasy, and while Zayn’s story is rooted in real world PTSD, I think the prisoner analogy is easy for us to envision and therefore, understand why Liam acts the way he does.  I also made it a point in the last scene when they’re talking things out to have Liam voice his contingency: if Zayn so much as spits at anyone, he’s done for.  That’s to say, he’s not wiping his slate clean just yet.

2)  Does Zayn still feel his useless killings were justified?

I’m going to answer assuming that you’re referring to the time after the fic ends.

Looking back at his actions is something that would be inevitable when he starts therapy, and this is a perfect example of one of the questions his therapist would ask.  You may not like my answer, but as an author I find it imperative that I speak of my characters realistically and to keep them true, not how I want them to act.  That said, yes, Zayn would still find justification in why he’s done what he’s done.

There are a few instances in the story where this is actually explained.  Take the scene in the bar with fancy mixologists.  Zayn begins to get aggravated over the people in the room simply because they’re ignorant to the feeling of significant pain.  There’s also the scene where he’s back home in Cheshire and Harry straight out tells him, he may be furious at the unfairness of the world, but he needs to learn how to come to terms with it.  It’s not going to change.  This right here is what a therapist would work with him to do, and also why I had Harry be the one to bring this up in the story - he is one.

I know it sounds incredibly foreign to the average person, but trust me when I say that people struggling with anger problems founded in (un)fairness, exist.  I’ve spoken with professionals about it.  Add on crippling childhood PTSD and a villain like Zayn can definitely be born.  It’s why treatment is needed, and why the answer is ‘yes’ in the beginning of Zayn’s journey to peace.  When his answer switches over to ‘no’, that’s when it’ll be outwardly apparent that he’s beating his ailment.  Unfortunately, for many, the inner battle with mental health is lifelong; the answer ‘no’ will never turn solid.

3)  Does Zayn feel guilty about the above?

Again, there are a couple times when I write Zayn to literally mention how he feels zero guilt.  However, if you really really pay attention you’ll notice that these instances aren’t villain related.

For example, meeting Liam’s parents:

After handing his father and Zayn each their tea, Liam looks between them suspiciously. "Leaving the two of you in a room together was a bad idea."

"Don't know what you're on about," Geoff replies innocently. "We were just talking about cars, weren't we Zayn?" Even with all eyes on him, the pressure of lying doesn't get to Zayn. It never does.

"Yeah," he agrees, bringing his drink up to his lips carefully, "cars."

Or, after Zayn walks out from the comedy club:

"It takes a lot of courage to get up there and do something like that, don't you think?"

"Not really."

Liam looks to the side, hoping that he can interpret more from Zayn's answers by seeing the expressions that go with their frankness. "So if I signed you up, you would do it?"

"Why would I want to make a room full of strangers laugh?" Zayn retorts, his right eye scrunching up in distaste, like it's a mannerism of his provoked by moronic questions. "I don't have a superiority complex." Liam thinks he might, but. "I know I'm better than those people, no mediocracy to cover up here."

So we’ve got those, but then we’ve also got this massive character point:

Right as the last of the snake's body emerges, Zayn snaps his fingers, triggering heavy hip-hop music to flow through his headphones and drown out the man's blood curdling cry.

If he could permanently damage people who deserved it, not always because they did something to Zayn, but because he liked to play god and throw them a massive curveball like life had done to him, then why shouldn't he? So long as he pulls his soundproof headphones off the little robot on the inside of his right arm to avoid listening to the pain his choice brutality caused, there's no valid reason he shouldn't take advantage of the gift he was given.

From where he's sitting, he probably won't be able to hear anything, but he fastens the equipment over his ears just in case.

All at once, the atmospheric sounds of central London, mixed with the terrified screams of those in the burning building beneath them, hit Zayn at full force. The sensory overload alone would normally be enough to piss him off, but tack on his protection from audible trauma being taken and being spoken to while in villain mode, and he's seeing red as deep as the pits of hell he knows he's destined for.

I wrote Zayn’s headphone usage as a way to alert that the reader that he does, in fact, feel villain-related guilt.  He can’t act on his anger without them on.  He’ll have his victims screams stuck in his head, and he’d never be able to handle that a.k.a. there’s zero satisfaction from their literal pain.  Think about that and it’ll answer your follow-up question.

4)  What happened to Zayn’s family?

Zayn’s father meant what he said - he’d do whatever he needed to reunite his family.  That wasn’t a falsity at all.  The problem is money.  And politics, but let’s start with the issue of money.  It took Yaser nine years to save up the amount he paid to have Zayn and Waliyha smuggled across the border.  The whole concept of smuggling is that it’s a cheaper option than the legal one.  So if we look at this, you can see how long it would take him to save for three adult visa fees, three adult plane tickets, and enough to stay afloat for a month or so when they get to England.  Now add in the politics of the early 2000s and the Afghanistan/Pakistan region.  We know that Yaser fixed air conditioners for a living.  No person with that average of a background is going to have an easy time immigrating anywhere.  Even so, would it really take him over 18 years?  While it’s plausible, perhaps a man with such determination would find another way.  Or...was that unnecessary because he was fed lies?

Think about it.  After several weeks and no word from his children, don’t you think he’d cause a riot?  He’s the type to drive over to Badar’s house and demand his relatives get in contact with him to find out what’s going on.  But, given the flashback Zayn has, it’s obvious that Badar never planned on accompanying any of the children to the UK, and if that’s the case, he clearly couldn’t return to Quetta.  I imagine a fully rehearsed story was told to all of the children’s parents about how they were killed somewhere along the way.

As for Waliyha, her whereabouts were told to my gang over on Patreon a while ago.  In short, yes, she’s still alive and I plan on pitching the book’s sequel to publishers as a graphic novel series revolved around her location.  Louis’ dark web bot finally found a hint as to where that might be, so Zayn and Liam go on a journey across Europe to find her.  Each issue would (probably) take place in a new city and involve both fighting a single bad guy.

Just a quick reminder to anyone who reads this, Red vs. Black and all involved characters are my intellectual property and cannot be replicated, manipulated, or stolen.

Again, thank you for your question and time!  I know my fics aren’t short and take a huge time commitment to finish.  If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to send them my way!  I’m super busy writing the next story and doing critical work, but I promise I’ll get around to it.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

This is the very best fic I have ever, ever read. I promise you that I am not kidding: A fic rec. 

Grounds for Divorce - @tepre - 122k - Explicit

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

In the 18 months I have been an active member of this community, I must have read no less than a thousand wonderful stories, many of which have touched me in ways I could never fully articulate. Whenever someone asked, I would recommend four, five fics, never able to pick just one as my favorite, I thought that, with so many stories out there, loving one above all others would surely be impossible. I was incredibly, deeply, beautifully wrong. 

Thoughts under read more

I struggle to think of a place to begin this rec, because there is no way any of my words can ever truly do this masterpiece justice. I suppose I could begin by telling you that this story is so damn brilliant in every single aspect that I can’t wrap my own head around how much I adore it with every piece of my silly little self, or that it is so careful in its execution that I didn’t even realize when exactly it was that I irremediably fell in love, or that I had never read a piece of fanwork that held such a deep understanding of itself, that there was little I could do but let myself be pulled right into the heart of it, of this. 

I was lucky enough to get to know it when it was still about 50k words long, and even then, when I sat down and read all of that, I knew that this was something incredibly special, and every single word that was added since then only made me feel even more sure that I was witnessing the birth of what is surely going to become a fandom classic. At least for me, it shifted my entire perception of the pairing, the fandom, the entire wizarding world. There is a before and after Grounds for Divorce for me.

Now, the concept in itself is simple. This is a bonding fic. You know the kind. Harry and Draco are nothing to each other after the war, and somehow find themselves literally on the brink of death unless they touch each other. That’s what it is. A bonding fic. But, oh dear, if you go into it expecting just THAT, it will literally knock you out. I’m not kidding. Just, poof, passed out on the floor, because despite using a pretty popular fandom trope as a base, that’s about the only thing that isn’t 100% unique to this story. 

This is the moment when I tell you that there are about seven years between chapter 1 and chapter 10. Yes, we get to see Harry and Draco from age 18 to 25 or so. That is the first thing that is notably different from any other bonding fic I have ever read, that they’re stuck together for literal years, and so they can’t stop living their lives while they are bonded, no, the show must go on. The second thing that makes this special are the mechanics of the bond itself, and how it’s a simple spell that makes them sick when they go a long time without touching each other, and when they do touch each other, it pushes for more more more in such desperate, delicious fashion that I clung to my seat when they were first learning how to deal with this desire. 

The third thing, the MAIN thing, the most BEAUTIFUL THING that makes this fic special is, of course, the characterization. Oh my GOD. How do I even put this to WORDS. There is just no way I can explain how fucking perfect everybody is in this. 

Harry is damaged from the war and doesn’t realize it, Harry has trouble connecting with people and doesn’t realize it, Harry is carrying a hell of a burden on his shoulders and doesn’t realize it. It’s beautiful how much I, as a reader, was able to pick on all these things when Harry himself has no idea that he’s dealing with them. He is angry, he hates being bonded to Draco at first, hates that he has to spend his days with him, and doesn’t even stop to consider that maybe things are different with Draco now, he closes himself up and chooses not to engage, and this, to me, felt like such an accurate depiction of who he is. After everything he went through, this is YET ANOTHER THING he has no control over. 

Draco is just lovely. It’s impossible not to love him. He is intense and he’s rambly and seriously annoying, but he’s also damaged, he’s careful with himself after everything that happened, and he genuinely does try to be better, and that is something that always makes me so weak in the knees for him, when he is truly just good and doing his best not to fuck up. 

Their interaction is difficult to describe, because it changes every moment the more they get to know each other. We begin with a lot of anger on Harry’s side, confusion and hurt on Draco’s side, and as they learn how to navigate the fact that they’re now bonded, the situation shifts. Draco tries to connect with Harry, Harry just wants to live his own life. Years and years and years pass, and they go through so much together, they learn to become friends by accident, they learn to care about each other, they shape their lives around each other without even realizing it. They’re married, for all intents and purposes, and dealing with it in very different ways. 

The massive amount of growth we see them go through in this is just indescribable. We start with them as boys, hold their hands as they become men. 

They hurt each other a lot. Harry hurts Draco for like five or six years straight, being dismissive and impenetrable. Draco hurts Harry later on. They grow together, they date other people, they watch each other date other people, always with this bond between them making things difficult, and it’s really, really messy. 

The love story, as we witness it, unfolds almost by accident, entirely underneath the surface, such a masterfully crafted slow burn, that by the time the characters themselves realize what’s happening, they’re elbows deep into it and it’s impossible to turn back. It’s beautiful, the intensity of the feelings simmering for years, the depth to their interactions, how meaningful the little things become, in time, how much Harry’s perception of Draco changes, how much this makes Harry change. 

The Harry we end up with is. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He is. I CANNOT. The intensity with which I THIRSTED over him has no precedents. His single-minded intensity, his focus, his drive, his certainty, how he throws himself headfirst into things once he chooses to and doesn’t look back at all. He is just. Hot as all fuck. That’s it. There’s no other word to describe him. But to get here, to find this beautiful, intense, loving man, we have to go through so many layers of decades-old hurt and his struggles with being human that he’s not even aware of, and, really, this story is about forgiving Harry in so many levels, about finding that even though he saved the world, he’s just human and he has a fuckton of issues, and this deconstruction of the hero persona we find in him, in how he willingly sacrificed himself in the war but now has absolutely no clue how to be open and trust people is just. Delicious. And don’t even get me started on the physicality of him, and how in some parts he’s just sex on legs. 

The Draco we end up with is a man so honest and open in his love, a man who overthinks and rambles and is impossibly lovely, a man who goes through so much hurt and still always shows up for the people he loves. He is clever and beautiful and just absolutely wonderful, so loyal and caring that it aches. 

Watching these final versions of them love each other made me cry so, so many times. 

All of these words have just been an attempt to explain what they are, individually and together, but they are NOTHING. I can never truly explain what happens in those 122k words. It’s something you need to experience for yourself, and there’s so much MORE than this. 

There’s Ron, who is the loveliest human of all time, and there’s Hermione, who is still so loyal and fierce and wonderful, and there’s Draco’s friends and baby Rosie, eventually, and every single character was obviously created with so much care that they feel solid, real, even the original ones. 

The settings are vibrant, I felt like I was standing in the Malfoy townhouse all those evenings Harry and Draco sat together, I saw Harry’s garden come to life right in front of my eyes, I saw Egypt in stark clarity, once they went there, and actually, that entire section just feels like such an intense sensory immersion in every way, physical and emotional. When they finally have sex, I almost fucking burst out of my skin with the intensity, the depth of each touch, the pace of each scene. 

The writing is just beautiful, the kind of structure that reads smoothly and leaves you breathless and makes you feel everything that ever happens in the story, there’s quotes that sometimes literally made me have to stop reading to catch my breath, to regroup before being able to continue, because they were SO beautiful, SO spot on. Every single detail is styled to absolute perfection, not a single hair out of place. 

There is nothing like this story. Nothing. I have never felt so connected, I have never loved the characters so deeply, I have never reread anything as many times as I have reread this, I must have read it like 12 times at this point. 

It’s not just a fic, it’s an experience. I don’t know what else to say to convince you to allow yourself to go through it, because it is worth every single second. I could beg on my knees right now. It is my number one fic, the best I have ever encountered, and I think it might remain that way, always. 

Do yourself a favor and CLICK HERE. Give Tepre your love (all of it, SHE DESERVES ALL OF IT for creating this), allow yourself to feel everything this story has to offer, and once you’ve done that, come to me. I will never tire of this. (heh, reference). ❤️

[inside-aut-blog]

On functioning labels

We’ve all heard them. Most everyone uses them—doctors, therapists, people on TV, people on the street, maybe even your auntie whose son is autistic....

We’ve all heard them, and most everyone uses them—everyone, that is, except a very large number of actually autistic people, myself included.

Why?

Well—a number of reasons, but it’s easiest explained like this: let me tell you a story.

We’ve got two autistics—and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, I’m not the first to tell it—but we’ve got two autistics. One’s called Allie, and the other’s Fred.

Let’s start with Allie.

Allie can carry a conversation. She went to a good university and got good grades. She transitioned from student housing to her own apartment, and held down a part-time job all through school. She now has an internship in a special-interest-related field, works freelance on the side, and is independently paying off her student loans. She can control her stimming in public settings and she can navigate public transportation. She has fairly few sensory issues, and is rarely overwhelmed by them; when she is, she is able to calm herself. She accepts and gives hugs regularly. She’s a bit quiet, but she can carry on a conversation, and while she occasionally struggles to pick up on jokes, she’s got the hang of sarcasm. Her speech is a bit stilted sometimes, sure, but her vocabulary’s expansive, and she can write very eloquently. She tends to be pretty literal, but she’s also extremely intelligent and analytical, and those traits—along with her autistic eye for detail— help her understand subtlety very well. She sets flexible routines for herself to counteract the difficulty she faces doing things spontaneously. She is often trusted to look after and manage others. She’s highly empathetic. She can pass for neurotypical.

So that’s Allie.

Now let’s talk about Fred.

Fred often struggles to speak. He also went to university and had his own apartment, but had a lot of trouble keeping on top of academics, and even more trouble with basic life skills. He often forgot to do laundry, wash himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, buy groceries, cook meals, and eat. He has since moved back home. He stims almost constantly, even in public settings, and grows very anxious on public transportation. He can’t drive, either, because it overwhelms him. His sensory issues cause daily trouble—he jumps violently at sudden sounds, cannot eat several common foods, and hates to be touched. When he gets overwhelmed, he screams and hurts himself. He struggles to understand sarcasm. He often gets stuck on particular lines of conversation, communicates largely through echolalia and pre-scripted speech, and very frequently forgets words mid-sentence. Sometimes—especially with new people—he cannot speak at all. He instinctively sees everything in black-and-white and struggles to internalize nuance. He thrives on routine and grows very anxious and very angry when his routines are broken unexpectedly. When he absolutely must do something new, he often needs someone to go with him. He has low empathy. He is frequently very visibly autistic.

So there’s Fred.

So you’ve got both of them now, two neat little life stories, Allie and Fred, Fred and Allie.

So.

Which of them is high-functioning? Which of them is low-functioning?

Allie and Fred respectively, right?

Wrong.

They’re the same person.

And they’re not hypothetical. They’re both me.

I’m Allie, and I’m Fred.

And here’s the kicker—something that sometimes gets missed out but is pretty important, a little bit crucial, kind-of-sort-of absolutely vital—I’m always both of them.

Sure, sometimes it depends on the day, whether I look more like Allie or more like Tim, and sure, circumstances and support levels and energy levels can all make a world of difference—but most often I am both of them at the exact same time, under the exact same circumstances.

I can hold down a completely average back-and-forth conversation, but still be unable to initiate that conversation, and still struggle to remember basic words in the middle of it, and still struggle to bring it to a natural close.

I can succeed in school and still struggle to complete my assignments, get them turned in at the very last minute or even late.

I can make myself three meals a day according to the strict series of alarms I’ve set myself, using my autistic love of routine to counterract my autistic insensitivity to hunger, but still forget to eat them afterward.

I can remember to shower, but forget to brush my teeth, and vice versa. I can remember to wash my hair, but forget to comb it. I can wash my clothes without issue, but forget to move them into the dryer afterward. I can dry my clothes but forget to put them away.

I can navigate public transportation without error and also be extremely anxious the whole time.

I can control my stimming in public and still stim furiously when I get home. (I can also be perfectly able to control my stimming in public, but choose not to do so—as is often the case, because stimming is a very helpful coping mechanism, and also just fun, and I don’t care if strangers think it’s weird because I know it doesn’t hurt them.)

I can have few sensory issues and still struggle noticeably with those few.

I can hate to be touched and still grin and bear it. (I can also hate receiving hugs and not mind giving them.)

I can calm myself when I get overwhelmed using coping skills and also struggle to do so. (I can calm myself when overwhelmed without much effort using coping skills that alarm other people—like body stimming, screaming, or self-harm.)

I can use sarcasm but still have trouble understanding when others use it. I can speak very eloquently while still relying heavily on echolalia and scripts. I can write beautifully when I am not able to speak a single word.

I can struggle heavily with the black-and-white thinking that comes so much more naturally to me and still force myself to use my critical thinking skills to spot nuance. (I can still struggle to internalize this nuance once I have spotted it.)

I can cope with spontaneity and still have immediate, instinctive emotional reactions to breaks in routine. (I can have a meltdown and force myself to cope afterwards.) I can cope with new situations and still need someone shadowing me. (Having someone shadow you is a way to cope in itself.)

I can have high empathy for objects or fictional characters and little to none for real, actual people. I can care very much about people’s feelings and still not understand what those feelings are. I can analyze the reasons behind someone’s feelings and still not recognize them on their face or in their voice. I can recognize feelings on someone’s face or in their voice and still not know what to do about them. I can want to comfort people and not know how.

I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical at one given moment but not another. I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical in a given moment and simply choose not to. I can choose to pass as neurotypical, and succeed in passing as neurotypical to some of the people I interact with, and not succeed with others.

I can do all of this at the same time, within the same day, the same hour. Even the same moment, if I’m feeling extra spicy autistic.

I routinely do.

Because all of these experiences—these strengths, weaknesses, traits—are part of my life. None of them cancel each other out, because they can’t—they’re all equally inherent to who I am as a person. So they coexist, even if they seem contradictory.

Because I’m contradictory. Because I’m a person, and I’m multifaceted, and nuanced—people are like that, or so I hear.

Autistics are no exception.

You can’t split us so easily into high- or low-functioning, because to do so is to ignore other vital aspects of our experiences.

To do so, put simply, is both dehumanizing and inaccurate.

And, as well—to do so is to box us into one rigid experience or another: one in which people focus only on the things we can do and ignore those we can’t, or one in which people focus only on the things we cannot do and ignore all of the things we can.

Because the labels come with stereotypes—as the common thinking goes, “high-functioning” autistics never really struggle and can do anything they want without any help, while “low-functioning” autistics do nothing but struggle, have very little, if any, potential, and are to be pitied.

That is, of course, nonsense.

So in both experiences the true scope of our abilities is overlooked. (People hearing the labels have no clue what we’re capable of, but they think they do, and they generally act accordingly.)

And, as well, in both experiences we are spoken over by others—by those who think they should be allowed to decide what we are like, and what our futures will be like, and categorize us and compare us to each other and pit us against each other, elevating some autistics above others, as a means of determining our ability to “function” in society. (Which is to say, of course, our worth to society, how much we inconvenience society—because functioning labels don’t express how we experience our autism; rather, they express how others experience our autism.)

So, all told, why don’t autistics like functioning labels?

Because they are not only dehumanizing, inaccurate, and unnecessarily rigid—they’re also not even helpful (to anyone—us or others).

There’s no good reason to use them. We’d like it to stop.

And, personally, if any neurotypical tries to ascribe either label to me—or to any autistics around me, for that matter—I’m going to make a hell of a fuss.

Because we’re autistic, and we’re here, and we can can hear you.

[unluckyxse7en-moving]

You know something else that annoys me that it doesn't feel like anyone else gets irl, outside of my family? This CRAVING for overstimulation that our society seems to have. And if you can, I want you to bear with me on this, or at least skim towards the end of the post to see my reasoning- this is gonna get long, but I think it's important to think about.

I most see examples of the overstimulation obsession at work (Target) - when I'm in the toys and electronics sections

Electronics I'm sure is fairly obvious - we have these giantass hd 4uhk or whatever tv screens, like 8 of them all together projecting our main ads, mostly music ads - including clips of music videos with flashing lights and jarring graphics

And THEN because that's not enough, we have an adjacent wall not too far from that setup, where all our tv display models for sale are - and those? Are a cascade of three or four different feeds playing independently looped ads, complete with their own volume up and everything (the one saving grace is the ads are sometimes showing off the tvs capabilities with showing color and definition, in which case the ad commonly relies on slow-mo shots of water in some form. A little more relaxing than the main screens)

Toss in that we have sample speakers and video game consoles that run music all day long - and lately even another, sample tv screen of a small display size to show off ads for some kind of little robot toy - and trying to work in that section is just overload central. And that's not including the customers!!!!

And then toys. This is probably my bigger pet peeve for the sheer fact that it's absolutely unnecessary: if it's not a brand name toy? If it's not a toy from some franchise or show or video game? It's gotta be Interesting™. I mostly see this with classic, older type of toys - jump ropes, toy balls, frisbees, hula hoops, squishy toys, stuff like that that's lowkey - 90% of the stock we offer on it? Has some sort of obnoxious electronic noismaker box or - my biggest annoyance- a stupid LED flashing light core. Or both. If you're lucky, the toy will be some newly marketed stim-based toy coming off the hype that led to an explosion of fidget toys and spinners and the boosted popularity in slime. Those rarely have this problem - on the other hand, they're their own fad the way franchise items are, so are probably deemed interesting enough by that virtue alone. (Of course even then you have light up fidget spinners and junk)

Honestly, the toys section pisses me off more in this respect for two reasons: 1) it's highly unnecessary. Toys =/= electronics and don't need to be this way by nature and 2) the sheer fact that we market it this way encourages the concept of 'if it's not overstimulating it's not gonna sell, it's not gonna be interesting and your child DEFINITELY won't play with it unless they're entranced at all times by our bright flashing lightshow!!!'

So here's why this pisses me off so much:

My family? Has two immediate members who suffer from epilepsy and seizures when exposed to electronics - not even the fancy flashing i'm describing, but prolonged exposure to electronic screens alone can put them in pre-seizure territory.

My 15 year old sister has a daily hour-long electronic limit because too much more and she has seizures. Think about that - an hour-long electronic limit. This can include her video games or her computer- if she had a modern phone it would include that too. Our tv is an exception because it's a tube tv monitor that's at least 10 years old, but even then we as a family reserve that for watching together at dinner time, instead of an all day thing.

One hour.

No internet, because it hurts our heads. No cellphone. Just video games and her computer, which is a dinky thing she uses chiefly for animating.

Because electronics can push her to seizures. And seizures? Can literally affect her oxygen intake if they get too bad. We've seen her turn ashen and blue because she's technically breathing, but her body isn't processing the oxygen. So it's kind of a big deal that we can't work around otherwise.

My mother also has seizures, she has them a little more under control, she can play video games or be online on her phone - but too much electronics can give her major headaches and lead to her lying in bed all day, because she cannot function. We have a sports stadium near our house. Not super close but if there's a concert we can hear it. On days when that's active, when its floodlights are on and amps are going and probably the scoreboards are doing whatever - mom has to flee the house before noon, or she's laid out in bed all day and has at least one major seizure. She has to flee the house. Whatever her epilepsy responds to isn't just visual. It's another sensory level entirely. The mere proximity to that much electricity pumping through an area is too much for her.

Maybe that sounds fake to you. Honestly, I don't care. We've lived through too many weekends where she's doing terribly and none of us can figure out why, and then we find out that stadium has an event going.

And by that point it's too late for her to leave the house, and all anyone can do is sit around and try to take care of her and hope it'll be over soon.

We've lived through too many weekends where we foresaw this potential problem, and mom has gone out of the downtown area we live in for the entire day, and aside from being subjected to fluorescent lights and bad drivers on the interstate, she's fine. She feels her head clear up when she leaves - and feels it fog up when she returns in the evening.

My sister feels it too. And as I've begun tracking it, I've found I also have more head troubles on days like that, and it eases up under the same conditions.

My sister and mom are moving out to a house in the country, surrounded only by corn fields - they won't have to worry about the stadium anymore.

But the electronics and toys??? God, I don't even know if they could find a tv like the one we currently have, one that's not fancy hd high-def in your face - short of a hand-me-down from my grandma. And the hd tvs? In case you haven't noticed a pattern- bad for their health. We visit family with those tvs. We have had to ask them to specifically keep those tvs turned off when we visit. It's too much for their health for it to be left running.

So when I work in Target, I get pissed off to all hell, because it's not really the safest environment to people who suffer seizures similar to what sets it off in my mom or sister. Heck, it's not like epilepsy is new!!! Video games have had epilepsy warnings on their boxes for ages, which suggests it's well known enough and prevalent enough to address like that. But if an entire store is designed like that, what are they supposed to do??? What if all stores are like that, and their condition is bad enough to not risk going in? What if the nearest store that's safe is like an hour drive??

"Oh well Cleo they can just shop on the internet."

Yeah, they sure can. But they shouldn't HAVE to, in this hypothetical situation. We don't NEED 500 tvs blaring different things at us. We don't NEED toys that flash if you so much as twitch. THAT'S what pisses me off.

There's another, perhaps less pressing reason it annoys me - sensory overload. I have it, my dad has it, my mom has it. It can be due to autism, or trauma, even conditions like adhd if I remember correctly.

For me, it's not the biggest issue. Clearly, because I can still work in this hellscape of a store. But it does leave me confused, and functioning at half-efficiency, and my energy runs out a lot faster on days when i work on that side of the store, leaving me tired, grumpy and drained.

But not everyone with sensory overload can function so well under such conditions. Overload when pushed, can lead to breakdowns, shut downs, incidents I think of as panic attacks when it happens to me, though that may be the wrong term - but it leads to me freaking out and having trouble breathing right and I'm panicking and afraid and everything is too much, too much, too much and I can't even begin to calm down until things around me calm down. It's a terrible experience.

I don't have those when working at the store. That doesn't mean someone else won't.

So if we have epilepsy, and seizure overload, due to things like this, which aren't the most uncommon of conditions or struggles to have - then why the hell is it ok for stores to push this on us, not just electronics which can only be helped so much (sadly), but with simple goddamn toys??? Toys that SHOULD be an option for children who can't handle the franchise toys with voice boxes, or the 3D video game graphics with 360 degree camera action? Why is it those have to be hunted down for rather than readily available, while their cheap flashing counterparts literally fill the shelves?

Tl;dr - electronics and flashing and overload-inducing items for the entertainment of the common masses are stressful and even dangerous to some people's health, but corporations aren't about to even consider that because OH WOW ITS SO FLASHY!!! And people WILL buy it because what it takes to grab their attention in a world so over-inundated by overstimulating objects as it is. And that... is not ok.

[friendofghosty]

Even when I was alone and no one to lean on I had my dog Max and still do even though he is now blind and deaf. He been through my wild childhood, my destructive teenage days, and now my insane adult hood. People do not understand how much I strive to die MY WAY. We are ALL gonna be dead and gone. Some sooner than others. People do not understand the hell I go through everyday. Its everyday and I am not exaggerating. Everything has intensified to an extreme hell. Every sound, touch or taste. I been watching more videos on autism in girls and I have so many similarities and a lot of them too. I even notice some things I did as a child making more since now. I do not want to even bother seeing if I am autistic. I could care less. I just want to relieve this pain and misunderstandings of me from others. Watched a tiktok about sensory problems and she explained exactly how I felt. I just want to go and be gone. People can diagnose me with what ever, but I know who I am and I know what I suffer everyday. No one sees me in these four walls that I live in. No body literally does not understand me and what the life live. I just want to feel whole and happy. I want to feel like I am on top of the world. When I was anorexic I didn’t wear jackets because they bothered me too much. I wore baggy pants, basketball shorts and long skirts. It was never to an extreme struggle tho. Only when I was really young I would have fits. I am literally back in that position as I was than, but worse. I am to the point I just want to cut every part of my body apart just so I don’t feel those thing’s that really drive me on edge. I am mean to people around me but they have not done anything. Just my clothes setting me off and me internally dying to be free. I never talked about my issues with clothes because it was never this bad. I just wore dresses or bigger clothes. It was just little things that I could take care of easily. I thought it was “normal” to be buggy in stuff, but now that I have looked up on it I know it can be related to so much more that no one has taught me. I get stuff buggs everyone, but they do not have the same outcome and reactions as I do. It literally sets me off like just think of someone slapping a baby thats the kind of anger that comes out. Just think of stuff that highly pisses you off where you are close to hurting someone thats how it feels. Or if someone you highly hated pushes you to the ground in front of everybody. I need help. I need some kind of fix. I need to be free. I need to feel less and more human. 

[vagitterian]

starting to wonder if i have aspergers/autism or just have anxiety how the fuck does one assess that im trying to make a list based off of this criteria but if anyone else has any suggestions lemme know: -has trouble when people ask me to do multiple things at once, reliance on lists. really frustrated like WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING THIS LIST TO ME. EMAIL IT TO ME FFS. -ridigity of thinking (despite being an activist and trying to work on it) -history of not attending classes and needing resits -history[ish?] of depression/anxiety -i lose shit all the time. Ever since my teens. I lost so many mobile phones, I lose debit cards bimonthly, gym access cards, my student id, passports, drivers licenses. -i miss days of work bc socially exhausted -i get hella stressed if i have a lot of work in a short space - doesn’t everyone? -burns bridges with besties -i disproportionately require solitude -i am fandomey, so i have.... i dont know if i want to call them special interests, bc i dont know if i AM on the spectrum, but i definitely focus intensely on things to the detriment of everything else, including eating/sleeping. -history of being bullied/teased -gets socially exhausted, even though i really do enjoy being social! im an extrovert, but it still gets too much. its such a fine line. -intense friendships. -i suck at conflict, despite doing my very best to be honest and not letting things go unsaid. it doesn’t... work... so well... but if they don’t tell me what’s in their head i just make an educated guess and get anxious about it!! and i shut down a lot in arguments and cry really easily which is extremely frustrating. -I won’t lie, alcohol helps me a lot when I socialise. I am trying to change that because I don’t want to be reliant, but it’s hard. -I am gullible as shit lol -I literally fall asleep in meetings I am so bored. IDK if this is a symptom, I fall asleep easily all the time. Life is exhausting! The only way I stay awake is by verbally engaging with scenarios and talking to the teacher. -I suck at communicating verbally and deeply prefer text. I also process conflict a lot better that way. -I avoid the news, and documentaries about sad things, and adverts that show suffering. It affects me really deeply. I cry very easily and soak up the emotions of people around me. I can’t really handle gore. -I had trouble before with this, but lately it’s been really bad, I’m getting overwhelmed by sound. I’ve started carrying noise cancelling headphones and the earplugs you take to concerts. Loud public events have always been a struggle, but I also use them to focus in the office. -Clumsy as hell, I trip over a lot. I’m so used to it I’m pretty good at righting myself before falling over, but I get a decent amount of bruises from furniture. I have 20/20 vision. -I withdraw from touch really easily, very easily repulsed. -Bright lights are hard on me, I have it in my current office and I think longingly of when I was on another floor in the building and they adjusted the lighting. It was lovely. -I remove loads of tags on my clothes cuz they drive me up the wall. -Trains are difficult cuz of the screeching, sirens disturb me, cars on roads are a struggle even behind windows. -I dress comfy a lot. I basically live in leggings. -I prefer to initiate hugs. -I cannot stand being hungry. Seriously. My tolerance is much lower than people around me and I am an absolute wanker about it. -General time management issues. I always get too deep into things. -Definitely a night owl. -I like to pretend I’m spontaneous, but I’m not. I need things just so, and then spontaneous events can happen on TOP of that when I say so. -I’m aromantic. I feel like it’s relevant given how much of the community is also on the spectrum. -I’m extremely self conscious, and I’ve always been interested in assessing myself because of that. -I retreat into my bed a lot to manage sensory/social overload. -I don’t really understand jealousy. -I can’t tell when people are flirting with me. -I suck at group projects. -Budgeting? What? -Fear of childbirth (This is a symptom?! OK!) anyway offer ur opinions plz dont play niceynice w my feelings for the sake of validating me. anything jumping out at you as someone who is anxious and / or on the spectrum? comment plz or dm me

[nerdy-by-design]

My son's bike was stolen off our front porch yesterday. And it hurts so fucking bad. Our neighbor gave us the bike about a year ago. It was leftover from his church's Christmas toy drive and he said he knew a great kid that could use it. My neighbors are awesome. Thing is, bub still struggled to ride a bike with training wheels at that point. The balance, the coordination, over thinking the actions, frustration would take over, meltdowns would ensue, then embarrassment because his little sister and all his friends could do it. Most of his friends didn't require training wheels anymore. I told him not to worry about it, lets play to your strengths and try other things like scooters, skates, etc. We discovered he was pretty good with inline skates. I loved rollerblading in the 90s, so cool beans. I understood his desire to either be innately gifted at something or to hell with that thing. (I'm the same way and it took me about a decade longer to embrace challenges as a part of learning new things.) But then we got the free bike. And it was so cool looking, even cooler than his friend's bikes. And in black and red! His favorite colors no less. Bub became determined to ride it. We watched several Youtube videos before finding the method of taking off the peddles to learn how to balance without throwing in the coordination of peddling. 2 days later he had the balance down. This method was so amazingly helpful! It took him a few more days to master peddling, a few more to learn to put all the motions together while steering for a turn. Braking took a bit longer. He destroyed a pair of shoes dragging his feet to stop in the mean time. That was the only issue I pressed him on during his journey to learn to ride. He had to learn to brake using either the foot or hand brakes for safety reasons and because we couldn't afford to replace shoes at the rate he would destroy them. Well, that and a helmet which he endured in his determination to learn to ride. He fell a lot. He pushed through the sensory hell, pain, frustration, embarrassment, etc and learned to ride his kickass looking bike. It was a level of focus and persistence he usually reserves for his special interest areas. And he is so proud of his achievement, deservedly so. Everytime I see him ride I see that sense of pride and my heart swells. He always gets the biggest smile as the wind whips through his hair and he speeds past me. I feel exhilarated just watching him. That bike let him feel as badass IRL as he does in his gaming worlds. He set a goal for himself and smashed the hell out of it. Completing a quest is so satisfying. No, the loss of that specific bike doesn't take away the achievement, but it's such a violation. It feels like a theft of the memories attached to it. It so hard to articulate the loss to someone not on the spectrum. How attached you can get to inanimate objects. Bub's first question was do we have pictures of the bike. Thankfully yes, and tons! He seems to be taking it better than I have, but he's been hugging me a lot more and spending time with me versus hanging out in his room so I think he's feeling kinda bummed too. The power of that achievement will live on. It's already motivated him to branch out to other previously unconsidered physical activities like martial arts. And the look of determination on his face when he enters the dojang is fierce and intimidating.