Aspd culture is not being able to feel anything even though your favorite cat that you’ve had for 13 years, your baby, your pride and joy, died. (I miss her but like, I can’t grieve or cry or anything. It’s just nothingness. Like she never existed.)
ten years ago you were so scared of such different things, but you survived them anyway. the same goes for five years ago and two years ago. everything that has ever felt like a hurdle, you’ve passed through. so be afraid, identify your fears, and then allow yourself to remember that in just a little while, this will be another thing that you have overcome.
You gotta hand it to Fig. All of the Bad Kids were given foils this season and they got to decide how much they wanted to engage with that part of the plot. Gorgug only interacted with Mary Ann in passing despite them both being on the Owlbears. Fabian noped out of chatting up Ivy once she crossed a line with Mazey. Riz was so busy that he truly had no time to engage with Kipperlilly even though she's obsessed with him. Kristen interacted a bit with Buddy but spent way more time verbally sparring with Kipperlilly. And Adaine was somewhat interested in Oisin but never overtly acted on it.
But Fig?
She's in Ruben's WALLS. She's in his DREAMS. She's faking her alter emo's death. She's got the Fantasy FBI after her. She's SO SO tiny. No one is doing it like Fig's doing it.
Being a “Fun Fact !” kind of autistic is all fun and games until you get halfway through sharing an interesting tidbit and realize that it probably wasn’t appropriate to share in polite company and now you have to deal with the consequences :(
I think one of the more unfortunate consequences to creators being more interactive with fans is that a lot of fans/fandoms normalized this idea that creators have to explain/validate every headcanon they have.
“When I first heard it, from a dog trainer who knew her behavioral science, it was a stunning moment. I remember where I was standing, what block of Brooklyn’s streets. It was like holding a piece of polished obsidian in the hand, feeling its weight and irreducibility. And its fathomless blackness. Punishment is reinforcing to the punisher. Of course. It fit the science, and it also fit the hidden memories stored in a deeply buried, rusty lockbox inside me. The people who walked down the street arbitrarily compressing their dogs’ tracheas, to which the poor beasts could only submit in uncomprehending misery; the parents who slapped their crying toddlers for the crime of being tired or hungry: These were not aberrantly malevolent villains. They were not doing what they did because they thought it was right, or even because it worked very well. They were simply caught in the same feedback loop in which all behavior is made. Their spasms of delivering small torments relieved their frustration and gave the impression of momentum toward a solution. Most potently, it immediately stopped the behavior. No matter that the effect probably won’t last: the reinforcer—the silence or the cessation of the annoyance—was exquisitely timed. Now. Boy does that feel good.”
— Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Secret History of Kindness (2015)