#you're autistic?
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cashthecomposer · 1 year ago
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I may be alone in this, but I fucking hate career opportunities, grants, contests, competitions, scholarships, etc, that are about identity rather than merit. Winning something based on a facet of who I am that I cannot change, that's not okay by me. I want to progress based on the merit of my work, not the fact that your organization wants to check a box off on its quota, nor the idea that I somehow need your help because from your perspective an aspect of my self implies that my work can't stand against that of a cis-straight-white-ablebodied-man, and least of all because there's an imbalance of work in existence representative of a group I happen to be a part of!
I was talking to a place earlier today about potentially collaborating on a project that would further my ambitions with my show. I was very excited, until they mentioned that having a disabled woman led work with a mostly queer cast was something they had never done before, and they'd like to market it based on that premise. Never mind the fact I spent just shy of a decade writing this! Who cares that I spent 20 odd years training in music to learn how! Not important that the story, the music, the people, are all (to toot my own horn) fucking fabulous! No, we care about the PR.
That's what it boils down to, friends. Getting something based on the fact that you happen to be a woman, or happen to be disabled, or happen to be queer, rather than because YOUR WORK DESERVES IT, is not okay, in fact, it perpetuates the idea that our work is somehow different from the work of the 'typical' in the past. When it is not.
This is why a living wage as minimum wage, or better yet universal income, better disability services, women's reproductive rights, are such important things to champion. Were it not for the severe discrepancies between peoples of varying identities, we would be able to just let the merit of an individual's work speak for itself. But, since we live in the worst timeline, I have to accept these opportunities even when I really don't want to based on my moral compass, because on the one hand, if I don't, they'll use it as an excuse to just turn back to the traditional- and biased- path, and on the other hand, I can't fucking afford not to.
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iron-bullogna · 6 months ago
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autistic wizards just hit different
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whydooldpeopletalk · 9 months ago
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Speaking as someone who's been outed many, many times, by both "allies" and homo/transphobes, some of yall are way too comfortable sharing other peoples' queer identities.
"But what if I'm trying to be funny?" Doesn't matter.
"But what if I'm an ally?" Doesn't matter
"But what if the person I'm talking to is an ally?" Doesn't matter.
"But what if I'm queer?" Doesn't matter
"But what if the person I'm talking to is queer?" Doesn't matter.
"But what if the person I'm talking about is a stranger?" Doesn't matter.
"But what if it's really obvious?" First of all, ew. Second of all, Doesn't matter.
"But what if they didn't come out to me, I just figured it out on my own?" Doesn't matter.
"But what if they're getting misgendered?" It's just as easy to say 'actually she's a girl' as it is to say 'actually she's transgender and uses she/her'. If that person is pretransition, it's also easy to just bite your tongue and not say anything.
Unless that person has explicitly given you permission to share that information, you DON'T. No matter how certain you are that everyone is accepting, no matter how noble your intentions, it's not your information to share. Getting clocked sucks, getting outed sucks, and they're both an invasion of privacy no matter who's doing it.
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t00thpasteface · 1 year ago
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"it's very problematic to make your space aliens autistic-coded" SPEAK FOR YOURSELF 👽👽👽👽👽🛸🛸🛸 ALIEN LASER BLAST ATTACK ✨✨✨🌠🌠🌠🌠🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
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ps1demodisk · 9 months ago
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Sorry I'm not low empathy autistic in the "mysterious loner boy who secretly cares about his friends and talks in a monotone voice" way and I'm actually just completely indifferent to the suffering of people I don't know personally and help strangers out of a sense of "this is the right thing to do" and not "I feel so bad for this person" or guilt.
I sit and listen to my friends even though I don't really care about hearing about their problems because I know they'll be upset if I don't, and despite the fact I honestly can't genuinely care about the issue itself, I care about the impact it's having on my friends and that's enough to make me want to help them through it.
Did you know that's actually an expression of empathy all of its own?
It will absolutely happen again I literally am not even sorry
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etherealspacejelly · 1 year ago
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underrated stim: mouthing along to the words of a song as if you are having an argument with someone. works very well with i will survive, for example
you gotta get into character with the facial expressions and hand gestures. my bedroom wall is sick of me. anyway.
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theangelofbrahma · 7 months ago
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bottlecap-joe-spooky · 4 months ago
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Fellas is it gay to play chess (with a chess peice based after your "rival")?
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humans-are-tasty · 7 months ago
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thesylverlining · 6 months ago
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Instead of "you came back wrong", I came back wrong and no one will tell me why.
No one will even tell me I'm wrong, I just feel it in the way their voices are so cheerful and strained, how they look at me and smile too hard, until it looks like it hurts their faces, like they're smiling to keep from screaming.
I came back wrong and I know you gave up so much for me, things I'm terrified to even ask, things you'd cry to tell, but you won't, you'll never even tell me you failed.
Everything is exactly the way I remember it, everyone, even you, except now you've spent too long and awkward a time in a room with a stranger and can't think of a polite way to leave (or ask them to)
I wish you would just tell me the truth, or listen when I say I KNOW I came back wrong, instead of changing the subject or insisting it's fine, everything's fine, it's so much better with me here, your dreams come true. But that would be admitting it was for nothing.
So we both sit here. Until one of us cracks. If there's mercy, it'll be at the same time.
It's not you, it's me.
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rjalker · 2 years ago
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Dear people who aren't physically disabled who plan to write fantasy settings:
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[ID: Several images taken from the Geordi La Forge yes and no meme format, with Geordi holding out a hand disapprovingly for the no section, then pointing in approval for the yes section.
The first image is the meme:
No: "Saying the existance of magic in your setting means there are no disabled people (this literally just means disabled people are killed. AKA eugenics)"
Yes: "Having disabled people who use magical mobility aids and other assistive devices. Realizing that someone is still disabled even if their prosthetic arm is made of magic instead of plastic."
This is followed by four more panels of yes section:
"Geordi la Forge is still literally disabled. His visor helping him does not erase his disability and make him magically abled."
"Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender is still literally disabled even though her Earthbending helps her. It does not make her disability ~magically~ go away."
"Having your disability be accomodated does not mean the disability goes away. Having a prosthetic hand, even one that's made of magic, does not mean you're not disabled."
"Magical mobility aids do not mean disabled people don't exist. It just means they use magical mobility aids instead of plastic or metal ones. A limb made of magic is still a prosthetic even if it's made of the soul of the universe instead of plastic and metal."
Then another no panel: "'There's no disabled people beacuse magic'".
Then one last yes panel: "'Magic helps disabled people in a variety of ways'".
End ID.]
This also applies to science fiction; just because Luke Skywalker's prosthetic hand is super advanced doesn't mean it's no longer a prosthetic, or that he's not disabled. Same with Darth Vader - just because he has a suit that lets him breathe and walk around doesn't mean he's not disabled. (And Star Wars' propensity for making the villains visibly disabled while the heroes disabilities get covered up by super advanced prosthetics is a topic that deserves its own post, especially with how ableist some of the authors of the books are. Troy Denning is especially ableist)
Edit:
Because people keep being fucking obnoxious and ableist in the tags, yes,,, motherfuckers, if you refuse to have disabled people in your setting, that does make you fucking ableist. If you say that the magic is used to cure all disabled people and that's why they don't exist, that's fucking eugenics.
You cannot ""cure"", more like remove all disabilities without fucking eugenics. Magically automatically destroying disabled fetuses (a very fucking popular trope!) is eugenics.
The only way to fucking "cure" autism is to fucking kill all autistic people, also known as eugenics!
What about people with PTSD? Do you just fucking brainwash them so they aren't traumatized anymore?
Do you force all Deaf people to be able to hear? Do you force all blind people to be able to see? Do you force all anosmics to be able to smell?
Do you magically force everyone with a speech impediment to speak to your standards?
Do you force everyone born with bodily or facial differences to live up to your fucking standard of beauty?
You cannot fucking say "disablities don't exist in this universe because magic cures everything" without inherently saying that eugenics exists in your fucking universe.
Not all fucking disabilities need a cure. If you ""cured"" my autism I'd just be fucking dead. You'd literally just be changing me into what you think is fucking acceptable.
Stop fucking arguing in defence of ableists on my fucking post so you can pretend that eugenics has never been written about in magical settings when it is extremely fucking prevalent.
And while we're fucking at it, let your gods damned characters become disabled over the course of their story, and call them disabled within the fucking story. I don't care if they're a robot. I don't care if they have magic. Not all fucking damage can be fixed. Curses exist. Hardware can go out of fucking date and no longer be manufactured anywhere.
Let your characters become disabled and do not magically fucking cure them back to brand new every single time they get hurt. The only thing you accomplish by doing that is destroying any chance of ever having stakes.
No, "magical healing leaves scars on the mind from the memory of the injuries though!!!!" is not fucking good enough. Let your characters have scars. Let them become disabled. Stop being fucking ableist cowards.
Edit number fucking 2:
No, motherfuckers, you do not get to comment "if the disability was caused by magic it's not ableist to cure it with magic". You are the ableist this post is about. Shut the absolute fuck up, stop treating being disabled as the worst possible outcome, and just admit you're a fucking ableist. If you don't want your characters to become disabled, then don't fucking make them disabled.
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[ID: The Garfield "you are not immune to propaganda" meme, now edited to read:
"If your first thought upon reading this post is, 'Oh, but it's okay to magically cure disabilities caused by magic!' Congrats…you are the exact sort of ableist jackass this post is about."
End ID.]
Edit number fucking 3:
Autistic people exist! People who are born with disabilities exist! You cannot create a setting where disabled people do not exist because we're all "cured" or "fixed" and not inherently say that you are killing disabled people as soon as they're born, or fucking aborting us as soon as you figure out we'd be born disabled! That's fucking eugenics!
There is no way to "cure" autism without eugenics! There is no way to "cure" people with body differences without eugenics! There is no way to make disabled people nonexistant in your setting without eugenics! Thinking you can and should "cure" and "fix" all disabilities IS EUGENICS!
Also:
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[ID: A character shouting at the camera, now edited to read: "Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! If the rules of Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them! It is your fucking personal responsability to be a better person than your bigoted society wants you to be!". End ID.]
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[ID: White text on a dark brown background with white and black borders around the edges, that reads:
"I don't fucking know or care about Dungeons and Dragons.
This post is not about Dungeons and Dragons.
Do not fucking throw the rulebook of Dungeons and Dragons at me like it's some sort of 'Gotcha!'.
You will literally just be blocked like the rest of the ableist assholes who've already tried it.
If you play dungeons and dragons, it's your responsability to make your games not be ableist, even if it means breaking the rules.".
End ID.]
I do not fucking care what the ableist rules are in Dungeons of Dragons. Do not fucking throw ableist rules for a game I have never and will never play at me on a post I made so that people could learn how to make their settings less ableist. If the rules in Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them. If you don't want to change them, then stop fucking playing an ableist game.
Disabled people deserve to see ourselves represented in fiction just like everyone else, without any fucking requirements that we be "cured" or "fixed" before the story ends.
How the fuck would you feel if a trans and gay character's whole story revolved around going on a quest to become straight and cis, did so, and only then was allowed to live happily ever after?
Why do you fucking think suggesting people write stories about disabled people going on a quest to be cured because it's the only way they'll ever be happy is any less fucking offensive?
Also:
This post is NOT a place for you to talk about how disabled people in fiction should have the option of curing their disabilities. It's just not. That's the fucking default for this society. That is not a revolutionary concept. It's not novel. We fucking know this society wants us gone. A post about how disabled people deserve representation is not the place to talk about how "Well, actually, in fiction disabled people should be cured!" Like that's not the fucking universal default???????????
Edit #4:
Everyone needs to stop tagging this singing praise for Fullmetal Alchemist. A story that uses disability as a punishment and the characters are on a quest to cure their disabilities is not the amazing representation you're all claiming it is just because the character who is only disabled because of DIVINE PUNISHMENT uses prosthetics.
Read this post, and this one. Fullmetal Alchemist is a hell of a lot more ableist than you people are letting on.
guess what you can now find a PDF version of this post on the web archive.
Edit #5! August 23rd, 2023!
A) Everyone. Disabilities that can only exist in the magical setting are still disabilities.
Trying to cure the younger brother's magical disability of being a soul floating around in a magical suit of armour is, in fact, going on a quest to heal a disability!
It doesn't matter if the older brother doesn't want to get his limbs back when they're going on a quest to heal the younger brother's disability! Especially when they BOTH get magically healed at the end!
Magical disabilities that can only exist in that setting, but not real life, are still disabilities, and it's not okay to magically heal them either! What part of the Garfield meme on this post did you all choose to ignore?!
B) When you leave tags on a post you are reblogging, the original poster can see them! When you leave tags on this post, I can see them!
If you think this post is ""too aggressive"" then simply do not reblog it! Don't fucking tone police me on a post I've had to edit five times now due to the constant ableism people have been commenting since I made it!
I have been called the R slur by multiple people in response to this post! People have literally reblogged this post to defend eugenics abortions! You can't see these comments or replies anymore because I blocked the poster!
If you think minorities are being too aggressive by responding appropriately to bigotry, you're a bigot! And you should either not reblog the post at all, or at the very least, shut the fuck up and not tone police us!
Do not fucking put tags on this post complaining I'm being too aggressive! That's called tone policing and you're a bigot if you do it! Don't fucking do it on anyone else's posts either! They can see your tags too!
C) When I fucking say Harry Potter fans are banned from this post, yes, this means YOU!
Either stop supporting a billionaire who's literally using the profits from her bigoted shittily written books to fund REAL FUCKING GENOCIDE, or fuck off!
By continuing to support the Harry Potter series, you are literally giving JK Rowling free fucking advertising! You are encouraging more people to read the series and watch the movies, spending more money and giving her more fucking money with which to LITERALLY SHAPE A COUNTRY'S LAWS TO COMMIT GENOCIDE. She is literally fucking fighting to make being trans illegal! She is literally fucking fighting to have even more of autistic people's rights taken away!
You cannot fucking be a fan of the Harry Potter series in 2023 and call yourself an ally to all the minorities harmed by JK Rowling and the bigotry baked into her shitty series!
Read another book! The Web Archive has tons you can read for free! Literally every single book on gutenberg.org/ is free! Including audiobooks for some of them!
If you write Harry Potter fanfiction, simply fucking get rid of the names and identifiable features and start writing original fiction instead! It's literally free!
Not supporting a literal fucking genocidal billionaire costs LITERALLY NOTHING! And if you refuse to fucking stop supporting JK Rowling, which is what you are doing when you support the Harry Potter series and squeal over her OCs, you are not an ally to any fucking minority! No! Not even if you're trans yourself!
= = =
Edit again Nobember 28th 2023 because this comment is just. such a perfect example for all of you that think this doesn't happen.
butter-whore2 said, two hours before this edit:
kind of a fan of tumblr's slightly more algorithmically elements for reminding me of the hell's other people construct for themselves but this one hits like five of the boxes. How do people do this to themselves? it's such a bizarre way to act over media I genuinely do not believe is capable of stirring an emotional response the metaphysics of disability here are unintentionally really funny but disability is not a coherent ontological framework, it's a vague descriptor for literally thousands of different things none of which lend themselves to categorizing Moralizing over fiction is incredibly lame.
Liking harry potter is also incredibly lame, it's not morally wrong nor transphobic and you do not get to decide that lol. people literally do get "cured" of their disabilities all the time, many of them have a positive experience in doing so. this is not what eugenics is.
the anti abortion stuff lol
Literally how do you live like this? you guys don't even read real books I don't get it.
Archived version of the comment for posterity.
So yeah, lofl, block this fucker.
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describe-things · 10 months ago
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This post is made with speech to text because my hand hurts from typing so much today. Please forgive any typos or speech to text swapping similar sounding words.
If you would like to start writing your own image descriptions, feel free to ask any questions.
The main things to keep in mind is that they should begin with some variation of image description start or ID, and end with some variation of image description and, and ID or something like that. This distinguish the image description from the caption or anything else.
Image descriptions should not be written in italics, bold, all caps, or any colors. If text in the image is in all caps, write it in regular case, and simply note before or after it that it's in all caps.
Image descriptions should describe all images in the post, without skipping any. This includes images that are nothing but text.
Plain text image descriptions in the body of the post are more accessible than alt text alone, because many people who need image descriptions cannot use alt text, and Tumblr is known for its glitches, so the accessibility of the alt text all by itself varies widely over time.
It is more accessible to have the image descriptions indented than not, because this helps to visually separate the image description from the caption. Having brackets or parentheses at the end is also helpful for this. This allows people to easily distinguish between the caption and the image description if they need to.
If you are an artist, writing image descriptions for your art will give you full control over the image description, and will allow you to correctly identify details that others might miss. This gives you the opportunity to show which parts of your art hold meaning to you and are important to notice.
If you are describing real people who are unknown to you, unless it is specified within the post or you are already aware, please do not assign any gendered terms to them, or any " male presenting or female presenting" terms like that. This is completely unnecessary and leads to misgendering. It is best to simply describe visible facts about the people. Hair color, length, clothes and style, pose, expression, the light or darkness of their skin, things like that. Do not assume that someone is white simply because they have light skin.
Do not use image descriptions to lie to the audience in any way and do not use image descriptions to make jokes where the audience reading the image description is the butt of the joke.
As an example, if there is a very clearly fake screenshot, do not say that it is simply a screenshot, or if a photo is very blatantly photoshopped, do not say that it is simply a photo. Say an edited photo, a badly edited photo, a screenshot with editing, something like that to indicate the changes have been made and then what you are going to be describing is not the natural version.
As an example, you would say a crab photoshopped to be driving a car. Rather than a photo of a crab driving a car.
Unless you are transcribing a text within the image, do not use meme speak within image descriptions. Do not refer to dogs as doggos for example, unless it is to specify that the dog in the image is, within the image, labeled as a doggo. Do not describe someone walking downstairs as breasted bubbly downstairs, even if it is an actor humorously walking down the stairs to imitate that sentence. Describe the facts of the movements, and then you can make the comparison for clarity.
If someone adds an image description to your post whether this be an original post or a reblog that you have added an image to, it doesn't matter how many notes to post already has, please copy and paste that image description into the original post or your original reblog. If it is a new post that has only a few notes from friends, after you update the original, you can just ask your friends to delete the reblogs of the inaccessible version and reblog the new one. Most people who are good people and care about disabled people will happily do so.
Keep in mind that image descriptions are accessibility tools. Treat them as such.
Anyone can write image descriptions. You do not need any special qualifications or training. As long as you are willing to take constructive criticism if you make a mistake, an image description written by someone who's new to it and honestly doing their best with good intentions is better than no image description at all.
I'm sure I'm forgetting some things, so please feel free to add on more tips and advice.
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seasononesam · 7 months ago
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Sam Winchester Appreciation Week 2024: Day Four - neurodivergent sam / autistic sam
I don't feel free. What we've done, what we've lost, right now, that is what I'm feeling, and sometimes it's like I can't even breathe. 
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thecoolerliauditore · 21 days ago
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hey gang gang I don't think I've seen anyone else mention this but please know that between the day-long horse argument and his awful gravel prank, Etho placed blocks in front of Bdubs to keep him safe from a skeleton. It's when they're going down to mine and run into Jimmy, Etho places two blocks in front of himself and then immediately, wordlessly makes a wall in front of Bdubs as well to protect him. No one verbally acknowledges it and I don't know if anyone other than Etho even noticed it happening. Also Tango said the word "anime" at one point and that felt very wrong.
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deepseasmetro · 27 days ago
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You know I think maybe we don't have to make fun of random autistic people online for making what you think is a cringe but otherwise harmless post
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faeriekit · 8 months ago
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The Foster Mother
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Now on ao3 and VHS release
There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.
“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.
“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”
…Alright.
Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.
Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.
And then Tim walked into the room.
And then Jazzy was there.
*
Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.
She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.
She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.
Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.
(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)
Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.
The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.
She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.
Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.
She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.
Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.
She looked up when he came in.
Tim. Stopped in his tracks.
It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.
“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.
She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!
“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“
“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.
Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.
(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)
She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.
He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”
Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.
“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”
Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”
Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?
“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”
Which. Whiplash. What a statement.
“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.
Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”
“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”
“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”
Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.
Jazzy waited patiently.
“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.
Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”
It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—
—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.
She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.
“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.
He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.
Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.
It was for the best.
“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”
…Tim’s heart skipped.
He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…
Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?
And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!
“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”
She handed him the backpack by the handle.
…Tim peeked inside.
On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.
And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.
Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.
Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.
It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.
Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.
Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.
“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“
“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.
“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”
Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.
“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!
“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”
Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.
And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.
Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.
He swallowed.
Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.
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