#affection overload

[nartml]

I would burn the planet down for this man

[skunkes]

poor circulation

[aucrowne]

Sketch break! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡₊˚⊹♡ Showering Sakura with words of affection

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

⬅ Windbreaker Silly little sketches ➡

[electric-plants]

alhaitham: it’s five in the morning what do you want from me

cyno: your signature on this paper

cyno: also a date but i don’t think that’s relevant right now

alhaitham: cyno please it is FIVE in the MORNING

[tennessoui]

I'm begging on my hands and knees for more Twilight au, and those are words I never thought I'd say! Anakin being able to resist compulsion, and Obi-Wan seeming instantly obsessed, and poor Shmi! Pretty please 🥺🙏

hey!! sure! here's some more!

(2.5k)

Having a sheriff for a mom sucked a lot when he was a kid growing up in a small town. There was probably nothing Anakin was rebelling against more at eleven, at thirteen, at seventeen than the rule of law his mother represented. 

All things considered, she was pretty good at separating her home life from her worklife. It was Anakin who was bad at respecting the separation, Anakin who couldn’t keep son out of delinquent.  There’s only so many times he could be pulled out of wreckage and bars and buildings with Keep Out No Trespassing signs on them before he got The Sheriff at home and out in public.

He’d hated it growing up and had come to grudgingly respect it later and in fits and starts. His dad dying had, terribly and ironically, helped a lot. His mother had had a stroke just before and then Anakin had been faced with the possibility of being an orphan, and the terror of that had mellowed him out.

Sorta.

He still hates a lot of things about his mother’s job. Especially the fact that she’s the sheriff of a very small town.

And when people talk, she listens.

The thing about small towns is that everyone’s always fucking talking. And other people are always fucking lsitening so they can talk later. One big fucking community, which means when Anakin comes home from his weird doctor’s appointment with Dr. Kenobi, a few hours later because he took a detour biking along the edge of the seaside cliffs just to spit in the good doctor’s metaphorical face, Shmi Skywalker already knows more than Anakin ever planned to tell her.

Like, for instance, “Sheila says that Dr. Kenobi thought it would behoove you to spend some time at the local library volunteering.”

Anakin pauses, backpack half-slung off his shoulders. He hangs his stuff up slowly, careful to keep his tone very light. “Did Sheila say what I told him after he said that?” 

His mom’s silence is very loud.

“I don’t want to do i—”

“I asked the new librarian about it on my way home from the station. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Apparently we used to have a program like that in the forties but it died out during the war.”

“Mom, come on—”

“It’ll look good on resumes, saying you created and supported a local reading program.”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit too old to be applying for babysitting positio—”

“It’ll look good for me as well,” Shmi says in her sheriff voice. “Elections are coming up soon. It’ll be good, if my kid was involved in the community.”

Anakin’s glad that his back is still turned to the living room, where his mom is sitting. “Are you gonna run again?” he asks, paying special attention to his tone this time.

“Why wouldn’t I?” his mom replies. “I’ve been sheriff for a decade and a half.”

Anakin lets his eyes fall closed for a second, knowing that his face can’t be seen. This is how they end up half the time: Shmi’s ardent belief that she is invincible, going up against Anakin’s desperate desire for her to be so.

And they just don’t talk about it. As if they’re actually in agreement.

He knows how this is going to shake out.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” His mother asks.

Anakin’s eyes remain closed. “I guess so,” he says.

—--------

Mrs. Kenobi—call me Satine—is sort of scary up close. She’s tall. She glides between bookshelves. Anakin’s never met someone who glides before. And she’s so intensely, incredibly, blindingly perfect that Anakin would rather be anywhere but in her vicinity. There’s something incredibly unnerving about the symmetry of her face, the sharpness of her cheekbones. She’s obviously an absolute knock-out, just drop-dead gorgeous, but it makes Anakin’s skin crawl and his heart beat fast, but not in a good way or a normal teenage boy way.

Anakin tries to keep the unease off his face as Satine leads him through a tour of the library, a gentle hand on his forearm. That’s another thing Anakin doesn’t really like. She’s wearing satin gloves. He doesn’t know anyone who wears gloves anymore.

It’s just all a bit…unsettling.

“I put in a few words around the school yesterday afternoon,” Satine tells him. They pass by the mystery section, the fantasy section, and take a hard right into the young adult section. The shelves are smaller here, and Anakin feels rather stupidly gigantic as he and Satine walk through them. “To some parents picking their children up after school. They agreed it would be good exposure to bring them to the library for an hour or so of reading before supper.”

Anakin highly doubts it will be, but Satine hasn’t really asked him.

She sweeps past his figure and pushes open a pair of double doors with a flourish better suited for a Russian tsarina hosting an elaborate ball than a small town librarian showing off a small, cramped, and dusty room filled with padded seats and threadbare rugs.

And then, as if she has been waiting to put the last nail in the proverbial coffin, Satine adds, “A few students from the local high school will be here as well.”

“Sorry,” Anakin says, “are you saying I’m going to be reading to high school students? Can’t they do that themselves?”

After all, Anakin went to high school here. Academics hadn’t been too rigorously challenging, but they’d taught the fucking basics.

Satine raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction. “They’ll be volunteering as well.”

Oh. Right.

“It looks good on their college applications,” Satine waves a hand through the air and the words linger there. Anakin looks out the rather dirty window, jaw clenching. “I’ve already chosen a handful of books I think the young ones will enjoy.”

Anakin, committed to his fate, pads over to the titles placed carefully ontop of a short, stout side table. 

“Peter the Rabbit,” he reads off the top. “Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. Treasure Island. The Prince and the Pauper—look, you’re the librarian here, but don’t you have anything written this century maybe? Harry Potter, even.”

“These are classics,” Satine tells him, her nose raised into the air as if she has encountered something particularly foul-smelling. She turns away, presumably to return to the front desk so she can welcome half the fucking town inside the library so Anakin can read them fucking Anne of Green Gables and become a better person.

“These are fucking boring,” he mutters to himself, flicking the cover of the first book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz open. Publication date: 1900. “I’d rather be in Kenobi’s office getting lectured at.”

There’s a sharp noise of disapproval from the doorway, and Anakin’s head snaps up to see the tail end of a very heated look from the librarian before the door closes behind her.

He shivers, alone in the emply room, and it takes several long minutes for his heart to settle back into its normal pace. 

—----------

After the fourth kid sneezes, Anakin closes his book with a snap and stands from the very small chair they’ve got him sitting on. “Come on,” he tells the cluster of children he’s been assigned to. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Are you kidnapping us?” One of them, a snot-nosed kid who’d started the sneezing says, rubbing at her cheek beneath her glasses. “Cause mommy says that’s not allowed.”

“I’m not kidnapping you,” Anakin snaps back, barely holding in his natural follow-up to the sentence which is of course, I don’t want to be around any of you in the first place. “Also, just for future reference, you shouldn’t ask if someone’s kidnapping you after you already start following them.”

The girl scowls and reaches up her hand to hold onto Anakin’s. 

For the love of Christ.

“We’re just going to go into the main part of the library,” Anakin tells his children, all six of them. “They have windows out there.”

They have windows out there and they also have parents. Parents who absolutely should be doing other things with their lives and precious hour of extra freetime.

Parents who are clustered instead around the library’s front desk as the town’s newest librarian holds court.

“Is reading time over?” one of the kids asks him, turning his head to look up at Anakin.

Anakin thinks about it. “Do you want reading time to be over?”

The kid thinks about it back. “Yeah,” he decides. “You don’t do the voices good.”

“It’s a boring book,” Anakin tells the kid. “Voices aren’t going to make it better.”

“Voices always make it better,” another kid says. “They make everything better.”

“Oh look,” Anakin says. “Is that your father?”

He gestures vaguely towards the cluster of drooling middle-aged somethings focused on Satine.

The kid peeks around his thigh and then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s Dr. Obi.”

“Dr. Obi!” The kid holding Anakin’s hand says, and she lets go.

Anakin gets a bad feeling about this, a feeling that only doubles when he turns around to see Dr. Kenobi sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of a long dark jacket that makes him look even more pale than he already is.

He scowls automatically as the man gets closer. “Dr. Obi.”

Dr. Kenobi spares him a look that’s far too amused for Anakin’s pleasure before he crouches down to the level of the kids. “Hello there, young ones,” he says, opening his arms to accept a hug from the traitor of a girl Anakin’s just spent thirty minutes reading to. “Are you eating all your vegetables? Even the brussel sprouts?”

“I like brussel sprouts,” one of the kids reports sounding proud, and that starts a cacophony of opinions about brussel sprouts from all around Anakin.

“Wow! One of mine just absolutely hates them,” Dr. Kenobi says. “She refuses to eat them, so you’re very brave, Michele.” He lets go of the girl and turns his golden-brown gaze up to Anakin. “And what does Mr. Skywalker think?” he asks, raising a hand for Anakin to take. It’s very obvious he’s asking for a hand up and Anakin is obeying before he thinks about it. He snatches his hand free almost too soon, but Dr. Kenobi doesn’t even have the grace to lose his balance and fall over. 

His hand is like ice in Anakin’s, and Anakin stuffs his fingers into the pocket of his jacket automatically a second later.

“Do brussel sprouts help with circulation?” he’s biting out before he can stop himself. “Cause you may need some then.”

Kenobi’s head tilts very slightly to the side as his eyes catch and hold onto Anakin’s. “Oh?” he asks lightly. 

“You’re cold,” is all Anakin mutters in return. He swipes his other hand against the back of his neck. “”S poor circlutation, isn’t it? Something in your diet maybe?” Dr. Kenobi blinks at him and then breaks into a wide smile. “I can assure my diet is very…circulation-mindful,” he says. “Blood health positive.”

Anakin’s mouth thins into a line. He guesses that’s what he gets for trying to give health advice to a doctor, especially a doctor like Kenobi who just so happens to be devastatingly attractive and also smart.

And also an asshole. And also married.

Speaking of which. “Are you here to fend off your wife’s admirers with a scalpel?” Kenobi’s eyebrows raise. “Young ones,” he turns his head away from Anakin, down to the children.

The strangest feeling breaks of Anakin the second Kenobi looks away, almost as if a strange pressure he hadn’t even realized had been building was suddenly dissolved.

The very small beginnings of a headache begin to thrum in his temples.

“Young ones, it’s time to find your parents, isn’t it?” Kenobi says, and like fucking magic, the crowd of six children around Anakin disperse, children swarming away from him towards the group of adults surrounding the front desk.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Anakin blurts out, even though he’d meant to ignore Kenobi now that he doesn’t have to make nice in front of small kids. Not that he was really making nice in the first place. But now he definitely doesn’t have to.

Kenobi gives him a half-smile, eyes heavy-lidded. “It’s a special sort of skill that takes, above all else, much practice.”

Anakin scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Does Kenobi think he can’t commit himself to something even as mundane as a fucking commanding persona? Does he think he doesn’t have it in him to be–-

Kenobi’s eyebrows go up again. “Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly defensive?” 

“You’re extremely nosey,” Anakin snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have better things to focus on right now anyway?”

He gestures loosely towards Satine, who has started playing with one of the mother’s bracelets as the other woman stands and looks at her rather dumbfounded.

Kenobi follows his gaze and then lets out a huff of laughter. “Satine can take care of herself,” he says, even though it hadn’t really been Satine that Anakin was worried about.

He’s about to open his mouth to say so when Kenobi turns back to him. His eyes are piercing, a dark, captivating sort of gold. 

“Do you find my wife beautiful, Anakin?” he asks.

Anakin blinks. His headache is getting worse, which is probably down to what can only be a trick-question fashioned to look like a grenade lobbed at his feet. “I don’t think there’s a good answer to that,” he mutters, rubbing absently at his forehead. “What the fuck.”

“An honest answer is a good one,” Kenobi says lightly. “Tell me honestly.”

The words feel pulled from Anakin’s stomach, and he’s opening his mouth before he realizes it. “No,” he says. 

Kenobi’s eyebrows crinkle together. “No?”

Anakin curses his stupid impulse control. “She’s beautiful,” he adds quickly. “Really. But…it makes me uncomfortable.”

Kenobi’s lips purse, and then there’s something like disappointment in his eyes as he examines Anakin. “Ah yes,” he murmurs. “I’ve been told my wife can make countless young men feel rather uncomfortable. It’s normal in men your age, Anakin. Sexual ar—”

“Uncanny,” Anakin blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, but he also doesn’t want to listen to  Kenobi trying to lecture him on fucking arousal in the public library. When it’s not even relevant. “She’s so beautiful, it’s uncanny.”

“Uncanny.”

“Yeah, like. Monstrous.”

Kenobi’s mouth falls open, pink lips parted in what looks like honest surprise.

Anakin’s own eyes widen as it hits him that he’s just called Kenobi’s wife a monster to Kenobi’s face.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m going to go.” 

He throws a look at Kenobi, whose eyes are lit with something a lot like interest and then across the library to where Satine’s head is turned, cocked, and eyebrows up high on her forehead, as if she’s just heard everything he’s said.

He decides rather immediately that he’s going to take the backdoor exit.

[andro-dino]

tag team

[alluralater]

Lemme just say I read that entire rant about that girl on your tags and holy shit that’s cute- 😭

THANK YOU I ADORE HER!!!!! i wanna hold her hair back and whisper from on my knees behind her all the things i love about her while she gets her throat fucked

[the-star-and-the-smols]

I often think about how I would love it if my favorite characters were giant and held me in their hand and how it would be the most amazing thing ever but also I feel like if it actually happened I'd just flatline within seconds

[puddingcake300]

Oops my hand slipped

[tsukikoayanosuke]

Canned Soup for the Weary Soul - Ruikasa Week 2024

Day 5: Affection

Food is something Rui knows is necessary for living. It is not that Rui has a bad relationship with food; it's just never been his top priority. He knows he's a picky eater. Vegetables never blend well in his tongue. Bless his mother for her many attempts to feed both him and his father. He never thought it was a big deal anyway; he managed to grow every year during his puberty era without the help of those stinky things.

After meeting Tsukasa though, Rui saw how necessary food is.

When a new chef appeared in Rui's usual dinner place, the Weekend Tavern, after his daily job at the dig site, he knew he was to something different. You could say it was love at first sight the moment Tsukasa came out from the kitchen. Or because the smell of the curry struck a core in his stomach. The chef asked a simple question: "Anything from the menu?" And Rui just pointed at the curry dumbly. Tsukasa giggled - a very adorable giggle - and later served him one. It was delicious, better than anything he had ever eaten. Don't get him wrong; he lives his mother's cooking, but something about Tsukasa's food caught him off-guard.

Food is Tsukasa's love language, Rui came to realize. He puts everything his have into his cooking or as Tsukasa has said: "I will cook it to 12,000% satisfaction!" Outside his work as a chef, Tsukasa had seen him buying others' food. Emu and Nene, the pair of adventurers who became close to him, always get a feast every time they finish a commission from the Adventure Guild. The Shinonome siblings, a pair of a royal painter and the prince's knight, never have to share their cheesecake order because Tsukasa always made him two. Even Mafuyu, the noble lady who escaped her household and now living with the music box maker, always gets a dose of caramel apple.

Rui also gets his share of Tsukasa's food. Visiting during the morning would give him a sandwich for lunch (though he always takes out the salad), while dinner always has rice and that day's special. The more Rui ate Tsukasa's food, the bigger the love he felt for Tsukasa. There will be times when Rui would imagine himself living with Tsukasa and waking up with Tsukasa's cooking every day. Oh, how lovely that would be.

He wanted to do something for Tsukasa.

…

But what?

"No, no, no, no!" Mizuki wagging their finger like a scolding mother. "I do not accept chocolate and flowers!" They slammed a hand to the table they were in. "It's too generic! You need to give something special to him!"

"Don't you give Ena that rare paint set?" Rui asked, remembering the time Mizuki was having a meltdown when thinking about a birthday present for the older Shinonome sibling.

"That's because I know she would love it!" Mizuki grinned. "What things does Tsukasa like?"

Rui looked up to the sky, his mind repeating the question. The first thing that came up was cooking. A new knife? A cookbook? Dinner at a fancy restaurant? A gift basket? None of them sound like 'Tsukasa'. Tsukasa is bright and warm and gentle and the gift needs to be perfect for the world's future star. Mind you, Rui is not an idiot; he was the top in his class back then. It's just…he wanted this to be something special. Tsukasa has everything. What else could he give him?

He was so deep in his thought that his feet automatically walked him toward Weekend Tavern when his work was done for the day. He stepped in as the bell by the door jingled, announcing his arrival, followed by-

…

Huh?

Rui finally blinked in realization. The tavern is bustling with people, some regular and new ones. The waiter and owner's daughter, An, was busy serving beer when she finally noticed him. "Heya, Rui. Did you find new artifacts?"

"Yeah…" Rui looked toward the counter. Tsukasa is not by his station and greeting him with his cheerful voice Rui grew to love. "Where is he?"

"Oh," An winched. "Tsukasa isn't doing good."

Rui looked at her with surprise. "What happened?"

"I think he's sick," An answered. "He came here this morning looking so red. Dad told him to go home but he insisted on working. It wasn't until he almost collapsed that we decided to let him off for the day."

Oh. That's right. Rui didn't come to the tavern this morning because he overslept, still thinking about Tsukasa's potential gift. If only he came by, he might even take the day off to help Tsukasa around.

"Thanks, An." Rui nodded. "I'll go and see him."

Just as he was about to leave, An called him. "Rui."

"Yeah?"

There was a flicker of hesitation on An's face but it quickly disappeared, nodding instead. "Please take care of him. He can be very stubborn."

Rui nodded. "Of course."

It didn't take long for Rui to arrive at Tsukasa's house in the upper district. Rui took out his key (Tsukasa gave him a spare for emergency) and unlocked the door. The first thing he noticed was how quiet it was on the inside. The windows are still open, but there's no light shining from the light or candle. The kitchen is empty with the sink being dry, which means Tsukasa hadn't been cooking as well. The piano lid is closed, so Tsukasa didn't play it today. Most of the doors toward the bedrooms are closed except one.

"Tsukasa?" Rui called. No answer. He approached the door and there he was.

Tsukasa looked awful. His bright face is unusually pale with bright red flushed across his cheeks. His hair was disheveled, some strands sticking on his sweaty forehead. He looked so small on his bed being covered with a thick blanket.

Rui's heart clenched. He approached the bed, pressing his hand on Tsukasa's forehead. That woke him up.

"Rui…" Even his voice sounded so hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. How can I eat if I don't have my favorite chef cooking for me?"

"So demanding…" There was a tiny hint of amusement in his tone which brought relief to Rui.

"Is it bad?"

"I'm fine… I'll be fine by tomorrow. A star chef must never skip a plate."

"I think it would be fine if you skip a day." Rui looked at the nightstand where there was only a single empty glass and no sight of any plate. "Have you eaten yet?"

"I can't get up…my head is killing me."

Rui frowned. That bad, huh? "I'll be back."

"No need…" It was barely above a mumble but Rui nearly missed it. It made Rui pause just for a bit, but he quickly recovered to walk to the kitchen. He might not be as good as Tsukasa with cooking, but he will try his best to at least put something in Tsukasa's stomach.

But the kitchen is empty. There's nothing in the fridge. No meat, no cheese, not even those icky vegetables. Tsukasa is always one to advocate eating healthy yet he doesn't have anything fresh here? Even the cupboard is barely filled. Are you saying that the world's stars don't even have a complete spice rack?

Does…Does Tsukasa even cook at home?

No. That can't be right. Tsukasa always buys fresh ingredients whenever someone is visiting. Rui, Emu, and Nene had helped them cook in this very kitchen for that one sleepover. Where are those foods now? It doesn't make any sense… He had to ask Tsukasa about this once he was well enough. Right now, he had to find something for him to eat.

He reached into the cupboard and took one of the few cans in there. It had the label 'chicken soup' on it. This will do: something easy to swallow and will warm your stomach, perfect for sick people. He opened the can to reveal a less-than-pleasant sight of the concoction. It was at this moment that Rui wished he knew how to properly make simple homecooked meals. He took a pan and poured the soup onto it, heating it up until it barely bubbling. Once it was warm enough, he poured it into the bowl.

A bowl of chicken soup. Chunks of chicken floating on the surface of the steaming broth along with some tiny cuts of celery and carrot in sight.

Rui still wished he could do something more than this.

He walked back to the bedroom where Tsukasa was barely asleep again. He blinked at the sight of Rui, brow furrowed in confusion.

Rui smiled at him. "Hey…"

"You're not out yet…?" Tsukasa asked, sending uneasiness into Rui's chest. He covered it with a joke.

"Such a bad host you are, Tsukasa. Kicking a guest out."

"You have works…"

"That is done for the day." Rui set the bowl at the nightstand and he pulled a stool to sit next to the bed. "I made you this."

The frown on Tsukasa's forehead became more apparent. "Rui… That's not necessary…"

"You haven't eaten anything, right? You can't get well unless you eat healthy food."

"Said the picky eater who can still grow taller."

"It's all genetic." Rui chuckled. "Do you want me to help you with it?"

Tsukasa's eyes became downcast again. "I'm not hungry…"

"Tsukasa, you need to eat something," Rui tried again. "Or else you'll get sick more."

"You shouldn't be here…" Tsukasa mumbled, pulling his blanket to cover his mouth. "You'll catch it too…"

Rui bit the inside of his cheeks. He knows a canned soup is not the best food, but it is something. Tsukasa is never the picky eater so in theory, he shouldn't-

Wait.

"Tsukasa…" Rui leaned closer to him. "Is there something wrong with me cooking for you?"

Tsukasa didn't answer but Rui could see him shifted under the blanket.

Rui took a deep breath and asked again. "Has anyone cooked for you before?"

Tsukasa didn't answer again for a few seconds, but the Rui heard a tiny mumble. "I don't want to be a bother…"

"You're never a bother to anyone." Rui patted the blanket where Tsukasa's shoulder was. "What makes you think that?"

"I just am…"

Oh. Oh, Tsukasa.

Tsukasa is a caring person, there's no doubt about it. But it seemed that care didn't apply to himself. For him, who always cooks with his very best to others, food is not something in the top priority for himself. Rui had his guesses: an empty house and its empty pantry with its only occupant being the son of a merchant couple who barely comes home. Dinner would be so lonely that he never bothered with it.

It broke Rui's heart that Tsukasa takes care of himself less than he takes care of others. Selfless yet selfish at the same time. Food is Tsukasa's love language. But what does it mean if he never indulges in that same delicious food for himself?

Rui pulled the lump of Tsukasa close to him, kissing the top of his head. "You're a wonderful, caring person," he whispered, making sure that he heard it, "and you deserve to be loved."

"Others-"

"You said that to me yourself, didn't you? 'Everyone deserves a warm meal'. Does that include you when you said it?"

He heard him gasp. The blanket got pulled down, revealing a pouty face. "Using my own words against me. You're so cruel."

"It's necessary, isn't it?" Rui smiled. "I'll repeat it every time if I have to." He kissed his forehead. "I love you. Let me take care of you."

Tsukasa didn't answer, eyes shifting to anyone other than Rui. But then he let out a hum. "Okay…"

Rui smiled. Tsukasa didn't stop him from helping him sit up, back leaning against the pillow. Rui scooped a spoonful of the soup, bringing it close to Tsuaksa's mouth. Tsukasa pressed his lips, considering his options once again. But, with a sigh, he opened his mouth, drinking the soup with a loud gulp. Rui scooped another one and Tsukasa drank it as well. It was after a couple of spoons that Tsukasa's eyes started to tear up.

"Is it good?" Rui asked.

"It's good…" Tsukasa sniffled as tears streamed down his cheeks. "It's delicious… So good…"

Rui put down the half-eaten bowl and pulled Tsukasa into a hug, cradling his head as Tsukasa sobbed into his shoulder.

Canned chicken soup is nothing compared to a homemade meal, but for Tsukasa…it is probably the best food he has ever had.

And if this is a way to make Tsukasa feel loved, Rui would give him all the chicken soup in the entire kingdom just for him.

[monachopsis-11]

Idk I’m just thinking about the extreme affective empathy some autistic people experience (especially with those who experience less or no cognitive empathy) and how subconsciously absorbing other peoples emotional states could potentially be a part of the reason autistic people come off as self centered outside of just communication differences. Subconsciously absorbing other peoples emotions could lead to autistic people who have hyper affective empathy and little cognitive empathy to assume other people feel the way they feel about things because they automatically mirror other peoples emotions without understanding that this isn’t how other people work. Or this could just be me but I was thinking more about why autistic people come off as self centered (again outside of communication differences)

Oh just for background:

[autumnfangirler]

.

[ringomess]

just realizing today i barely masked! and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with masking (ofc the hidden meaning behind masking which is ableism and the consequences of doing it too much like burnout) but this just means how safe i felt with this people.

i hanged out with two friends who are currently like two of my fav people and they’re likely neurodivergent too ??? (they just have adhd vibes) and yeeeaaaaaah i totally felt myself masked at the beginning before warming up but then we went to a comic store and i saw my favorite manga and i started happy stimming!!! bc i love this manga so much and i literally can’t contain my happy stims and my friend reacted to it positively!!! she said “i love to see you get so excited” which made me feel super good!!!!!

then we went to a restaurant to have dinner and i was reaaaaally overstimulated with all the sound and i was trying very hard to mask it but it was so difficult. until my friend asked me “what’s wrong?” and i told her that i was getting overstimulated and she replied with “already? let’s leave then” and it made feel so good that she didn’t question me or anything, she thought it was natural or a matter of time that it happened (with the “already”). and ofc we couldn’t leave yet and i couldn’t endure it anymore so i put on my earplugs (i never used them when hanging with people) and they were like “oh that’s cool! do you hear me fine?” and super cool about it and i my insecurities about using them felt so stupid in that moment! i should have put on them earlier! we continued to hang out outside and i kept my earplugs on until i felt it was quiet enought to take them off.

i had an amazing time because i didn’t have to worry about not being myself. i have great friends and i’m so happy i can feel like myself with someone, because it’s something hard to find!

[stellarhoxy]

ok i hope i don't come off bad here but i looked up menhera and ngl i am actually insulted, if this is how Japan tries to reduce stigma on mental illness i think it has the opposite effect. Like I thought Needy Streamer Overload was a little risky, somewhat problematic even, but ok it's a horror game so I let it slide. Well allegedly that is still a pretty tame representation of what menhera really goes for, and most of this is fetishizing straight up abusive behavior. Which is concerning because Needy Streamer Overload is a horror game ffs. (And it has affected me mental health wise) THIS is how you are representing mentally ill people as partners? Ugh... Japan if this is your approach to mental health then no offense that's so insanely backwards I can't even. Listen I'm a bit of a tumblr oddity because I do believe that you have to love yourself before loving someone else TO SOME DEGREE, and I know how crippling (poor (handling of)) mental health can be to dating and relationship, but sheesh! these comics and materials send a really disgusting message about mentally ill people and most definitely do not help anyone/anything. I rather see more wholesome stories of how even mentally ill people can learn to love themselves and lead happy and fulfilling lives, not this shit... it's ok for darkfic / horror to exist ofc i enjoy that but if you're going to market it as "reducing stigma on mental health" yeah no... I know I'm not Japanese, but I think i should still say it coz like... in western society it's nowhere near as stigmatized yet still really affecting especially when it's romanticized, so I can't begin to imagine what a Japanese person with even more limited resources must go through....

anyway thank you for reading till here idk i'm just rambling a bit. this affects me coz i'm a mentally ill girl myself and ik how hard it is even in the west.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Autism does not cause racism, Cait.

I got newly blocked by Cait for stating that,

"Made Goodreads accounts to downvote only PoC debut authors' books, got caught, was offered a way out, doubled down, made a really bad Photoshop post with horrible dialogue as an excuse, got caught hating on the fandom she came from. Blamed her mental illness. Blamed now autism."

which isn't really accountability.

BTW, which is true. I didn't at her, just explained to someone above asking what was going on.

Sitting here with Neurodivergence, and telling you straight I deal with some inferiority complex issues, but it doesn't make me go out and try to sabotage other people's works, especially people from my own groups I belong to. Punch up or talk about the complexity of the issues, don't punch down.

(I'm aware I'm like the quintessential red shirt and I tried so hard to deny that part of me. That's what my therapist is for.)

I get Sensory Processing issues. I have that. But what happens when I get overload? I lay down and try to calm my senses and check out with a fucking headache. That's what fucking happens. It's not the sexiest TV moment ever. Sometimes I also get dissociation.

What happens when I get Sensory overload and dissociation? I go WTF, and work it out and then check out of social media, or try to do *other* things. I take responsibility. I forget shit because of the dissociation and I still say sorry, I forgot.

BTW, also my English skills go down the drain and I make a lot of fucking mistakes while on dissociation and sensory overload. Paragraphs will skip or miss parts of sentences. Hers were way too coherent.

I get depression and anxiety episodes. I fuck up. I try to still take responsibility for my fuck ups.

I have C-PTSD, but I've worked so fucking hard to not continue the cycle of trauma to violence–emotional and neglect that it's set me back in my life goals in a lot of ways before I got it compounded. But I've never, ever tried to take it out on others.

What happens when you fuck up? You apologize, you self-reflect, you try to make real amends (say deleting those accounts you have up on Goodreads), try to reverse direction and then leave those people you hurt alone. You don't go back in the middle of Black History month to defend your shitty actions.

To come clean, I have a Goodreads account I forgot how to get access to. Which was under my old name, and my story is reviewed on it. The ONLY thing I ever did with that account was claim the story I pro published and then left it alone with the reviewers.

I have inferiority complexes directed at the outside world. I totally get that, but I didn't upvote the story. I didn't try to talk back to my reviewers. I didn't go to my fellow authors and downvote their stories. Because this is what you all have to understand: Writing at every stage is a battle against yourself, not others.

Shitty people might steal your ideas, shitty people might attack you for no good reason, but at the end of the day it's a battle between you and the blank page/editing what you've got to make it better. The better you are not a shitty person, the more you act like this is a cooperative and respect people' boundaries, the more likely you're going to do better.

The authors not published? They are not worse than me. The people that are published aren't necessarily better than me (This has to do with the market) The person who started yesterday isn't necessarily worse than me. The person who has been at it longer isn't better either—art is an equalizer in many ways as a nebulous form. And the biggest battle isn't with others (unlike what a lot of early reality TV shows on the subject made it out to be). It's a battle between you and yourself. Repeat that until you get it.

That said, remembering that, go support the authors Cait hurt via link. They really need the boost to their self-esteem.

[e-the-village-cryptid]

matilda the musical making me feel shrimp emotions