arachnick

[arachnick]

spot the difference

[arachnick]

repost from my a03! idk trans kremy stuff becayse I'm obsessed with jt

Kremy Lecroux, a nice name. One many would attach a negative connotation to. Scammer, fraud, bastard, if there’s an insult, he’s been called it.

And now Kremy Lecroux sat in a bar, a small grubby tavern in a place one would be brave to call a village. But he wasn’t known here, nobody would come after him with pitchforks— whether literal or metaphorical. They could stay for a while, pickpocket a bit and then leave. Simple. So here he sat with the three people he didn't leave behind, and they were better than him. Not in any way that mattered, not in a way he could verbalise or turn into something concrete and defining. They just were. He knew he was smart, clever, cunning, charismatic, whichever words worked best for the given situation. But something was there.

So instead of facing those thoughts until the sweet song call of the void rang through his ears, he grabbed his whiskey glass and downed it a bit too quickly. The burning feeling was enough to snap him out of the half daze, and weigh him back into the surroundings. And he swore that the slightly concerned glance from a certain fire genasi was simply his intoxication showing. Gods was he tired. He abruptly stood up, and announced he was going out for a smoke in the well rehearsed voice he normally used, and promptly left the sticky room. The taverns noise made his skin crawl more than usual, and in a way that alcohol didn't numb, the talking and clanking, having their conversation on the smoothness of a shark routinely interrupted by some stranger flirting with Gideon, it made him nauseous. 

The fresh air was a welcome change, even if the cold evening settled into his bones quicker than he would’ve liked, he strolled to a more secluded spot around the back of the tavern, all while fishing his cigarette box from his coat pockets and lighting it with a snap of his fingers, he rarely brought an actual lighter with him. What was the point if he had Gid around with him? Which he always did. He stopped, and leaned against the wall, he could still hear the noise from inside the tavern, but it was more muffled and gave him a chance to breathe. And with that gave him a chance to actually think properly, something that had become more and more rare as time went on. 

Where would he be if he never left his hometown, if he never made a contract or never accepted the job under Garou. Would he be the same? He didn’t know, and that answer unsettled him. He wanted to say yes, to say he’d still encounter the magic that he did, the magic that changed a lot. He told his family he’d fix it, find a way to restore their daughter, or their niece depending on the relative. But after a while of adjusting to the changed body, it felt… better. It felt right, so he kept it, he switched his name and got new clothes. But the guilt stayed, the feeling that he was betraying the people who raised him persisted and nagged at him. The main reason he never went back.

One of the memories that managed to drag its way back up. When he was in his young teens, in the unsanitary and cramped kitchen of the Crawdad Quarters, trying to scape the grease from the ridges between his scales before he threw up onto the food he was cooking. He was already starting to get overwhelmed, it was a Saturday and everyone decided to go to the cheep and not so cheerful place known for being a haven for thieves and criminals. Oscar— the kitchen’s pest control sat, snoring on one of the corners of the floor, he was quite good at chasing away the rats. Especially whenever he got snuck a piece or two of some returned meal. His legs ached, and he kept watching the clock until his break was due, watching every second tick down instead of the food he was cooking. He wasn’t usually one to go immediately to his break, and he often worked through them. But from the smell of burning oil to the ache in his legs for standing almost eight hours, he just wanted to go outside. He turned his attention back to the cooking, panicking when he realised he had almost burnt it. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! “ he hissed, as two of the other cooks turned to look at him. He quickly moving it in an attempt to salvage it, it was only tinged with black around the edges of the burger, but he hadn’t burnt anything before, not in this job. Shame started to coil in his throat, another time he had failed to be perfect. So he just tossed the rest of it together and sent it out. Before storming out of the building for his break. 

He felt like crying, it had been less than a month since he had left, since his body started to reflect how he felt. But his voice hadn’t got the fucking memo. It cracked, was overly high pitched and got stares anytime he spoke. It turned the sir’s into ma’am’s when he was finally starting to get the hang of it. He didn’t like talking, it made his throat seize and stop like he was drowning. All he wanted was for it to be normal, for it to work like he wanted it to work. Make it himself. God he was pathetic, five minutes had passed of his break and he spent it just staring at the trees. He didn’t have a reason to use the rest, so he went back inside. 

But now, now his voice fit, it took a long time and a bit of magic to adjust it, but it was deeper, more stable than it used to be. And he was able to talk normally again, better than he was even able to before. It was natural, he could use words to his advantage when he so often couldn’t. Memorising and practicing and perfecting his vocabulary and tones that he struggled with, until lies and half truths spilled more easily from his mouth than anything rightful or honest. His parents wouldn’t like it. But he wasn’t planning to go back, not for a long time. He wasn’t in a particular rush to return to the harsh judgements and silent glares. He was, well not happy, but something close. He figured, as he heard the footsteps approaching. 

“You comin’ back in or what?” A rough but warm voice called, a welcome voice as the fire genasi approached. 

“Yeah yeah Gid, just let me finish this cig” he huffed, more grateful for the interruption than he let on, a quick glance down showed that he was in fact, done with the cigarette and likely had been for a while. So he just tossed the bud on the ground and turned. “C’mon i’m dying for another whiskey.” 

Maybe he liked being who he was.

[arachnick]

I just want kremy and gideon to not get together I want them to YEARN

I have no predictions though

What are YOUR predictions for ouaw's return?

I know this isn't hc based but I thought this would be fun. Anything you think will happen, want to happen, etc etc. No big spoilers for Wilds Beyond The Witchlight, but everything else is fair game!

Either reblog this post or send me an ask!

(Note; I still have a long queue of hcs so I may decide to do a couple of these per day if there's a lot, or just post them near the ouaw start date if theres a few)

[arachnick]

some food for the 5 six of crows fans on here since i just got clip studio paint and also this flopped absolute balls on instagram

[arachnick]

we need more evil canon trans guys, more dickhead trans guys, angry trans guy, weird trans guys. Give me some trans guy characters who suck to be around

[arachnick]

I might start posting fanficiton again, 🕺 mostly kremy lecroux and gideon coal, or jayvik fanfiction but hmu if you wanna request anything bc I got no ideas

(this is a beg for fanficiton ideas PLEASE)

[arachnick]

Please Listen To Me 💔🙏

I really need your help to rescue my children to a safe place as soon as possible🥹

You Can Help By Donating, Sharing, Or Reblog 🥹🙏.

Note : Verified by

@90-ghost , @aces-and-angels , @ibtisams , @heba-20 , @northgazaupdates , @riding-with-the-wild-hunt

[arachnick]

vetted campaigns for gaza. 🍉🇵🇸

@ameera-anq : gofundme — €12,755/€20,000

@amnehsharif10 : gofundme — US$8,759/$90,000

@malkzaeem : gofundme — CA$19,540/$50,000

@burningnightgiver : gofundme — CA$5,596/$50,000

@salahaldinhor : gofundme — €784/€40,000

i urge everyone who sees this to share, at the very least, if you cannot donate. please, please, please do not scroll past without reblogging. this post will be updated as/if anyone else reaches out!

[arachnick]

I wish there was more actual intersex allyship in the queer community. I don't think "you're valid!!" counts as Actual Allyship.

I hate talking about the normalized medical violence faced by intersex people and getting a "oh that sucks :(" or "sorry about that" or "this reminds me of trans people and [insert completely different issue]" from perisex allies.

Like what the fuck, do none of you grasp the absolute horror of it? Of literal actual graphic violence against group that is so normalized that nobody bats an eye, even when it's right in front of them? When you Google my variation the first thing that comes up is surgery gore photos of children and babies being "treated" for being intersex. THAT IS APPALLING. Imagine if you couldn't Google "transgender" and the only thing that came up was violent gorey hate crime footage. And what if that was just normal and nobody cared.

That doesn't make you fucking mad? That doesn't make you sick? What the fuck kind of response is "you're valid!!" "So sorry" "*hugs* :<" to that.

Perisex allies, I need you to get pissed off with us.

[arachnick]

Day 2 in the Middle School Time Loop: you remember that last time, everyone ignored you at recess because they were talking about a TV show that you hadn’t watched. This time, you lie and say you’ve seen it. They ask you who your favorite character is, and you don’t know any of the characters, and so you’re tongue-tied. They think you’re weirder than ever, or maybe a liar, which is worse (and true).

Day 3 in the Middle School Time Loop: you tell your parents that you feel ill. They let you stay home while they’re at work. You spend the whole day watching past episodes of the TV Show.

Day 4 in the Middle School Time Loop: Recess again. The same person asks you who your favorite character is. This time, you're ready. You eagerly tell them, and supplement your reasons for liking them with solid evidence from all 4 seasons of the show. But! Tough luck: you’re now too invested. The atmosphere turns uncomfortable. They go back to ignoring you like they did on the Day 1 that you didn’t know was Day 1.

Day 5 in the Middle School Time Loop:

You decide to try a different approach and update your style. You've noticed that Ashleigh, who’s blonde and constantly surrounded by friends, always wears pink stripey sneakers. You try wearing a pink dress. Someone says it’s cute, but you know from how they say it that it isn’t the good cute.

“I thought that pink was cool,” you protest, more to the uncaring universe than to anyone in particular.

Your interlocutor shrugs. “Maybe on someone else.”

Day 6 in the Middle School Time Loop: You keep your head down, but still surprise the teachers by somehow knowing the correct answers to every spontaneous question they throw out to the class. You study the outfits of your classmates more closely. You realize that it wasn’t the color, so much as the brand that made the difference. It proves the shoes were expensive. You note down Ashleigh's sneaker brand in smudgy ink on the back of your hand, and then after school you take half a year's saved-up allowance and buy a matching pair at the mall. Your mom raises her eyebrows but doesn’t stop you.

Day 7 in the Middle School Time Loop: Today you make it to lunch before anything major goes wrong. You think that the sneakers have protected you, and stare down at them lovingly, watching the Barbie-pink plastic stripes reflect the tube lights on the ceiling as you turn your feet this way and that. But then at lunch, Ashleigh comes up, arm and arm with a friend. Her eyes are a little pink, but only a little.

“Ashleigh wanted me to tell you that she’s really hurt that you copied her sneakers,” the friend informs you, nobly, as if it would be too unpleasant for Ashleigh to have to say this herself. Her mouth is solemn but her eyes are gleeful.

“I didn’t…” You start to deny it automatically, even though it’s true. And yet, something won’t let you apologize. Doesn’t she see your imitation for what it is: the most sincere compliment you know how to bestow? This is your Hail Mary.

As you meet her eyes, you realize she does know, but this only makes her despise you more.

“I think a lot of people have these sneakers,” you stammer, in the end, and they just sniff and turn away. You go back to eating your lunch alone.

Day 8 of the Middle School Time Loop: even though you do well in every class, you must be so much more stupid than your classmates, to be missing whatever detail it is that they seem to have caught. How do they do it so quickly? Before recess, before the end of homeroom, even, they all just know. You’ve had endless chances to do this day over and yet you never seem to be able to catch up with them. Running to stand still, you’ve heard your mother say, when she’s busy at work. That’s you. Running to stand still.

Day 9 of the Middle School Time Loop: you pretend to be sick again, and you realize that if you want to, you can pretend to be sick every day. It's easy to convince your parents: you look tired and unhappy, your eyes small within their dark circles, like some underground creature. You stop watching that TV Show that you never really wanted to watch in the first place, and instead dream your way through all your favourite childhood movies. Disney, Pixar, Studio Ghibli. You retreat into jewel-colored landscapes, where everyone is magical or beautiful or at least funny, and the heroes always win in the end.

Day 10 of the Middle School Time Loop: You notice that most of the Pixar heroes, the Disney princesses look more like Ashleigh than you. Long hair. Pale eyes. Button noses. And all of them, so thin.

Day 11 of the Middle School Time Loop: you go to school, but you don’t talk to anyone. You don’t even answer your name at roll call. Your teacher asks you if anything is wrong at school, or at home perhaps. You shake your head, but that evening you hear your father taking a call. You shrug off his worry: it’ll be forgotten tomorrow anyway.

Day 12 of the Middle School Time Loop: an unexpected development: your apathy almost seems to make your classmates like you more. When you say, truthfully, that you don’t care much for the TV Show that eternally dominates the recess chatter, some people look impressed. They ask you what you think is better. But you’re wise and don’t admit to liking anything. "Mysterious," someone says appreciatively.

At the end of recess, the girl who told you off for copying Ashleigh nudges you. “Hey. Look, Robert has an Up shirt. Kind of cute, that he’s still into that stuff, right?”

You know that it’s not the good cute.

You stare at her coldly. “The shirt just has a dog on it. It doesn't say he's from Up. So you must have liked the movie enough to remember him.”

She flushes scarlet, and hurries to catch up with Ashleigh, throwing you a dirty look. Robert glances at you gratefully but you don’t return his smile. He won’t remember that you did this for him. Anyway, you didn't, really. Do it for him, that is.

Day 13 of the Middle School Time Loop: You tell your parents you’re sick again. Today, you watch the second tier of Studio Ghibli movies, the ones that your parents always say, self-consciously, that you’ll find dull. Only Yesterday, Princess Kaguya, When Marnie Was There. You’re only a few minutes into Marnie when there’s a line that pulls you up short:

“In this world, there’s an invisible magic circle. There’s inside and outside. These people are inside. And I’m outside.”

The shock of recognition that surges through you is so profound that you almost cry, and then, when the movie's over, you do cry. Ugly sobs that make you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum at the mall, that make your head pound with a dehydration headache. But behind the tears, there's relief. There it is, the truth that you were searching for, through all these do-overs. There’s an invisible magic circle. Of course there is.

But here’s the thing about circles: the inside is small. The outside is scary, and lonely, but it’s huge: huger than you could ever have imagined before you turned around and looked.

When your dad gets home, he asks if you’re feeling better. “Much,” you say, and it’s true.

Day ?? of the Middle School Time Loop: Sometimes you go to school, but ditch class and go to the library or the playground and do your own thing even if teachers yell at you. Sometimes you wander around the neighborhood. Sometimes you ask your parents crazy things, like to take you to work with them, or to the beach, or to DisneyWorld. Sometimes they say no. A surprising amount of times, they say yes. You wonder if maybe they’re trapped in a time loop too.

Sometimes you sit quietly in other classrooms than the one you’re meant to be in, until they shoo you out or even send you to the principal. (He finds you baffling. You feel a deep, slightly mournful affection for him, like you would for an very old and tired dog). It’s surprising, the amount of different things that are getting taught in one school in one day. It takes you a long time to work your way through them all.

You watch a frog getting dissected a few times before you start to feel bad and don’t go back to that classroom again. Your favorite class to crash is art, because the teacher always clocks that you’re not meant to be there but smiles and lets you stay anyway. When you meet her eyes, it feels like you’re sharing a secret.

Day One-Hundred And Something of the Middle School ...Wait.

At some point, time started moving again, and you didn’t even realize it.

For so long, the reprimands you received about your future seemed so empty, so laughable. There was no future. Only a more- or less-bearable present. But now, your classmates remember the unhinged things that you do; now, your teachers’ and parents’ worries about the future have the full juggernaut weight of reality behind them.

You thought that you’d be more terrified. For so long, you’ve dreaded this forward momentum. No loading screen, no mini-games, just one single, awful, pulsating life. But things are different now. Time’s moving again, and here you are, so far outside the invisible magic circle that you’re not even sure that you'd be able to see it any more. You can still feel its power, but faintly, like the pull between two magnets when they're an arm's length apart. Easy to ignore.

“Are you ready?” Robert says, catching your eye over the kitchen table. He comes here first thing so you can get the bus together. At some point, during the time loop, you started to seek him out. He was outside the circle, too, you realized. But even more importantly, not once, on any of those grimly looping days, did you see him try and push someone else out to make a space for himself. In this crab bucket, that’s something that counts for a lot.

“Our final day of middle school,” he sighs, half to himself. “Never thought I’d see it.”

"Me either," you reply, getting up to put on your talismanic pink sneakers. They’re scuffed and dirty after years of wear, and certainly Ashley would never be caught dead in them these days. Maybe that’s what you should have told her, all those loops ago: that no imitation, let alone one as unskilled as yours, can ever be perfect, and that indeed the very imperfection renders it an original work in its own right. Time and thought and human care transforms even the most diligent copy into something else entirely.

But you’ve been through enough time loops to know that that sort of explanation wouldn’t go over very well.

[arachnick]

TIME SENSITIVE: MOHAMMED HAS 2 DAYS TO REACH $22k

Mohammed Hamouda is a Palestinian engineering student and graduate of Al-Azhar university raising money to complete his Master’s degree in Germany. His GoGetFunding campaign has 2 DAYS LEFT to reach $22,000, and he has currently only raised $13,465, needing around $8,535. If we give it our all, I know we can help him complete his goal, even if odds seem close — please, DONATE what you can, and SPREAD this campaign far and wide so that those who can donate are able. Let’s get going to help build Palestinian futures!

$13,465/$22,000.

[arachnick]

getting my autism assesment in like 40 minutes, I'm really nervous sbrjakgnakrn

[arachnick]

ANOTHER AUTISTIC KAZ BREKKER TRUTHER ‼️‼️ to add a bit because I love this idea sm

- kaz hyperanalysing everyone because spotting things like spotting lying and malicious intent never came naturally until it was a life or death situation

- his plans being very step by step and factoring everything in, but never being able to get that plan across properly because it works in his mind but not when he says it out loud so he simply stopped giving away all the details

- kaz tapping his cane against the ground or a desk as a stim,

-kaz who's aware of every single noise and changes in an environment, but that didn't come from survival he's just always been like that and it just so happens to be useful now

-kaz who when he decides he's doing something, there's no way to get him to change his mind or plans unless absolutely necessary

Kaz Brekker, An Honest Man

Little Kaz Rietveld could never tell a lie, much to the dismay of his elder brother. Everytime they were caught red-handed, Kaz wouldn’t even try to lie his way out of it. His father praised him for it, and so did Jordie, even if he disliked all the times they’d gotten in trouble. Lying felt wrong, it felt bad. It made his stomach twist and his palms sweat. He didn’t like lying.

Acting was different from lying. That’s what he told Jordie, when he began to take an interest in the street magicians. It wasn’t really lying, when the magician played tricks and put on a show. And the actors at the Komedie Brute weren’t lying either.

When Kaz Rietveld was dead and buried, and Kaz Brekker took his place, he still couldn’t bring himself to lie. And he was always able to justify every lie he did tell, because acting wasn’t lying, and Dirtyhands was a showman. Kaz Brekker was honest to his word and kept any deal struck with him. He never lied, simply left out certain details. Not telling the whole truth wasn’t exactly lying. Jordie had told him that, when Kaz confronted him one day for some simple lie he’d told him.

Perhaps, in that way, Kaz Rietveld had never really gone away. After all, Kaz Brekker was a half-truth. Only the Brekker part was a lie.

[arachnick]

don't reveal my plans shh

both your ratio and adventurine are gender goals

I'm consuming them for my HRT 🫶

quite the theme of purple wise scholars you have going on, autistic gale dekarios

[arachnick]

straweb

The Strawberries I started from seeds

[arachnick]

Hey, so I've been scrolling your blog today and sorry if you've answered this before, but you mentioned you don't want people to say "going nonverbal." So what exactly do you propose that we say? I can't think of an alternative except "going nonspeaking" maybe which would just be the same thing. "Becoming mute?" Like what exactly are we supposed to say? It's not exactly a thing I can just avoid describing. /gen

Hello! So nonverbal is an actual diagnosis in some places. However, not everyone that’s nonverbal has autism. There are nonverbal people with cerebral palsy, nonverbal people with apraxia, etc etc. I think that verbal people shouldn’t be using it because not only do they not get what’d it’s like to be actually nonverbal, but they’re taking a term from a whole community. It’s the same with any other term. People who have migraines that cause them to have trouble seeing shouldn’t call themselves blind or VI. You know what I mean? Nonverbal was meant for people who can’t talk or talk VERY VERY little. And the autism community just kinda…stole the term. Why? I have no idea.

There are alternatives. Such as speech loss episodes, speech loss, verbal shutdown, etc.

Verbal people will never get what it’s like to rely solely on other people or a device to speak for them. Verbal people will never face the ableism we face. Verbal people will never understand those things, they aren’t apart of the community. The nonverbal community IS a community, with different experiences, different people, different things they face. That’s why they shouldn’t use it. Nonverbal people deserve to be able to go onto the internet and see people like them without seeing verbal people use their word. They deserve to go onto social media and talk about their experiences without people saying “oh I get what that’s like because SOMETIMES I’m unable to speak”. Because they don’t get it.

I hope this helps! Have a lovely day.

[arachnick]

Sorry to do this, but I don't seem to have many options.

At the end of last year, my partner and I were finally able to live together after years of being apart. We had troubles with employment, and I've lost two jobs in the months he's been here due to my health. We're both trans and disabled so finding a job that can accommodate my health needs is difficult. It's especially hard when your health seems to improve and decline depending on which planets are in retrograde.

Before anyone says something about "treatable" or "manageable" chronic illness, know that I've been sick since I was a year old. I've heard every shitty suggestion, pseudoscientific treatment or cure, and I'm not going to tolerate that kind of thing. If eating only lemon rinds and uncooked brown rice worked I would have done it by now.

Roughly 6 months into us living together, we were separated again. Luckily this was temporary, and we are living in the same place now. The problem is that we both lost our more affordable housing while both unemployed and moving isn't cheap...

The new place is fine and the roommates are fantastic people who didn't have to give us a space. Finally being able to live together, and to be ourselves has been amazing. That being said, we're broke as hell. I just got an email saying my account has hit zero, and we need help.

I can't go back on my word with the rent agreement, and if we can't pay, we can't stay. Right now, there isn't anywhere for us to go besides our small truck. Please consider donating to help two disabled queers stay housed. We need $400 by the end of the month, and any amount will help.

Of course, if you can't afford a donation, then please don't donate. Thank you for your consideration. Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Ko-Fi: chiikysquirrel

Paypal: chiikysquirrel

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