#you know. saying that. i think. i think that might be kind of autistic of me. a little.

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[petewentzisblack1312]

im a little nervous about my new glasses because theyre about as large as i normally get (though not larger than what i currently have which is a shame) but theyre not solid black. theyre black and clear.

[eimearkuopio]

Reading House of Leaves was one of the most reassuring experiences of my life, because for the first time it turned out the hidden messages I kept finding were actually real because Mark Z. Danielewski really did say fuck buttons.

I mean I can't guarantee EVERYTHING I find is real but it's not ALL the mental illness.

[neverendingford]

.

[drchucktingle]

On your blog you've talked about dealing with chronic as a result from the stress of masking your autism.

It's a bit of a different situation, but my little sister (who we've begun to suspect has adhd) has been experiencing chronic pain in her arms and legs. I may be totally off base, but I was wondering if a similar stess might potentially be a factor in her pain.

If you're willing, would you mind talking about how your pain affected before you found a way to manage it (I tried searching your tumblr, but not much came up, so sorry if I'm asking a question that's already been answered)?

Thanks either way, I love your books. Love is real!

sure buckaroo GOOD QUESTION. i have had chronic pain in some form or another for LONG TIME in a number of STRESS RELATED WAYS. in past it has been cracking teeth from clenching dang jaws while i sleep and things like that, but a few years ago it was FULL ON BODY PAIN AND TIGHTNESS like every muscle was clenching up. went to the doctor over and over all kinds of dang specialists and it was very difficult to figure out what was going on. eventually landed on a sort of nebulous trot of STRESS but i can get more specific.

there are several things about me that you would never know just from looking or even talking to me for long times. i am a bi buckaroo, i am a non-dysphoric trans buckaroo, i am an autistic buckaroo. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE THINGS IS EITHER HIDDEN AUTOMATICALLY OR I AM SUCH AN EXPERT AT HIDING THAT IT IS SECOND NATURE

autism presents its trot in many ways, so my words do not apply to all, but my version is EXTREME ORGANIZATION AND ENDLESS WORK ETHIC. in way of freud (which is a silly way but sometimes good for symbolism talk) i have what you would call an OVERDEVELOPED SUPER EGO which is a double edged sword. i can write 100s of books at an incredible pace, but also feel like my body is constantly collapsing in on itself

this is not really something i consciously think about much, but eventually these health problems started creeping up. it was all from carrying this mystery tension in my body, because while it feels EASY for me to mask i believe all that tension goes somewhere and it stores up and stores up and stores up.

so i think the HEALTHY way that i have found to deal with this (i think of it as releasing the steam valve a bit so the boiler does not break down) is ART. this space where i am allowed to be CHUCK TINGLE and write without obsessing over the spelling or punctuation, or to loudly express my queerness, or explore gender, and to let my neurotypical mask down DIRECTLY RELIEVES my chronic pain because it literally makes my muscles relax.

when i started out this ARTISTIC TROT as chuck i used a LOT of metaphor to keep my privacy, with different words or different versions of people for different things, and buckaroos found this very funny. as a way to express myself artistically i also liked this metaphor trot a lot, but i have also found that the LESS metaphor i paint over my life as chuck, the better it is for my health. if you have noticed, i talk less about some of the parts of my life that were metaphors, or maybe you have seen that my voice has relaxed a bit in interviews, or that i carry myself a little differently over time, this is partially why. (there is another artistic reason that was a planned trot from the beginning and it has to do with my feelings as a young autistic buckaroo of not fitting in on this timeline, but we can dive into that later).

anyway, as PRACTICAL ADVICE i would say that FINDING A SPACE TO EXPRESS YOURSELF WITHOUT FEAR OR MASKING has been the number one trot for me. that can be a pink bag over your head writing hundreds of erotic shorts, or that can be just laying on the ground howling your heart out, or doing whatever stim you need to do.

i will also say that ONCE I REALIZED IT WAS MUSCLE TENSION getting a physical therapist helped a lot. because there are two sides, you have to start releasing steam from the steam valve, but at the same time youve also gotta start HEALING THE DAMAGE. so i think stretching and techniques like that can be very helpful.

hope that helps buckaroo LOVE IS REAL

[mellosdrawings]

Do you think in the N2 Squad, Jamil will just randomly get a burst of confidence and flirt with Leona and Vil, just for them to turn it around on him and he then gets so flustered he enters Caterpillar Mode™️ (pulls his hood over his face) for a solid hour?

I kept this one in my asks for a long time coz, while I thought it was a good ask and wanted to draw something for it, I am also plagued with the terrible curse of being both aromantic and autistic and struggling a lot with the very concept of ~*flirting*~

So first, gonna thank @aria-faye and @the-fab-fox for their insights and having the patience to explain to me the big strokes of flirting.

And now, I'm gonna quote aria-faye word for word cause he explained Jamil's flirting perfectly well in my opinion :

"I feel like Jamil is just... bad at flirting. He can tease and joke and all that, but when he's doing it with the intention of flirtation, i feel like he stumbles. His version of intentional flirting would probably be just... being overly straightforward. Saying what he's thinking for once."

"I feel like Jamil isn't very charismatic when it comes to flirting, so he isn't saying it [compliments] in any sort of way. Just pointing out a fact, which, to him, is flirting. Because it's not something he'd normally say aloud."

"Here's the thing: I think if they played the flirting game, and if Jamil said something intentionally over-the-top, teasing flirtatious, they [Leona and Vil] would match his energy and do it right back. BUT Jamil would be equipped to volley that back over and over. It's not flirtation that gets him. There's an element of disingenuous in flirting. It's all exaggerated, a bit untrue. It's an act - a mutually agreed-upon act that everyone in the group enjoys, but an act nonetheless. And Jamil is EXCELLENT at acts. He's no blushing flower when it comes to flirting. He would take that stuff all the way to bed if that's where it led him. But compliments? He has no idea how to take compliments. He has such a low opinion of himself for so long that he never learned. Compliments are what make him blush. Not flirting."

"Like, Leona could be like 'Damn Baby, what does that tongue do?' And Jamil would immediately respond by purring 'Come here and find out.' But Leona being like 'You look beautiful today' would have Jamil like "Oh, um. *blushes, pulls hood over his head* Thanks, I guess.'"

"I think something else that would get him flustered is physical affection. Like he gets all hyped up to shakily hold their hands, and they immediately respond by kissing his cheeks and being sweet to him. That would make him blushy too."

"Flirting is basically just manipulation. Jamil knows how to do that. He's really good at that. It might surprise him at first, but if he's the one initiating, he wouldn't do it unless he knew exactly what he was doing. Flirting for real is kind of fake. A teasing dance you do to get to a more intimate set of behaviors. And Jamil is great at this kind of thing. There are a thousand ways to make him blushy if he's not initiating. But if he's initiating, that implies a level of confidence, so the options for making him blushy circles right back around to honesty."

"Leona and Vil flirt by antagonising each other, so it might take them a second to realize that whenever Jamil drops an Honesty Bomb on them like this and speaks plainly, he's flirting. But once they know, Jamil will never know peace again, because they turn it right back on him and compliment him honestly until he's curled up and hiding in his hood and begging them to stop."

(Yes we had a very long discussion about it x))

[this-machine-runs-on-coffee]

IT CUT OFF HALF OFMY TAGS NOOO

me: *reads over symptoms of autism once again* “see but i don’t get upset over changes in routine, we change the routine all the time and i’m totally okay with it!”

also me since i was a kid: *gets irritated, stressed, angry, aggravated, and depressed for the rest of the day after something is switched to another day* *gets angry, stressed, and depressed, and has a breakdown when i find out we have to cancel plans, even if i didn’t really wanna go to wherever we were planning to go* *gets aggravated and is easily upset and is depressed the whole day after i get to cancel something that i had been planning for but also are relieved that i don’t have to go since i really didn’t want to* *is depressed, angry, irritated, and stressed after we cancel plans that i had zero feelings for up until that point* etc.

[cy-cyborg]

The Jaws Effect and what it means for media representation

The Jaws Effect is the name of a phenomenon that described the panic and fear that sprang up around sharks, fuelled by Steven Spielberg's movie, Jaws. While the fear of sharks and other marine predators had always been a thing, Jaws launched the fear of sharks, and Great White Sharks in particular, to new (and mostly unfounded) heights. Most people will never encounter a real-life shark and so their only knowledge about the creatures come from movies and other forms of entertainment. Entertainment that largely portrayed them as mindless, unfeeling killing machines. After Jaws, sharks became a staple in the creature-feature genre of movies, which only perpetuated the idea of sharks as dangerous monsters even further, reigniting and reconfirming the beliefs the public held about them in the process. These ideas about sharks are, of course, not true, but the misconception and fear has had a real, observable impacts on shark populations, shark conservation efforts and even laws and legislations surrounding sharks and shark conservation around the world.

Ok but Cy, this is a blog about disability and disabled representation, what do sharks have to do with anything you talk about? Well, Because The Jaws Effect is just one of many examples that shows how massive of an impact representation in the media can have, for better or for worse, especially when talking about subjects the public generally knows very little about.

This conversation is not unique to disability representation, nearly every person I've seen who's talked about how to write and design characters from any minority brings it up eventually, but the media we consume, the movies we watch, the books we read can all have big impacts on people's perceptions on those topics. When talking about disability specifically, it's an unfortunate reality that not many people know all that much about us, and so, much like sharks, for many, their only real exposure to disabled people is through the media they consume.

If you don't know anyone in a wheelchair, and your only knowledge of life as a wheelchair user comes from books and movies like Me Before You, of course you're going to (spoiler) come away thinking that life in a wheelchair is horrible and death is better than living like that. If you don't know any DID Systems and your only exposure to a condition like that is through movies like Split (and honestly, a number of other horror movies and crime shows) of course you'll think people with DID are unstable monsters who could become violent any moment. If your only exposure to autistic people is Music, then it's not shocking that you might think Autistic people are "trapped in their own minds," completely unaware of the world around them and lacking any kind of agency. As much as I'd like to be able to say these are "just movies" or "just books," and that if we don't like them, we can just not watch them, they all had an impact on the real world and real people's perceptions of the disabilities they depicted, as do the many, many smaller examples of bad representation.

This is why I personally spend so much time focused on the portrayal of disability in the media, why so much of my content is focused on creating resources for creators to represent us better, and why I think writers, artists and other types of creators should care about the representation they include.

Unfortunately, people believing misinformation and stereotypes, while annoying, isn't the worst of the impacts bad rep can have. If a stereotype is prevalent enough, and enough people believe it, it can both put us in harms way and cause us to loose access to things we desperately need and things designed to help us. One really common example of this is when movies and TV shows show a character getting up out of their wheelchair, and use this as proof that the person is faking being disabled. However, in reality, there are many disabilities that might mean someone has to use a wheelchair, even if they can still walk a little bit or stand up. The stereotype of someone standing up from their chair being a fake, especially when it's reinforced over and over again in the media, leads non-disabled people to believe that anyone who stands up from their wheelchair is faking, and results in a lot of real disabled people being harassed and denied things like access to disabled parking, toilets and other accessible spaces. There were even a few cases of people reporting those they see get out of their wheelchairs to Centrelink (The Australian "welfare" department, for those not familiar) as frauds, and while these investigations don't usually go far before someone realises what's happened, it has, on occasion, resulted in people loosing the income they depend on to survive, even temporarily.

But the impact of representation, of course, can go both ways.

I was in high school when the first How To Train Your Dragon movie came out, and at the time, I didn't really like people being able to see that I was a leg amputee because I was sick of kids in particular staring, pointing at me, asking their parents "what's wrong with them?" or asking me directly, "what's wrong with your legs?". I wore long skirts and big, bulky tracksuit pants to keep my legs covered, something that became dangerous in the hot Australian summer, but I didn't care.

But the impact of How to Train Your Dragon came in two ways. The first, was that it was one of the first times I'd seen an amputee (or rather, multiple amputees) who didn't keep their prosthetics covered or hidden, and it gave me the little boost in confidence I needed to do that myself and wear clothing that was more comfortable and functional. And second, the comments from children changed, albeit slightly, but enough that it was noticeable. The questions and comments went from "what's wrong with you?" to "oh cool, your legs are like Hiccup's!" I even had one little girl ask me once if I had a pet night fury. They went from being scared of me and my legs, or at the very least concerned for me, to genuinely curious and impressed. While reactions like that did become less and less common over time, they didn't fully go away either. Even today, I occasionally get young kids asking me why I have legs like hiccup. A friend of mine who was born with one arm shorter than the other and without fingers on that side had a similar experience with the movie Finding Nemo. Her disability was a bit more complex than what I described here, and she always found it hard to explain "what happened" to small children, however, after Finding Nemo came out, she was able to simply tell kids "this is my lucky fin, like what nemo has!" and that was enough to take her from someone "scary" to these kids to someone like their favourite characters.

Of course, it's much easier to see the impact positive representation can have on people's perceptions when we're talking about kids media, but it's not exclusive to it either.

When it comes to a minority like the disabled community who are so thoroughly misunderstood by the wider public, misinformation can and does spread easily. What people see and read in the media they consume plays a big roll in how people perceive the real people attached to the stereotypes. We often hear people say "Fiction imitates life" but the reverse can and often is also true, life can imitate and be influenced by fiction, and those of us creating should be mindful of this, especially when we're talking about a group of vulnerable people.

[Thumbnail ID: An illustration of a Great White Shark swimming near the rocky bottom of the ocean, surrounded by silver fish. In the bottom left corner of the image is "The Jaws Effect and what it means for media representation" in big, white bubble text. /End ID]

[headspace-hotel]

"New (old) perspectives on self-injurious and aggressive biting" published in Journal of Applied Behavior Analysis / Nine Inch Nails- The Hand that Feeds

I was troubled to see a trend of claiming that Autistic people who do not support Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) are a group of "low-support-needs" autistics who are monopolizing the conversation and taking resources away from autistics with higher support needs—I think it is misunderstanding.

Individual positive or negative experiences with ABA are irrelevant here—the fundamental core of the therapy is behaviorism, the idea that an autistic person can be "treated" by rewarding "desirable" behaviors and punishing "undesirable" behaviors, and that an increase in desirable behaviors and decrease in undesirable behaviors constitutes successful treatment

In researching I found that ABA practitioners have published statements condemning conversion therapy. They refer to an unfortunate historical association between ABA and conversion therapy, but it is not association—ABA literally is conversion therapy; the creator of it used it to try to "cure" little boys that were too feminine.

ABA is considered "medically necessary" treatment for autism and the only "proven" treatment, in that it is proven to create decrease in "undesirable" behaviors and increase in "desirable" behaviors.

Undesirable behaviors for an autistic person might include things like stimming and talking about their interests, desirable behaviors might include eye contact, using verbal speech, playing with toys in the "right" way.

The BCBA behavior analyst code of ethics does not prohibit "aversive" methods (e.g. electric shock) to punish undesirable behaviors

The code of ethics only discusses the consent of the "client," not the person receiving the treatment

Many people will say "my child's ABA therapist would never make them repress harmless stims, give up their interests, use electric shocks...They understand the value of neurodiversity and emphasize the consent of the child..."

But consider...if nothing binds or requires an ABA therapist to treat stimming as important, nor restrains them from using abusive techniques, nor requires them to consider the consent of a person being treated, what protects vulnerable people other than luck? The ABA therapist still has an innately unethical level of power over a child being "treated."

Furthermore, consider: can a therapy built on the goal of controlling the behavior of a person who cannot meaningfully consent to it, especially without hard limits or protections on the kinds of behavior that can be coerced or controlled, ever be ethical?

I found many articles that discuss teaching "compliance" in autistic children, treating "compliance" as a reasonable goal to strive for without qualification...

The abstract of the above article struck me with a spark of inspiration. Biting is an undesirable behavior to be controlled, understandably so, since most would feel that violence should not be allowed. But I was suddenly reminded of the song "The Hand that Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails, which is a play on the saying "Don't bite the hand that feeds you," meaning don't lash out against someone that is kind to you.

But doesn't "the hand that feeds you" implicitly have power over you through being able to give or withhold food? In this case, kindness can be a form of coercion. Thus "biting the hand that feeds" is used in the song as a metaphor for autonomy and resisting coercive power. The speaker asks the audience if they have the courage to test the benevolence of their oppressors, or if they will remain compliant and unquestioning even though they know deep down that it isn't right.

Likewise the article blunders into something unintentionally poetic when it recognizes that biting is an innately possible behavior in response to "aversive" stimuli or the "removal of reinforcers." Reinforcers and aversives in ABA are discussed as tools used by the therapist—the presentation of a preferred food would be a reinforcer, for instance (and is often used as such in ABA).

The journal article considers biting as a behavioral problem, even though the possibility that someone may bite can never be eliminated. Contrastingly, "The Hand that Feeds" highlights the coercive power behind the ability to control your behavior, even when that control appears benevolent and positive, and argues that "biting the hand that feeds you" is not only a possibility but a moral imperative.

Consider: In what circumstances would you bite someone? To defend your own body? To defend your life? Are there circumstances in which biting would be the reasonable and the right action to take?

What authority decides which behaviors are desirable or undesirable, and rewards or punishes compliance or resistance? Who is an authority—your therapist? Your teacher? Your caregiver? Any adult? Any person with the power to reward or punish?

In what circumstances might compliance be demanded of you? In what circumstances would it be justifiable not to comply? What authority decides which circumstances are justifiable?

Can you imagine a circumstance where it might be important for a child to not comply with the demands of an adult? For a citizen to not comply with the demands of a government? Which authorities demand compliance in a right and just manner, and which demand compliance to things that are evil and wrong? Which authority has the power to differentiate the two? Should you trust them? Will you bite the hand that feeds you?/Will you stay down on your knees?

[megalony]

Meet My Family- Part 2

Okay, it's taken me a while but here is the second part of my Evan Buckley imagine. I hope you will all like it, thank you for the lovely feedback on the first part.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: Now that Evan's team have met his family and his son, his family have been invited to a birthday party and Evan is touched how everyone makes an effort with his son. (Autistic son)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's this?" Evan tilted his head back against the sofa and squinted up at Hen who was stood behind him.

She had a cheesy grin spread across her face and one brow arched up in that manner that implied something was going on or that she had some kind of plan formulating in her head. Both her hands planted down on the sofa either side of his shoulders and she leaned forward and indicated her head towards the envelope she had just handed down to him.

"What does it look like?"

Evan rolled his eyes and leaned forward, focusing on opening the pale blue envelope which had Buckley's written on the back.

His brows rose and he pushed forward so he could spin on the sofa and look up at Hen properly once he looked over the card inside.

It was an invitation.

He glanced over the writing and the painted balloons in the background. Denny was having a birthday party next week, coincidently it was Evan's day off, but he suspected Hen had gone to Bobby and they had done the rota so everyone on the A shift could have the day off together.

But what made Evan's heart rocket in his chest was the names scrawled on the top of the page, clearly in Denny's handwriting. Buck, (Y/n) and Rowan. They were inviting Rowan.

"You're coming, right?" It was more a statement than a question and Evan dreaded to give the wrong answer.

Of course he would go, he thought Denny was a sweet kid and parties with the team were always a fun celebration. And he and (Y/n) had nothing else planned, so they couldn't really say no.

"Yeah, of course."

"How's Rowan with music, he's not sensitive to noises, right?"

"The louder the better… are you, um… I mean, Rowan loves parties, but he doesn't get invited to many."

The hidden question was there behind Evan's words. The tone of his voice was careful, he didn't want to cause offence or seem like he was ungrateful for the invite because he was. But in his and (Y/n)'s extended families, there weren't too many people who took the time to understand Rowan.

Their excuses were the usual kind. It was a party for adults or for older children, Rowan was 'too young' to go or he would be tired easily or it would be too loud for him. It was the polite way of saying they didn't want him there.

Evan didn't want Hen to think she was obligated to invite them if Denny was going to have a lot of school friends round who might not understand or who might just sit and stare at Rowan. That wouldn't be fair on anyone.

"Denny wants to meet him, he's heard Chris talking about him, and we want you all there. He's always gonna be welcome."

Evan nodded and took a deep breath to ward off the tears that were starting to burn behind his eyes and nose. The team had met Rowan twice, the first time when they came down to the hospital and again when Evan brought him to the station.

And he had gone to Eddie's house to meet Chris, which had gone down so well that Rowan didn't want to go home.

"You sure? He'll try to explore and take the toys and the food and if he's excited you'll hear him for miles." Evan's tone softened, he wasn't trying to put Hen off or make her change her mind, he just wanted her to know what she was agreeing to.

Rowan was a handful, but Evan wouldn't have him any other way. Rowan would explore Hen's house because it was a new environment and he was curious. He would try and take any present he saw that took his fancy, if he was hungry he would want to pinch the food whether it was time to eat or not. And he was very vocal, if Rowan was excited his noises got louder. He would squeal and scream and laugh and clap because it was his way of expressing himself when he couldn't use words.

"Buck, you've just described every kid that's gonna be there, don't worry, it's gonna be a great day. None of you have allergies, right?"

"Just Pica." The playful smirk on Evan's face made Hen smile and she nodded, patting his shoulder while she rolled her eyes.

Evan had told the team about Rowan's conditions, one of them being Pica, where he would eat non-food items. It was mainly for sensory feelings, if he looked the look or the smell or the texture of something, he would put it in his mouth to learn and explore. Which was why all the cleaning products were locked away in a cupboard in Evan's home, and why they had to keep an eye on Rowan at all times.

When Hen walked back into the kitchen, Evan smiled and nodded to himself. It was going to be an eventful day, if anything. One that he was now looking forward to.

"Are we ready?" (Y/n) looked between her two boys with a smile that was a little apprehensive.

The only one out of the three of them who was any good at parties was Evan. (Y/n) was too nervous and never knew what to do or what to say, she ended up sitting in a corner barely conversing with anyone. And no one knew how to act with Rowan, there was only a handful of people who knew how to interact with him and who were happy to sit with him and try to engage in his ways of play.

Whereas everyone got along with Evan, he was always smiling and knew how to joke around and could intergrate into any conversation and community.

But this was a children's party. (Y/n) knew this was going to be a lot easier than the usual kind of party. She could interact with kids, she knew how to be on their level and understand them and play their games and she had a lot of patience for children.

"Off we go," Evan grinned and tugged on Rowan's hand as they approached the front door to Hen's house.

He kept hold of Rowan's hand and tugged his boy back to his side when the five year old went to push the door. He had a tendency to try and walk into houses straight after knocking, Rowan didn't grasp the part about waiting to be invited inside. He thought it was like going home or going to his grandparent's house, he could walk right in and the door would be unlocked and people would be welcoming.

"Hi! Denny will be thrilled you're all here, come in." Karen opened the door, a wide smile on her face as she ushered them inside. "Hi Rowan." A gentle look washed over Karen's face and she waved her hand at him.

She had heard Hen talk about him, about how it was a surprise to find out Evan had a family of his own and how sweet she thought Rowan was when she met him at the hospital. They were all excited to meet him, and Denny was always open to making new friends.

The five year old studied her curiously as he swayed back and forth, pulling on Evan's hand like it was a rope swing. But he waved at her nonetheless which caused her smile to widen.

"Everyone's out in the garden."

They followed Karen down to the kitchen and out the back door where the noise level raised and the chaos ensued.

There were a lot of balloons tied around the fence, some tied to the few tables outside and placed around the garden with weights to keep them from floating off into space. A banner of Happy Birthday was pinned against the fence on the right side of the garden above the buffet table.

(Y/n) could see something that would grab Rowan's attention towards the back of the garden. A paddling pool. Rowan was very sensory and he loved the swimming pool, if they weren't careful he would be straight in there in his clothes and they wouldn't be able to get him out. And next to the pool was a sandbox that was usually closed up but today was wide open with spades and buckets and a signpost that (Y/n) couldn't read from this far away.

They didn't get very far before Denny spotted them and it was heartwarming to see his bright smile when he realised they had arrived. He had been waiting desperately to meet Rowan.

Denny was sat near the sandbox with Chris who was eyeing the buffet like he was desperate to go over there and try everything. Chris had already met Rowan and they were all pleased that the pair of them seemed to be very happy in each other's company. Chris was a little unsure at first that when he spoke, Rowan didn't give a response. But he could see Rowan knew what was being said and he would smile or pat Chris's hand or just murmur as a way of response.

"You're here!" He bounded over to them with a wide smile and bounds of energy radiating off of him. He stood next to Karen who placed her hand on his shoulder. "I'm Denny."

(Y/n) was quite surprised that Denny's smile actually widened when Rowan made a little humming noise. Maybe he had been told Rowan was non-verbal and thought that meant he didn't make any sounds at all. But it was so lovely to see someone eager to play with Rowan and just be in his presence. They wanted Rowan to have a normal childhood, as normal as possible, and connect with people and make friends.

When (Y/n) held the present they had brought in front of Rowan and nodded towards Denny, the five year old took the hint. He grabbed the bag with haste and thrust it towards Denny with determination in his eyes and his other hand still clinging to Evan.

"Thank you," Denny carefully took the present and looked up at his mum who nodded and took it from him so it could be put with the rest of the presents inside for him to open later.

"Mum's doing a scavenger hunt in the sandbox. Do you want to join?" Denny held his hand out and waited patiently. He knew Rowan might not want to take his hand because he didn't know him, but he thought it was worth a try.

The young boy looked up at Evan, made a 'me me' noise and took Denny's hand. He kept hold of his dad's hand too, dragging Evan along like they were in a chain or a congo but it was enough to make Denny grin. And (Y/n) could barely focus on breathing when all she could feel was surprise and love and happiness.

Denny walked slow enough so they could trot side by side towards Hen, Athena's son Harry and Chris and Eddie. They were all stood near the sandbox and Evan took a moment to look around.

"Scavenger hunt?" (Y/n) looked towards Karen as they both moved to head over to where Athena, Bobby, Chimney and Maddie were all sat nearby with the radio blasting eighties tunes in the background.

"Hen's buried sweets and little fidget toys in the sandbox. They'll have to dig around for buried treasure."

Evan took to looking in the sandbox to get a better view and see what Hen had been up to. He loved the effort they had put in to making games for the kids, it was more than Evan ever had in his childhood, he never had any big parties or fun celebrations for anything in his life. Not his birthday, not to celebrate leaving school or getting into college. His parents were only ever happy to be at a party for Evan when he got married.

He wanted things to be different for Rowan.

Rowan began swaying back and forth, unsure what they were doing or why they were stood waiting near the sand. He knew he didn't usually get to play in the sandbox at school. He had a tendency to put the sand in his mouth because of his Pica and on the odd occasions when he was taken to the beach, one parent always had hold of him at all times so he couldn't try anything.

He started to hum and tick his head back and forth like he was dancing to the music before he suddenly let go of each hand he had been holding. He weaved around the sandbox and made a little squeal as he bounced on his tiptoes and made a beeline for the buffet table.

"Not yet buddy." Evan trotted behind him and clamped his hands down on Rowan's shoulders.

A squeal of protest left Rowan's lips and his brows furrowed as he pointed at the table and stomped his foot.

"No, not yet. Games first."

When Rowan tried to stomp his foot and reach out for a bowl of crisps, Evan moved quickly. He could just envision that bowl going flying and crisps scattering across the floor. He looped his hands beneath Rowan's arms and spun him round in the other direction.

He knelt down in front of the sandbox and gently sat Rowan on his knees as the boys all knelt in the sandbox, ready to dig for treasure.

When Hen said the boys could start digging, Evan handed Rowan a plastic spade and encouraged him to start to dig with everyone else. Rowan seemed content to look at the others for a while, he had never known objects to be hidden in the sand like this. He watched Denny dig up a lollipop and when Chris found a bag of Haribos and pointed to the sand, Rowan started to dig, if a bit lazily.

A very lovely, cheeky smile flooded Rowan's face after a few minutes and he dunked his left hand down into the sand. His fingers curled into his palm and spread out again to feel the sand tickling his palm and flooding between his fingers.

He burrowed his hands down into the sand, grabbed fistfuls and pulled his hands back up. He watched, fascinated, as the sand fell through his fingers like droplets of rain.

His lips parted in a cheeky smile and he locked eyes with Hen just as he poked his tongue over his lower lip towards the sand.

"Ah-ah, don't do that thank you." Evan pressed his lips to the top of Rowan's head and enclosed his large hand around his son's to prevent him from putting his hand in his mouth. He knew what he was doing. He was looking to see if anyone would notice or tell him off.

His head tilted back against Evan's chest as he started to giggle.

He did it for the texture, not to try and eat the sand because he was hungry or desperate. It was a fixation, a sensory feeling, putting things in his mouth was Rowan's way of getting a sensory fix and feeling textures and learning.

"I think you've had enough sand." Evan murmured against the top of Rowan's head before he glanced over at Hen. "Is he okay to wander round a bit?" He would hate to let Rowan wander if Hen wanted all the kids to stay together or to stay in the garden. Rowan liked to explore and that might mean scouting round the kitchen.

"Sure, go have fun."

Evan let Rowan take the lead, he let his boy wander round the garden, not really looking for anything in particular. He was getting to know this new environment, getting used to new surroundings and familiar people and loud noises and different smells.

Evan followed him round, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. Rowan was doing better than he expected. His boy wasn't screaming or having a meltdown from a sensory overload. He wasn't banging on the tables and chairs or fighting to get at the buffet table and he was being his version of sociable. He wasn't frowning and pushing Denny or Chris away which he sometimes did when he was tired or overwhelmed.

He seemed happy wandering around with his head nodding back and forth and his hands shaking at his sides in stims.

"Hi mister, what're you up to?" Bobby leaned his head to one side as he looked down at Rowan when the five year old paused in front of him.

His big wide eyes stared up at Bobby before he fell into a fit of giggles. He recognised him from seeing him at the hospital and again when Bobby had visited their home for the first time. He reached up and tugged on Bobby's hand, swinging it back and forth before he started to pull him down.

Bobby obliged and crouched down to be level with him, only to have Rowan's cheeky smile widen and his hands started grabbing at the cup in Bobby's free hand.

"Buddy, ask nicely."

He knew not to try and take what he wanted. His head turned to look up at Evan before he turned back towards Bobby and gently patted his wrist. Rowan's sign to imply that he himself wanted a drink.

"Come and show me what you want to drink then."

The Captain took Rowan's hand and they both headed towards the buffet table where there were at least four different bottles of pop and some jugs of juice set out. He knew Rowan could point and choose for himself, he just needed them to be poured for him.

Evan rolled his lips together and dragged his hand across his jaw, unable to hide his beaming smile as he watched his Captain take great care to try and understand his son. Bobby was nodding and humming along to the noises Rowan was making and when they reached the table, Bobby crouched down to Rowan's level and politely asked him to pick what he would like.

Everyone seemed to be understanding Rowan completely and they accepted every little whim and way he had.

The party was going better than expected.

***

"Have you had enough, baby?" (Y/n) tilted her head to the left to where Rowan was sat beside her. He was close enough that his arm was resting on her thigh and their legs were touching, he didn't like to be far apart.

She gently stroked her fingers through his hair as he began humming and pushed his paper plate away, his signal that he was finished.

The boys had been sat very close to the buffet table in case they wanted seconds. They had been sat in a big circle on the grass to have their dinner while the rest of the 118 were in the chairs near the radio, finishing off their food. But Rowan wouldn't stray far from his parents when it was time to eat.

He wasn't much of a fussy eater, he would eat a lot of various things, but if Rowan was at a strange place, he was self-conscious. He didn't like people looking at him when he was eating and he could get overwhelmed when he heard other people eating and the different sounds they made.

And both parents wanted him close by just in case he tried to take something from someone else's plate. He didn't do that often but they didn't want him to start that habit today.

"Good boy," (Y/n) looped her arm around his shoulders so he could snuggle into her side. She was sat on the grass in between Evan's legs with her head resting on his thigh and his legs squeezing into her sides. And every now and then she felt his hand holding her shoulder or feathering up and down her neck as he peppered kisses to the top of her head.

She looked down at Rowan when he started to bash his palm against his mouth, making popping sounds like he was kissing his hand. When he started rocking back and forth, she uncurled her arm from him so he could move around without bashing into her.

(Y/n) looked to the right and she smiled when Chris plonked down on his knees next to her. He looked between her and Evan, clearly wanting to speak to them and be in their company for a while since everyone else was still either eating or chatting and listening to the music.

"I've been learning some new tricks." His wide grin made (Y/n) raise her brow and she tilted her head back to look up at Evan who hummed.

"Oh yeah, like what?" Evan rested his elbows on his knees and his hands on (Y/n)'s shoulders so he could lean over her. His lips pressed to the top of her head but his eyes were firmly focused on watching Chris.

They knew he was trying to learn some little magic tricks, he was venturing into lots of games and different tricks to amuse himself. He was much like Evan in the sense that he took up a lot of different activities and didn't like to stick to just one thing.

It was why they had so much fun when Chris came round and watched documentaries with Evan or when they all went to the zoo or the aquarium.

They listened eagerly as Chris explained what he was trying to do and showed them a trick.

"Pound?" Chris bit his lower lip and held his palm out towards Evan who huffed and rummaged around in his pocket.

"Is this payment, or are you showing us another trick?" He wasn't sure whether Chris was just being cheeky and asking for a coin because he had showed them a good trick. Or whether he needed one to try and perform another magic trick.

"Both."

Evan looked over at Eddie who was sat in the chair next to him. "You do realise I'm being swindled over here?"

Eddie shrugged. He had taught Chris well, it wasn't his fault if Evan always fell for it or always gave in because he was soft at heart.

He dropped a coin into the palm of Chris's hand before he curled his left arm around (Y/n)'s chest just beneath her neck and leaned to press a sloppy kiss to her cheek. He felt her hand curl around his arm and she leaned into his touch and peppered a few hollow kisses up his arm.

Her smile widened when Chris muttered a small "Okay," to himself and he shuffled closer until his knees nudged into (Y/n)'s leg. And he reached out to take (Y/n)'s free hand so he could use her hand as part of the trick.

(Y/n) leaned into Evan's touch and watched Chris intently, but she gasped and shot upright when Rowan suddenly grabbed her.

His hands scrunched up in her leggings and he made a deep whining sound as he scrambled to climb onto her lap. She pushed back into Evan and tried to part her legs so Rowan could sit between them but she couldn't help but groan when he continued to stand and clamber over her like she was a piece of furniture.

"Rowan," She groaned his name and tried to gently nudge him but her gasp turned into a cough when he stood up on her thighs and flopped into her chest, pushing her back into Evan.

"Rowan don't do that." Evan moved his arm that was around (Y/n)'s chest to nudge Rowan back but it didn't work.

The five year old started to make a low grumbling noise and the way he ground his jaw from side to side showed he wasn't happy. His nose crinkled and his lips jutted out before he reached his hand down and grabbed (Y/n)'s wrist, pulling her hand away from Chris.

When Evan noticed the movement, he sighed and bit his tongue to stop from rolling his eyes.

Rowan was getting possessive. He loved being around people, and he loved getting close to people and having their attention, but the same couldn't be said for his parents. He didn't like either (Y/n) or Evan interacting with other people, he thought they should be focused on him and only him.

Seeing (Y/n) playing with Chris made him upset, he wanted her attention, he didn't want her giving her attention to anyone else. They were his parents, not Chris's.

"Chris is doing magic, look." (Y/n) looped her left arm around Rowan's waist and tried to tug him to the side a little so he wasn't smothering her front. She kissed his cheek and let him lean into her chest while she sat back against Evan who kept an arm draped loosely over her shoulder.

She held her hand back out since she still had the coin burning into her palm and Chris tried to do the trick again, but Rowan wasn't impressed.

He pushed forward into (Y/n)'s chest and batted his hand out to whack her hand away from Chris.

"Ro, wanna come sit over here with me?" Eddie put his drink down on the grass beside his chair and reached his hands out in front of him. He wouldn't mind if Rowan wanted to come and sit with him, he would happily entertain him and play with him for a while.

But he wasn't interested. He let out another disgruntled whine, and before either parent could try and say anything, Rowan lurched his right arm out. He looped his arm around the back of (Y/n)'s neck and yanked her forward towards him with a bit too much force.

The movement shook (Y/n) off balance and she gasped when her forehead smashed into Rowan's.

"Fuck!"

A blinding pain shot through her temple and errupted behind her eyes that immediately began to water and pour tears down the bridge of her nose. She couldn't help the yelp she let out and her head flopped back onto Evan's thigh as she let go of Rowan to cradle her nose and temple. For a moment (Y/n) thought he'd given her a nosebleed, but she was relieved to see no blood coating her fingers or trickling down the back of her throat.

Leaning down, Evan cupped (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head up in his direction and he gently moved her hands away so he could take a look. His fingers skimmed across her temple, wincing when she shivered and pulled back.

"You okay babe?"

"God, that hurt," (Y/n) groaned quietly but she didn't look up at Evan for long, her gaze switched back down to their boy.

He flopped down to sit between (Y/n)'s legs, hands cupping his neck and dragging his nails down his skin in long, deep scratches. Whines and deep cries rumbled past his lips and tears streaked down his face. He hadn't meant to pull (Y/n) harsh enough to headbutt her and it had clearly hurt him. He didn't have a high pain threshold.

"Come here, you're okay." Eddie hopped up from his chair and reached forward to scoop Rowan up and sit back down with him.

He perched the five year old on his knee and cocooned his arms around him, wiping away the tears. And he gently held Rowan's hand to stop him from scratching at his neck. He was rather surprised when Rowan leaned into him and pushed into his chest tight enough that Eddie had to take shallow breaths.

It had been a while since Eddie had patched Chris up after a fall or an accident and he smiled softly when Rowan burrowed into him rather than trying to scramble away.

"What were you doing, hm?"

"Getting possessive," Evan answered with a certain look and raised brows which caused Rowan to frown. He may not have understood the words, but he knew that look all too well. "He doesn't like our attention going to anyone else."

"So no more kids then?" Chimney spoke around the rim of his glass, his nose crinkling as he tried to dampen his smile a little.

He chuckled quietly at the sideways look he got from Evan and the way (Y/n)pushed out her lower lip to distort a smirk. They hadn't thought about that aspect. They were trying to focus on showing Rowan that it was okay for them to give attention to other people and other kids, that he wasn't missing out or being pushed aside.

He couldn't get this upset every time they tried to talk to people or be sociable, he had to learn that it was okay for their attention to be shared with other people.

Especially if, in the future, (Y/n) and Evan thought about having another baby. It wouldn't bode well if Rowan thought it was okay to be possessive over them and then he had to learn from an older age that he had to share them with a sibling.

"Show me again." (Y/n) whispered softly as she held her hand back out towards Chris and nodded for him to redo the trick he hadn't managed to finish with Rowan's little outburst.

She leaned her cheek against Evan's thigh and did her best to keep her eyes open despite the raging headache throbbing behind her eyes and nose. Both her and Evan kept darting their eyes over at Eddie, but he seemed happy as ever quietly chatting to Rowan who was no longer in fits of tears. The toddler was curled up into his chest, humming softly and holding Eddie's hand, letting out a little sniffle every now and then.

Just as Chris finished his magic trick, they all looked up when Denny jogged over to them with a wide grin.

"Mum said we can go in the pool, are you coming?" Denny hovered by the side of them, a hopeful look on his face that brightened as he looked between Chris and Rowan.

Evan was rather surprised Rowan hadn't made a beeline for the pool already, he was one for water, he was like a duck. He couldn't exactly swim but he would paddle and splash and he wasn't afraid to go further into the water at the local swimming pool as long as someone was alongside him. It was one of his preferred activities and something Evan and (Y/n) tried to do with him every week.

With a quick glance over at Eddie, Chris got up and whipped off his shirt which he tossed next to his dad's chair. And when Evan nodded, Eddie leaned forward and gently set Rowan down to his feet and motioned to his shirt.

"Are we off in the water?" When Eddie pointed to the paddling pool, a lovable, excited scream left Rowan's lips before he started patting his hand rather forcefully against his lips to stim. "Alright," Eddie grinned and helped him off with his shirt, he was wearing shorts so he would be fine in the water and (Y/n) had a bag with spare clothes for later.

(Y/n) patted Evan's thigh and tilted her head up to steal a quick kiss before she got up and hurried after Rowan. He needed to be supervised because too many people in a small paddling pool with him was a recipe for Rowan getting overwhelmed. He might try and push people out his way or lash out at them if they were overwhelming him or getting too close.

Once the other kids were in the pool, Rowan seemed to assess the paddling pool. (Y/n) wasn't sure what he was looking for or what he was thinking until he moved towards the left corner of the square pool, then she realised.

He wanted to sit on his own.

Rowan didn't want to be splashing about with everyone else because the pool wasn't big. It wasn't like the swimming pool where people could have their own space, this was a decent sized pool for a back garden, but with four other kids in there, Rowan clearly didn't want to be cramped.

He carefully climbed over the side and flopped into the water like a fish back in its habitat. He sat down with his legs crossed and the water settled just on top of his thighs. His arms threw out at his sides and he splashed his hands down in the water so that it prayed up around him and created bubbles between his fingers. The cold water didn't seem to shock or bother him, he didn't even shiver.

A cheeky smile lit up Rowan's face when Denny handed him one of the spades from the sandbox so he could splash properly and flick the water up.

He shovelled up the water and started to stim, flicking his wrist so the water sprinkled slowly over the edges of the shovel and rained down onto his legs.

"You ever take him to the pool?" Eddie's words caught Evan off guard and broke him out of his thoughts.

He tilted his head to the left, watching his friend as they both moved to sit down nearer to their boys in the pool. Evan smiled when he caught sight of (Y/n) knelt beside Rowan with her arms folded on the edge of the pool. She wasn't splashing or trying to gain his attention, she was just hanging back and seeing how he faired for a while.

Evan sat down with his elbows perched on his thighs and his hands clasped together on his lap while he nodded. "Yeah, yeah he loves going to the pool."

"Could… do you think he'd be happy if me and Chris could join? Chris gets nervous in the pool, I thought going with friends might make him a bit more confident." Eddie didn't want to impose or presume and he wouldn't want to suggest it if Rowan would get too overstimulated or panicked if others joined them in a routine he usually did with his parents.

But if he might be okay with it, Eddie hoped it might help Chris. He wasn't the best swimmer and he was nervous in the pool about people watching, and if his feet couldn't touch the floor, he wouldn't go any further.

Maybe if he went with a group, with Evan and (Y/n) and Rowan he might feel more at ease. And it could be fun to splash around and play in the pool with Rowan as well as try to swim.

"I think he'd enjoy that."

(Y/n) perched her chin on her arm and smiled softly at the boys as they splashed around. But when one of them began to flick and splash at the others and they all retaliated, she saw Rowan flinch. He twisted to the right and shuffled until his side was pressed into the rubbery plastic edge of the paddling pool, staying close to his mum and turning his back to the rest of them.

He continued to splash for a while, kicking his legs so his heels thrashed in the water and cold droplets continued to scatter across his skin.

He let out hums and little noises that sounded like he was singing while he tucked his chin down into his chest and stared down at the lapping water. He could still hear the music playing in the background, but (Y/n) knew he would be focusing on the closer surrounding sounds. The sounds of the boys laughing and screeching and continuously moving and kicking around the pool was going to be more loud and distracting for Rowan.

After about ten minutes, Rowan flopped his head onto (Y/n)'s arm. He stayed cuddled up in the corner, but he seemed relieved when some of the boys climbed out the pool and ran over to the drinks table.

His stimming continued and he started to curl his fingers and he dropped the spade in favour of slamming his palm down into the water and patting the bottom of the pool. He stayed content as (Y/n) kissed the top of his head and ran her hand up and down his back.

Things seemed to be going well until someone popped a balloon.

Loud noises frightened Rowan. Whenever a car or a motorbike drove past and the engine banged, he would shudder and jump a mile. Balloons bursting made a horrid echo and was as frightening to Rowan as a gunshot to everyone else.

"Boys, be careful please-"

As soon as another balloon popped, Rowan screeched. His eyes screwed shut, his jaw dropped like a silent scream, his version of another stim and he began violently rocking back and forth. His heels slammed down into the pool so tightly and roughly that it would undoubtedly bruise the back of his heels.

"Baby-" (Y/n) bit her lower lip when she tried to move her arms forward to try and hold Rowan, but he fought off her touch. His hands lifted up and planted down on either side of his neck and he began digging his short nails into his skin. He dragged them down hard and fast, raking his fingers up and down until blood welled beneath his fingernails and deep scratches welled up on his skin.

His scream pierced through her ears and when she held his wrists to try and pull his hands away. She didn't want him to have a full meltdown here, not when he'd been having such a good day so far and enjoying himself.

"Baby come on, it's okay, you're okay."

She couldn't pull his hands away for more than two seconds before he was crying and moving his hands back to scratching his neck. So (Y/n) settled for slipping her hands beneath his arms to lift him up out of the pool. His elbows thrashed into her shoulders and chest and when his knee collided with her stomach, (Y/n) choked on the little air left in her lungs.

She managed to get Rowan out of the pool and got him sat down on the grass beside her.

He couldn't keep having a meltdown out here, (Y/n) had to get him inside so he was somewhere quieter, safer and secluded so no one could see. It wasn't fair for everyone to see him like this and it was Denny's party. But (Y/n) could already hear the music had been turned off and everyone was as quiet as a mouse. No one moved closer and all the boys took a few steps back, wanting to help but not knowing how.

None of the team had witnessed Rowan having a meltdown, they had only seen him a handful of times and were still getting to know him.

"Okay buddy, come here."

(Y/n) looked up when Evan was suddenly knelt in front of them, speaking a bit louder to be heard over Rowan's cries. He had taken one of the vacant towels from a nearby chair and when (Y/n) managed to pull Rowan's hands from his neck, Evan swooped in with the towel. He wrapped it around Rowan's shoulders and high up on his neck to prevent him from being able to scratch and draw anymore blood.

As soon as it was around him, Evan swooped him up in his arms and got to his feet. He shivered at feeling his boy scream into his neck and he could feel his legs bashing and kicking into his abdomen to try and get free, but he tried to ignore the feeling.

(Y/n) watched Evan hurry ahead towards the kitchen and she paused in her tracks of following him to look at Karen.

"I- I'm sorry, the balloons-"

"Don't be sorry, he's not done anything wrong."

"You can turn the music back on and carry on, don't let this spoil their fun. Once he's calmed down he'll be fine." It wouldn't be fair on Denny and the boys if they kept the music off and effectively stopped the party. They were all having fun and the party wasn't over yet, they could go back to their games.

This was something that happened for Rowan, he would get frightened or overwhelmed or too stimulated and he would have a meltdown. He would scream or cry or sometimes he just went mute and lashed out of they tried to interact with him. But it was becoming more and more frequent that he would hurt himself, whether that was scratching his skin or slamming his hands on the walls. It was his way of a release.

She made her way into the kitchen to find Evan sat on the floor, cross-legged with his back up against a cupboard and Rowan in his arms. The five year old was leant back into his chest, hands clearly stimming beneath the towel and his body violently rocking back and forth as he switched from screaming to crying instead.

"Alright, it's alright Ro, you're okay." Evan repeated the little mantra a few times as (Y/n) moved to sit down beside him on the floor.

They knew they couldn't overwhelm him with words and too much conversation. They couldn't bombard him and ask what was wrong or tell him what to do or say too many different things because it would just confuse and overwhelm him. The same few things were all he needed to calm him down. He needed reassurance and understanding.

When the shaking started to subside, (Y/n) leaned across and very slowly ran her fingers through Rowan's damp curls, brushing them back on his head so they were out of his face.

She paused and leaned back, unsure what Rowan was about to do when he suddenly writhed in Evan's arms and flung off the towel that was seemingly too constricting for him. But she breathed in relief when Rowan scuttled onto her lap instead.

He stood between her legs with his damp chest pushing forward on hers and he instantly looped his arms tightly around her neck. His cheek leaned on her shoulder and he began panting rather than crying, clearly having exhausted himself.

His eyes locked with Evan while he moved back and forth against (Y/n)'s chest, stimming and rocking in her arms to try and stay calm. But Evan was relieved when Rowan didn't cry or try to push him away when he cupped the back of Rowan's head and leaned over to kiss his temple.

"You're okay, buddy."

He was steadily calming down, and he would be a lot happier when they got back home in his comfort zone where he could relax with both parents.

[itneverendshere]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was supposed to be fun?

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

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

This was definitely a mistake.

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

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

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

Rafe Cameron.

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

Until now.

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

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

You blinked at him. “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

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

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

“So, what’s that book about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

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

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

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

What the hell had just happened?

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

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

It was Rafe.

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

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

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

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

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

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, I swear—”

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

You hated every second of it.

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

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

“Stop staring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gawked at him. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You learned that the hard way two days later.

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

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

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

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

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

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

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

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

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

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

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

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

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

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

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

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

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think I’m lying? 

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

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

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

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

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[raggedytiger]

ragatha/agatha and pomni/penny human hcs!

(r)agatha:

is an english teacher!

yes she still loves horses. she used to ride them, & she loves old western movies.

owns cowboy hat and boots.

analytical and loves long & winding conversations.

has a very happy cat named sandwich.

patches her own clothes, doesn't have kids but if she did she would embroider their names into their belongings.

she still plays cello, she loves music in general, probably sings like an angel.

can't do any mathematics.

can drive, but like a lunatic. somehow has never had an accident though, so it's fine.

probably has a cute little baby blue/yellow car now, but definitely had a beat up offroader truck at some point that got put to good use. or maybe she still does, i'm not the boss.

total lesbian, a bit of a heartbreaker but not intentionally (women just keep falling for her)

goes to town/neighbourhood/community meetings. likely is/was in a knitting circle

absurd number of quilts in her home

pomni/penny:

is an accountant as we know, and cannot cook for shit as we know.

no pets she can barely take herself for walks. is more similar to a cat, but had a dog growing up. would love a collie or a dalmatian probably.

would name the dog something stupid like Thermometer Johnson.

she can drive, but nervously.

really quick thinker, like impressively, unless she's under HUGE amounts of stress. is literally always thinking at 100mph.

no sense of interior decor or personal style. all practical, kind of butch. really does kill a suit.

very much lesbian but not fully to terms with it. probably had short-lived relationships with men in which she was 'content' but didn't really care for it. seeing agatha as agatha for the first time was probably a crazy punch to her little gay heart. not to mention the cowboy gear.

autistic

watches 90s anime to wind down

listens to every single genre of music. passes a lot of time with headphones in, slowly making her way thru the entire world's discography

owns no band merch or anything though she just listens

can't sleep without a fan on, thunderstorm 12hr audio, blackout curtains, weighted blanket, water nearby

does not sleep a lot

both of them (going to call them pomni and ragatha for convenience):

didn't immediately recognise one another. i havent got an exact idea of how they reunited after getting out, but there were tears.

bonded in a very rare and unique way - they got to revel in the newfound joys of real life again. they got to eat delicious food, go on long, unobstructed walks in the real sun, be warmed by it, chew on ice cubes and shiver at the pain, listen to each other's heartbeats, listen to real music, read real books, smell soaps and flowers and sauces. they went to the supermarket together and read all the labels, and bought one of each type of fruit to try between them, and smelled all the candles, and touched all the blankets. spent a lot of time holding hands and kissing and i'm sorry to say, probably having sex, because holy shit, i'm real, you're real, we're real

now live together in ragatha's apartment, after pomni moved out of her small and confusingly-furnished flat.

both of them feel inadequate from time to time. this is resolved by a stern-but-loving talking-to.

sandwich likes pomni very much. pomni doesn't really get cats, but loves sandwich a great deal, and enjoys letting her sleep on her lap.

ragatha is very pleased to see her girls getting along.

ragatha cooks, pomni chops the veg. she often doesn't fuck it up

pomni cleans a lot as a 'thank you for letting me live here, i love you'. she's very much acts of service, ragatha is words & physical touch <3

they watch a lot of movies together. depending on how long they've been stuck, they might have culture to catch up on

ragatha wants to have a house with a garden one day. pomni starts germinating seeds from their fruit & veg like a weird science experiment. ragatha is delighted when she is presented with a baby tomato plant.

clothes are shared. ragatha's are bigger, but most of pomni's are ill-fitting anyway so it can go both ways. ragatha likes to dress pomni up in different outfits and have her do a little fashion show. pomni pretends not to savour the confidence boost.

pomni starts sleeping more

[inkdrinkerworld]

Dealer!remus and autistic!reader’s relationship starts off so rocky guys let me tell you!!! Angst to fluff

Remus doesn’t fully get that he can’t just say things- like he’s got to be deliberate and conscious of the words he uses and his tone.

He’s never had to do that before so it’s weird and it’s hard to learn and he slips up sometimes.

One of your biggest arguments happens when he’s frustrated and you’re just trying to help.

You’d seen him so sullen and moody on James’ story so you decided to do for him, what you do for yourself.

You baked.

But then you realized you’re not at the stage where you know his absolute favourite type of cookie so you go a little all out.

You bake chocolate chip biscoff cookies. Chocolate chip toffee cookies, regular chocolate chip and brown butter chocolate chip.

You set them in a cute box and you text Remus that you’re coming to see him. You’re thinking everything’s going to go well, you’re gonna drop the cookies off for him, maybe he’s going to tell you what’s bugging him- maybe not; either way he won’t be alone.

Except you get there and immediately you feel like you’re inconveniencing him.

Try as you might not to take it personally, it’s really hard because he seems particularly peeved at you.

“Why are you here?” His tone is sharp and jagged and it winds you a little.

“I brought you cookies to cheer you up. Saw that you weren’t yourself on James’ story,” you keep your tone even, light- a practiced thing from your days of dealing with people that didn’t quite get you.

“Why would that cheer me up?” At this point everything’s going downhill fast and you try to salvage what little is left of your deflated cheeriness and open up the box to display the array of cookies.

Remus at the same time waves his hand and the box goes pitching across his living room floor and he explodes.

You can’t remember the last time someone had yelled at you like that and honestly, it hurt more coming from Remus who was so normally relaxed and chilled.

You don’t even tell him goodbye, you just clean up all the mess while he’s cursing and yelling and then leave.

What’s twists the bloodied blade in the wound is that he doesn’t even try to stop you or reach out to you for three days.

By which point you’ve already gone mostly nonverbal and you’re in no mood to entertain or fake a personality for the sake of your friends when you do see them.

Remus stops at your house after you ignore three invitations to his place.

“Dove, I know you’re at home. Can you open the door please?” His voice is muffled through the hard wood of the door and you have half a kind to leave it shut- he’d been mean, he’d said things that were very hurtful now that you’ve actually processed what he’s said fully.

You don’t know if you can stand to see him. Then he knocks again, “I want to look at you when I apologise, sweet girl. Please open the door.” And the wholesale remorse in his tone shakes your core and you cave.

He steps inside with a box and three tulips. “I figured I’d have had to do it face to face for it to really mean anything and because I realized I was an absolute prick to you when you just came over to help.”

You don’t even hum. Usually, when he was nice Remus- as you’ve differentiated in your head - you’d be able to look him in the eyes every couple of words, but right now you just look over his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have yelled or sworn at you like that. It wasn’t cool and I never want to speak to you like that- ever. I was an idiot and I just want to make up for it.”

There’s about a minute where Remus thinks he’s just fucked every single bit of progress you’ve both made with each other and then you let out a big breath.

“You can’t say things that you don’t mean just because you’re upset. What you said really hurt my feelings and I don’t like feeling the way you made me feel when you were that angry. If we continue to be friends you can’t do that because it makes it hard for me to trust you and find what you’re saying believable.”

Your voice is hoarse and crackly from lack of use and Remus feels even worse. “I’ll do better, I swear. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you- it’ll never be, but I am sorry that I did.”

You nod once, succinct and definitive. Remus holds out the box to you, showing a puzzle you’d been eyeing for a while.

“Can we build it together?” He asks softly, an ebb of vulnerability given away as you catch his eyes.

“Okay, but we have to do corners first, then work our way in.” Remus nods, his other hand holding the flowers for you. The tulips are a pristine white.

“The lady at the shop said they’re good for conveying apologies.”

You smile a little, “These ones are also for condolences.” Remus shakes his head,

“Not this time,” he watches you put them in a vase of water. “Also, ‘if we continue to be friends’, thought we were a little closer than friends, sweet girl?”

He relishes in the way you bite your lip to hide your grin as you take the puzzle box from him and set it up on your coffee table.

“Well I wasn’t sure if you wanted to acknowledge it or not.”

Remus says very seriously as he sits opposite you at the coffee table, ducking down so he can catch your eyes as you take out the numbered bags. “I’m always acknowledging it, we’re more than friends dove. When everything’s not so fucked, I’ll take you out and do it with pink and red lilies.”

[dunmeshistash]

The thing about Laios as well, is what if Kui genuinely didn't intentionally write him to be autistic? It's impossible to know how much she does or doesn't know about autism or if that was ever something she was directly considering in the process of making him. People have been joking (?) about how angry they'll be and how they'll lose faith in her as an author if she says she didn't write him to be autistic and it feels like it's putting really pressure on her (with no knowledge of her personal life and experiences in a culture that stigmatizes autism greatly) and putting autistic fans in a bad situation no matter what happens, because ableists aren't suddenly going to be any more positive about it if she says he is and if she says he's not or doesn't give an answer then that'll just embolden more people to be hateful, especially if people do react badly to that. With the way people have been getting really invasive about Kui's sexuality for ages now, too, I'm worried about how entitled people feel to her living up to their idea of her as a person and that the same kind of parasocial treatment could happen over this.

I'm autistic and think Laios is an autistic character regardless of if Kui would describe him by that word and that it's important to discuss that in a positive light. I don't think that's any less the case even if she does say directly that's not how she wrote him. But it feels like the pressure on her to confirm it is a situation that could go very badly in a lot of ways.

Kui has written about mental health in other situations, more specifically she has a whole one shot that uses being a werewolf as a metaphor to being a special needs child and one which compares socializing to a rythym game because it feels so hard to the main character. (Edit: Oh yeah the werewolf one is a little... idk how much I agree with it, it's negative about medication use so you might want to not read it)

I think is HIGHLY unlikely it wasn't on purpose, there's details about Laios that have no need to be there otherwise like the fact he has texture issues

tbh I think it's a little rude to imply she wrote a perfect autism representation by accident?

People are overreacting as usual about whether she admits it out loud or not tbh. I see it as them having no respect for her as a real person only wanting the image they have of her to fit.

[drchucktingle]

i know folks just kind of SAY things online and especially with young buckaroos there are just 'lines' that get tossed around endlessly online (not the hero we need etc. etc.) but i would just like to take a moment and mention something about this particular 'line'

i will give benefit of the doubt to buckaroo who posted this i am sure you did not think much and probably meant well with a little throwaway comment but please understand something about this

AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS have been compared to robots and machines our whole lives. we are constantly dehumanized in this way. so while it might not seem like much of a comment i would just say this for neurodivergent community it often feels like a deeply unkind way. it will likely only get worse as time goes on.

anyway buds who do this it is honest mistake i know you are not trying to hurt anyone just something to think on in the future. maybe just take moment to consider the history of dehumanizing autistic buckaroos and calling them robots

[bonefall]

Not sure if this is the place to ask or if I should go to Bonebabble, but ooh, Dungeon Meshi mention! I love what you said about low-empathy and apathy, I think I’ll use that in ny own characters.

I wanted to ask why you think Shuro is autistic. I’ve seen a lot of people say it so there must be a reason why, but I don’t think it’s really obvious to me? Like with Laios, autism/neurodivergence is so integral to his story, so it’s deeply obvious. I love the way he’s written! But we don’t see a lot of Shuro, so I’d like to hear more of why people see the tism in him.

@bonebabbles is the better place to send these in the future but it's chill! The vibe right now's loose since we're all coming down from the heaviness of Mooncourse lmao

Honestly, I feel a little 'tism in a lot of the cast of Dungeon Meshi. As a very autistic writer myself, it kind of has a vibe like it was written by someone who's autistic and so it gets peppered into all of her characters. It's something I notice a lot in my own art, too.

But like, when it comes to Toshiro... I can't stop thinking about him. He makes me want to chew the furniture. With every passing day I become less normal about him.

glossary because I had a lot of thoughts about Toshiro Dungeon Meshi i guess. Oh my god this got long

He reminds me of some people I know

His culture clash is very relatable to me in an autistic way

He has a rigid commitment to his values and morals

Miscellaneous Autism Moments

THE LAIOS FIGHT

in conclusion

He reminds me of some people I know

He reminds me of certain autistic men I've met from affluent families. The type who both is taught to repress and mask their own traits, yet also not to be incredibly mindful of the emotions of other people. Because of their status, they don't have to learn how to work out interpersonal conflict because the majority of the people around them are servants or family. People who would never go away if they didn't like you.

So, his vassals have to learn to talk to him and how to carry out his orders. Not the other way around. As a result, Toshiro has a bit of unearned confidence about his leadership abilities and communication skills. NOT in a way that is smug, DO NOT misunderstand me; just in a way that overestimates his own judgement. Maybe he has encyclopedic knowledge for talking to other nobles offscreen, but when it came to his own team, he was ignoring a lot of the good advice they gave him about taking breaks.

Yes, Toshiro is from a high-context culture-- but his communication issues are bad with everyone.

ESPECIALLY his vassals, people he calls family, from the same exact culture as him. They're worried about him, most of them are desperate for acknowledgement, they'd do anything for him, and he doesn't address this until AFTER his brawl with Laios!

His culture clash is very relatable to me in an autistic way

Toshiro knew he was going somewhere that was going to be a melting pot of mostly western cultures. He knew the manners were going to be different, and he came alone, not in a group where he was only interacting with his own people.

Yet he NEVER adjusted his own social behavior.

I'm American and my partner is British. When I first went, I had no idea why they were offering me so much tea. I thought I was being polite by following them into the kitchen, thinking they wanted to move the conversation over there. My partner quickly fixed this by explaining that when someone offers you tea, they're taking a short pause in the lull of a conversation to be a good host.

I am autistic. What someone else might have just figured out through getting an awkward look, I had to be told directly. There are a lot of little things like that.

Toshiro feels like what would happen if the opposite was happening, an autistic person from a high-context culture coming to a low-context culture. He can't properly express discomfort. It's not JUST Laios, King of Autism, that he's having issues talking to. Neither Marcille nor Chilchuck know that "Shuro" is a mispronunciation, and they had no clue that he disliked Laios THIS much.

I even think it's kinda telling that Toshiro felt the most comfortable with Falin out of the rest of the party. The hyper-empathetic autistic girl who goes out of her way to accommodate others.

He has a rigid commitment to his values and morals

A strict, uncompromising moral compass is a hallmark of autism. It's everything Toshiro does!!

When Falin was eaten, he bolted off to assemble the best team he could think of. He believes that love is sacrifice, so he pushes his body and his family to the limit to try and prove how much he loves Falin. Chilchuck freaks out when he finds out that Laios told him about the dark magic, because "HE'S THE WORST PERSON TO TELL!"

LIKE, YEAH! HE SURE IS!

Maizuru also explains that from a very young age, he's been incredibly compliant. He never asks for anything, he's always been a bit sickly and uninterested in eating. He always tries to be on his very best behavior, even if that means not asking for accommodations he might actually need.

In fact, the only food he seems to LIKE eating is what Maizuru makes him. To the point where she ended up getting pulled into the kitchen even when she was on a "mission." Senshi makes a cute comment that it's "love" that Maizuru puts into those meals, but... what if it's actually because she knows the textures and flavors he likes?

Miscellaneous Autism Moments

There's so many little moments that are so incredibly autistic to me.

He sees Falin with a bug and he proposes right on the spot. The other characters are like, "oh that's just how they act in the east" but no the fuck it is not. They don't even know "Shuro" is a mispronunciation, how the hell do they know anything about eastern courting traditions?

I know EXACTLY what happened. I'm beaming you this information directly from the truth.

Toshiro was TOLD that you're supposed to 1. make your proposals a surprise, and 2. you will know the right one when you see them, and NO ONE elaborated any further because he comes from a high context culture. He popped that question the first time both of those boxes were ticked off.

In coming from a high context culture, what he does is strictly follow rules and conditions he was taught.

And that's absolutely why he handed Laios that bell. Because he does care about him and the party, and he's taught that doing these acts of service is a show of that... and he didn't even think ahead to the fact the bell was going to be ringing constantly.

And yet. In spite of that, he ALWAYS keeps it near him.

Before it clicked and I realized why, I used to think Toshiro was kind of an asshole for running off to get his vassals without even telling Marcille and Laios about his plan. Like... how could you not know they were going to do something drastic? The three of them were the Falin Fan Club and he was the most normal member of it. It's so obvious to me that Laios (brother) and Marcille (""Gal Pal"") were going to get themselves in danger.

So how could you just run off like that without telling them? Even if lack of supplies meant they couldn't go back in, how could you just leave them worried sick in the town, thinking you abandoned Falin?

And then it hit me. The man just has low empathy.

There WAS no malice, just like how there wasn't malice in how he was pushing him and his vassals to the limits, just like how there was never malice against Laios. It simply didn't occur to him like that.

He's never been taught to consider the thoughts and feelings of others very deeply and they don't come naturally. He's still compassionate. There's a reason all of his vassals love him!

But THAT'S WHY he never put himself in Laios' shoes, or anyone else's. Empathy does not come naturally to him. All of his good behavior is as a result of his moral code, NOT empathy.

So with that said, why does he love Falin so much? Aside from the wonderful, positive traits he lists when he's asked? I mean, what's really deep down at the core of why he finds these things so lovely?

Well... Falin and Laios are not all that different from each other, to the point where Toshiro gets gently ribbed in a bonus chapter about how if one of them was a girl, Shuro might have loved Laios instead. He waxes poetic about the ways she's different from most women, how she's not afraid of things like insects, her compassion, her face, her laugh.

These are all things Laios does too (in fact in one of the panels where Toshiro is appreciating Falin, she's trying to check if a caterpillar is a male or female), but Falin's personality expresses in a more subdued and introverted way. Closer to how Toshiro is, as a person. So... I think it's because he relates to her.

To both Touden siblings. But Laios makes him see things he doesn't want to.

THE LAIOS FIGHT

We established that Toshiro has a strict commitment to his values, he probably has low empathy, and even taking his cultural differences into account he's bad at communicating.

So then, why was one of his complaints against Laios' obliviousness that he "knows he doesn't mean anything by it, and that makes it worse"? Isn't that kinda specific when you think about it?

If you're neurodivergent, I want you to think back to points in time where you dealt with people who have the same issues you do. Autism, ADHD, PTSD, DID, whatever. Did you ever have a moment where they did something harmless or mildly inconvenient, definitely as a result of the same exact thing you have, and you just... HATED it?

You HATED it even more than you would anyone else doing the same thing. You probably know your response was disproportionate. But YOU don't do that THING they did. Or if you do that, it's less bad somehow. Or you used to do that but don't anymore and it reminds you of when you did.

If you're reflective, you might have realized it might be internalized ableism. I feel like that's a huge part of why Toshiro finds Laios SO. ANNOYING. Laios is like this stupid, idiot, blundering caricature of things Toshiro has been taught to avoid, which violate his moral code. Shuro comes from a place of so many more rules and subtle cues, and it's like Laios doesn't respect any of them.

What STARTS this fight, causes Laios to finally hit back after being smacked, shoved, and shouted at, is being told "YOU'RE NOT TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY."

It's so obviously wrong! Laios, who ran back into a dungeon immediately? Who Toshiro himself called rash? This is NOT a logical conclusion to make about Laios or his party. I think it came from frustration that Laios "does things the wrong way." That it's projection, stemming from that low empathy.

He's not like Kabru in the same chapter, who's desperately trying to get a read on Laios' inner workings and failing. Shuro's just extrapolating his own feelings onto him, because he's recognizing that same "sense" within him. If TOSHIRO didn't follow the rules he sets down for himself, that's not "taking it seriously."

Toshiro follows the rules. Laios does not.

...and Laios is FREE.

He's open and honest in a way Toshiro can never be, not as a noble, not as an easterner, and not as an autistic man. Hell, Laios was ALSO a noble, he gave that up! Threw that away, and then came back to his village and took Falin away from it. If Laios is acting like an idiot, he's acting like an idiot who does everything Toshiro has ever wanted to do. Laios cannot mask and Toshiro resents that.

One of the things Toshiro even explicitly says he HATES about Laios is the fact he's willing to be a burden on other people. Maizuru said earlier that he's NEVER made a "selfish request" before-- but Laios can just open his mouth and ask for help, feeling no shame, just as he did in this chapter when he asked him not to tell the Island Lord about the dark magic.

And then, after they literally come to blows, Toshiro tells Laios some incredibly brutal things, revealing he's NEVER been his friend and he has resented him this whole time. This actually sits with Laios well into the later chapters, but the fight ends and then they're just CHATTING FRIENDLY LIKE IT DIDN'T MATTER.

More honestly than ever before, because Toshiro is returning the effort. He eats some food (the narrative's metaphor for making connections). He thanks his vassals for the first time. He talks about how he wishes he'd told Falin about all the things he adored about her when he still had the chance.

I have to take the panels of his response right out of the manga actually because this little expression here is so subtle, but so meaningful.

(Read <- <- <- that way)

Look at the way that when Laios makes that genuine movement, assuring him with passion that he will be making sure Falin receives this message, Toshiro's gut response is annoyance. But then it softens and he pauses, like he's reconsidering what his response is going to be.

To admit that he envies "this side of Laios" is also admitting that the earlier fight was based on envy.

Laios was like this the WHOLE time. Making these grand speeches about his plans, what his party's been doing, how Toshiro needs to eat something and take a nap. He's ALWAYS been like this. It was Toshiro's mindset that changed.

In conclusion

Something I really like about Dungeon Meshi is HOW MANY of its characters can be read as autistic. Laios is just the most obvious one, with his special interest in monsters and inability to read social cues being central to the plot. His is a more "well known" expression of autism-- it's rare you get characters whose masking is central to their characters.

But it's really refreshing to see characters like Kabru, Falin, and Toshiro. Autistic people are rare enough in popular media to begin with, but we NEVER get characters whose autism intersects with their trauma, gender, and culture quite like these three.