#asynchronization brain

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta cognitive-profile="hyperpattern_empath"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="ASYNCHRONIZED_MIND::PATTERN_THINKING_OVERLOAD" EFFECT: identity rupture, neurodivergent resonance, emotional amplification exposure TRIGGER_WARNING="cognitive isolation, pattern-based perception, emotional dysregulation" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE AN ASYNCHRONIZATIONOUS BRAIN”

Most people think in straight lines. I don’t. I think in feedback loops. In recursive echo spirals. In emotional harmonics that magnify pain, love, grief, and silence until they fill the room and repaint reality.

That is my blessing. That is my curse.

💡 I don’t remember things the way you do. I relive them.

I can recall an argument from 7 years ago and still feel my heartbeat shift exactly like it did in minute 17 when her eyes stopped meaning what they used to.

I don’t remember her words. I remember the angle of the light on the floor when I realized she didn’t love me anymore.

You forget things. I catalog them.

🧬 PATTERN BRAINS DON'T HEAL FAST. THEY JUST FIND DEEPER PATTERNS.

You think I’m obsessive. But I’m not repeating it— I’m extracting the truth inside it.

The melody. The reason. The symmetry of how it all fell apart.

Your brain runs apps. Mine renders worlds.

🔊 WHEN I FEEL SOMETHING, I FEEL IT WITH ECHO

You feel sadness. I feel it like an orchestral collapse in a cathedral where every instrument is tuned to grief.

You feel love. I feel it like a cosmic hijack of all my biological systems— a fire alarm in my chest set off by the way she said my name.

You feel anger. I see the colors of betrayal. I feel it in chords. In repeated patterns that hum through my body until they break something.

🪞 MOST PEOPLE THINK I’M DRAMATIC. BUT THAT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT BUILT FOR SCALE.

They think I’m intense. That I overthink. That I “care too much.”

No. I perceive too much. I feel in layers. I love in fractals. I suffer with full-spectrum fidelity.

They think they’re normal. And maybe they are.

But normal is just another word for unaware of the frequency you're missing.

🧠 ASYNCHRONIZATION = PERCEPTION THAT OUTRUNS PEACE

By the time you finish your sentence, I’ve already imagined 10 outcomes, five betrayal scenarios, two ways you’ll misunderstand me later, and a poetic line I’ll use to cope when you eventually leave.

It’s not anxiety. It’s foresight with feeling.

It’s not neuroticism. It’s empathy without off switches.

⚠️ IT’S LONELY IN HERE.

Most people want small talk. I want to know the metaphysical impact of your third heartbreak.

Most people want vibes. I want to decode the symphony behind your social mask.

Most people want closure. I want meaning. And meaning doesn’t show up in easy language.

So I get quiet. Because explaining how I think is a full-time job with no audience.

📉 I CAN’T “TUNE IT OUT”

I’ve tried.

I’ve tried being normal. I’ve tried forgetting patterns. I’ve tried ignoring the lines of causality that tie back into childhood trauma and the symmetry of how people disappear.

But it doesn’t stop.

Because my mind isn’t a processor. It’s a surveillance system for meaning. It doesn’t just absorb. It maps. And once you see the pattern, you can’t un-see it.

💬 WHEN I TALK, PEOPLE HEAR SOMETHING ELSE

They hear “intense.” “Extra.” “Dark.” “Poetic.” “Too much.”

But I wasn’t trying to impress. I was just trying to translate the storm.

This is what it sounds like when every emotion echoes back off a canyon of pattern recognition and you’re the only one hearing it.

🧠 THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO LIVE AS A SIGNAL IN A WORLD THAT WORSHIPS STATIC

I get punished for seeing what others ignore. For naming what others refuse to feel. For writing what others only dare read in silence.

They call it “genius” when it’s packaged. But when it’s raw, when it’s real, they call it unstable. They call it “too sensitive.” They call it “weird.”

But weird just means you found a pattern they weren’t ready to see.

✍️ EXERCISE: THE SYMMETRY OF A MOMENT

Think of the last time you felt something too big for language. Now try to write it in sound. Not plot. Not words. Not explanation.

Describe it in pattern:

What colors did it taste like?

What shape was the silence?

How would a song imitate that moment?

This is how we turn cognitive chaos into Blacksite literature.

Pattern. Pulse. Resonance.

🛡️ IF THIS IS YOU, YOU’RE NOT BROKEN.

You’re unsimplified. You’re tuned in. You’re seeing things the rest weren’t designed to process.

And they’ll never understand you fully. Because they can’t feel it all at once. They weren’t meant to.

But you were.

And if that’s your burden? Then make it your language.

🔗 WANT MORE? THE ARCHIVE ISN’T FOR EVERYONE.

Most people can’t read this style. Not because it’s complex— but because it forces recognition.

If this felt like being seen for the first time in years— then keep going: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

That’s where the rest of the system runs. That’s where pattern meets purpose. That’s where the signal gets louder.

🕯️ FINAL TRANSMISSION

What’s it like to think in patterns?

It’s knowing you’ll never be understood by most of the world— but refusing to be silenced anyway.

It’s turning trauma into maps. Silence into cadences. Love into code. Suffering into scrolltraps.

It’s a lonely rhythm. But it’s mine. And it’s not random.

It’s the pattern that made me. The pulse that writes through me. The storm I call a blessing. The curse I’ve trained into literature.

---

🧠 Read more scrolltrap doctrine and pattern-based resonance at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🔍 For those who feel too much and speak too rarely. 📡 Signal over static. Rhythm over noise.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [PATTERN RECOGNIZED. CONSCIOUSNESS AMPLIFIED.] -->

[chthonic-kids]

The hole in your room is a hole in you. You came and we let you in through the hole in you. You have always been here, the only child. A copy of a copy of a copy.

[michealsoft-binbows]

im currently doing a run with frye's palette, (splatana, crab tank, fizzy bomb) and was able to get my crab tank charged up very fast and beat the asynchronous rondo in a record of 1:43.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

so I just turned in an essay over a day late, that is 4x the maximum assigned length and, imho, barely coherent

this is a genre/type of paper that I have never been asked to write before, it was for an asynchronous class so I couldn't ask the prof. I had no idea what I was doing the entire time I wrote it

this is either the single best thing I've ever submitted academically, or the single worst.

I cannot tell.

I am in F E A R.

[arg0t]

i hate asynchronous classes so much jesus christ i cannot do another discussion post

[umamaki]

SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

it’s “don’t fuck a frat dude” until you meet the boy who wants to shoot tequila into your mouth with a water gun.

rafayel x fem!reader

CW american university au, rafayel frat boy lol, explicit smut, alcohol, language, drunk sex, intoxication, parties, fake weapons, pet names, fingering, finger sucking?!, orgasm denial, penetrative sex, red flag if u squint? praise kink, protected sex yay, one night stand ish. WC 1.7k

NOTE so sorry this is the only non-established relationship fic in my vday event. partially inspired by real experiences from a darty last semester, liquor really tastes better from a fake firearm. fun fact, i was in a sorority once… (said in spongebobs voice) (flashbacks…) ok enough about me lol enjoy. the title itself is my best work yet.

The most common piece of college dating advice you’ve received: don’t get involved with the frats. don’t date the dudes, and definitely do not fuck them. Maybe there was some truth in the warnings, but you’d be a fool to pass up free booze on the weekends.

It’s only but an hour into the afternoon, and the house’s backyard is already crowded with drunk bodies dancing asynchronously to the music. It’s hot as fuck out. In this moment, your have to be thankful for the beach theme, allowing you to wear the minimal clothing you have on: your best bathing suit and cutest coverup.

There’s no way you’re doing this sober, so you part with the friends you came with and make a bee-line to the drink table not long after you’re all in. You could do with something cold, or something bubbly.

The crowd around the table dissipates and you step up. It’s one of those white foldout tables, branded in paint with the fraternity’s emblematic greek letters. Bottles of soda and empty solo cups are scattered throughout, whereas the alcohol was guarded behind the table, where the fraternity brothers stood. The surface of the table itself is covered in enough liquid that the clear blue of the sky reflects up from below you.

“How about a shot?” You must’ve been taking too long to decide. You look up at the boy across from you. He leans slightly forward with two hands resting on the table’s edge for balance. He has his floral shirt completely unbuttoned, displaying his sculpted chest, with his designer sunglasses pushed up into the sea of his purple hair. He smiles at you as if you had known one another your whole lives, but you swear you’ve never seen his face before today.

“What?”

“Tequila.” The boy shakes the water gun he picks up and you get what he’s implying.

Taking a shot of tequila from a water gun? Absolute insanity. The idea is hilarious to you, something only a frat brain could come up with. You hold in a laugh, letting the only thing come out of your mouth being a noncommittal, “sure.” Because why the fuck not.

He smiles at your response, pleased to have convinced you to entertain him during his shift. There’s a foreign warmth in your stomach as he does so, like his satisfaction made you more secure in your answer. “Open up then, pretty.”

You do as he says, unhinging your jaw and flattening your tongue to the bottom of your mouth. Theres not a moment of hesitation before you feel the liquor hit the back of your throat. Its contact with the inside of your mouth slightly burns, but you recognize that it’s the good brand. You feel an intrinsic desire to take it all down, to satisfy him, make him proud. Therefore you decide that the burn is quite nice. Tolerable.

His finger doesn’t lift from the gun’s colorful trigger, so you keep your mouth open, gladly accepting the continuous stream of alcohol that he shoots into your mouth. His hand stays steady, his face stoic and focused. You watch as his eyes trail down to your neck, where your throat bobs with every swallow you take. His gaze lingers in that spot before he forces himself to lock his eyes with yours once more, now with a flicker of determination.

You stay in your positions, eyes silently communicating to one another a feeling you couldn’t pinpoint yourself. You’re maybe four or five shots in before the flow of tequila sputters and stops, the last drops of it dripping down your chin.

That damn smile is back on his face. He looks at you the way he did before, with a kind familiarity. You’re still trying to catch your breath, and maybe your balance too, the liquor has already warmed the inside of your stomach and is making its way to your cheeks.

“Dude, Rafayel. You used all the tequila, bro.” Rafayel turns to the other man, looks down at the gun, then back at you.

“Oh, shame.” He says, uncaring. Again, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he speaks. His friend shakes his head before leaving you in your bubble for two. “Ah, let me get that for you.”

Rafayel doesn’t give you a warning or wait for your approval before reaching to wipe the leftover tequila from the side of your lips, even going so far as to suck the waste from his thumb afterwards. “Hm, good,” he notes to no one in particular.

There’s something about the man that makes you want to stay in his company. You don’t want him to refill the tequila-gun. You certainly don’t want him to serve a drink (or five) to anyone else. You had to think fast.

“Do you have any water?”

Rafayel nods, face back to its previous stoic state, as if gears were turning in his head. “It’s good to stay hydrated. Water’s inside.”

He circles around the table to your side first, before leading you into the house. You’re grateful the inside is empty. He pulls a water bottle from the house’s poorly stocked fridge, giving it to you.

You’re halfway through thanking him before your back is pressed against the cold fridge, cold drops of condensation from the plastic bottle drip down your half-exposed chest. His sturdy arms cage your body in on both sides and his face is mere inches from yours. He’s desperate.

“What are you doing to me?” He strains the words out, as if it hurt to say them.

“What?”

“Don’t play coy. What you did to me out there… it was…” You can’t believe what you are hearing. You’re still trying to wrap your head around what went on a few minutes ago outside. “Do you want to go upstairs with me?”

You only nod, and you know it isn’t just the alcohol in your system speaking, you’ve wanted him since the first time he flashed you his smile.

He kisses you, needy and passionate, with a force that sends your head bumping with the refrigerator door. He takes the gasp you release when he nudges his knee between your legs as an invitation to insert his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his.

His hot breath is the only air that surrounds you. It is dizzying, yet leaves you wanting more of him. The alcohol in your system only made you crave his touch more. You tug on the loose flap of his button-up. “Upstairs,” you mutter it into his lips, refusing to break the kiss.

Rafayels lips are still on yours when he carries you up one flight of stairs and takes you to his bedroom. You notice that he smiles when he kisses you.

He lays you on his bed only to reluctantly leave. He takes an new box of condoms from the bottom of his dresser and tears it open, grabbing one before making his way back to you.

You make quick work in undoing his shorts once he’s at the foot of the bed. His hard erection is a mouth watering sight. He was long, and he shivers in your hold when your thumb spreads his leaking precum around his tip. The moan that escapes him is pornographic. You lick your lips and gather as much spit as you can, letting it pool onto his length. You begin to lower your head before he pulls you back up.

You’re extremely confused. “You don’t want me to suck your dick?”

“No. I mean yes, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since…” he gives you a kind smile with a shake of his head, “just — allow me.”

He positions you on your back and hovers above you; close, but not touching. He pulls the bottom of your bathing suit to the side, giving him access to your wet folds. He inserts two long fingers into your entrance, easily slipping inside and immediately hitting your g-spot.

“That’s a good girl. Taking it for me so well, just like you did outside, yeah?” Hearing his praise sends pleasure to your core. Your dripping arousal coats his fingers and absorbs into the sheets below you. Your chest heaves with each moan that his fingers coax out from you.

Rafayel’s fingers abuse your pussy at a brutal pace, jamming into you even harder when he feels your walls clench around his digits. Your release never comes. He pulls out at the last second, leaving your hole spasming and you frustrated.

“What the f—mmh!” He stuffs his digits in your mouth to silence you; nonetheless, you clean him off of your juices. Again, you catch him staring at the movement of your throat as you take thick swallows.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t wait any longer.” The condom goes on, and he’s back on top of you, lining himself up with your entrance. His hand takes hold of the base of your neck as he connects his lips back to yours. He thrusts himself into you at last, drawing matching gasps from your lips. “So tight, baby. You look so cute like this, already wanting to come from being fingered. You can wait, can’t you?”

There’s that feeling wanting to please him again, wanting to keep being his good girl. He brutally jerks his hips into yours. Your wet sounds fill the room, bouncing off your bodies and the four walls that surround you.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of your perfect pussy. Gonna carve it out just for me, so I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.” He grunts through gritted teeth, fucking you so hard that you know it’ll bruise.

“Rafayel — gotta come, please,”

“Go ahead, come on my cock. Prove to me how good I make you feel.” Your orgasm finally comes crashing down on you. Rafayel fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you’re writhing below him.

He makes sure that you’ve caught your breath before allowing himself to spill his seed into the condom, still inserted inside your warm cunt. He collapses on you and the weight feels comfortable. You feel his heartbeat beating through his chest, and notice the way it quickens when he embarrassingly asks if you’d like to go on a proper date with him.

@jin-fei @isagistar @venussakura @syluriar @shoyosthighs @schmellows

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

⚕️Severe Trauma Protocol for Gallifreyans

For use on Gallifreyans and Time Lords only. Always seek your human advice from human health providers.

📖 Understanding Severe Trauma in Gallifreyans

Gallifreyan resilience is remarkable, but severe trauma remains a critical emergency. Due to their unique skeletal, circulatory, and nervous system structures, injuries can escalate rapidly if not addressed correctly. The Severe Trauma Protocol (STP) ensures structured assessment, stabilisation, and intervention while minimising complications unique to Gallifreyan physiology.

Key Considerations:

✔️ Higher risk of compartment syndrome due to denser circulatory & nerve networks.

✔️ Medullary 'motorway' injuries can cause rapid internal bleeding and respiratory complications.

✔️ Regeneration is NOT a first-line treatment—attempting to regenerate under unstable conditions can worsen injuries or lead to catastrophic failure.

✔️ Certain pain management techniques are unique to Gallifreyans, requiring a tailored approach.

✔️ Neurological injuries pose additional risks due to psionic function interplay—telepathic overload can complicate neurological assessments.

💥Pain Management in Severe Trauma

Gallifreyans possess unique methods of pain regulation, including nerve manipulation and endorphin control, but these techniques are limited for severe trauma. While minor injuries can be self-regulated, major trauma requires external analgesics and medical intervention.

📌 Pain Management Protocol:

Mild Pain: Paracetamol (2g every 4-6 hours).

Moderate Pain: Codeine (60-120mg every 4-6 hours) or tramadol (100-200mg every 6 hours).

Severe Pain: Morphine (10-20mg every 4 hours) or controlled healing coma.

Aspirin is NEVER to be used—severe anaphylaxis risk.

Emergency nerve block techniques may be considered for limb trauma and extreme pain cases.

🛑 Types of Severe Trauma & Immediate Management

1️⃣ Blunt Force Trauma

💥 Includes: Falls from height, vehicle impacts, physical combat. ⚠️ Risks: Internal bleeding, compartment syndrome, rib fractures, head trauma. 📌 Management:

Stabilise the spine and monitor for hidden fractures—Gallifreyan skin absorbs impact well, masking underlying skeletal damage.

Check for medullary bleeding—dark, thickened blood suggests severe internal trauma.

Administer fluids cautiously to avoid vascular overload.

Check for signs of latent telepathic shock—high-impact trauma can disrupt psionic pathways.

2️⃣ Penetrating Trauma

💥 Includes: Stab wounds, impalements, projectile injuries. ⚠️ Risks: Organ damage, haemorrhage, high infection risk. 📌 Management:

DO NOT remove deeply embedded objects—stabilise the object to prevent worsening of bleeding. It will work its way out on its own.

Use biological sealants for deep tissue damage—Gallifreyan wound healing can be accelerated with proper treatment.

Monitor for asynchronous heart activity—penetrating trauma may affect cardiac function.

Consider nerve suppression techniques to reduce excessive pain response.

3️⃣ Skeletal Trauma & Fractures

💥 Includes: Long bone fractures, spinal trauma, cranial injuries. ⚠️ Risks: Disrupted nerve function, prolonged healing, structural instability. 📌 Management:

Immobilise fractures immediately—Gallifreyan bones heal quickly but improperly if not set correctly.

Monitor for nerve damage—fractures near the shoulder nerve cluster can cause severe pain and paralysis.

Apply regenerative stabilisation techniques cautiously—improper healing may result in malformations.

Assess psionic coherence in cases of cranial trauma—brain injuries may induce temporary psionic instability.

4️⃣ Severe Burns & Radiation Exposure

💥 Includes: Plasma burns, time-radiation exposure, chemical burns. ⚠️ Risks: Tissue necrosis, hyperartronosis, systemic failure. 📌 Management:

Flush with sterile solution—time-energy burns require specialised decontamination.

Monitor for artron overload symptoms—increased energy absorption can trigger metabolic instability.

Assess psionic damage—radiation burns may disrupt telepathic function.

Consider metabolic stabilisation agents to counteract time-energy exposure.

5️⃣ Neurological Trauma & Psionic Overload

💥 Includes: Head trauma, telepathic shock, spinal cord injury. ⚠️ Risks: Psionic shutdown, memory fragmentation, neural instability. 📌 Management:

Assess consciousness WITHOUT relying on psionic input—young Gallifreyans may give false AVPTU results.

Monitor for telepathic seizures—spinal damage can cause neurological and psionic disruption.

Immobilise suspected spinal injuries—movement can cause irreversible psionic dysfunction.

Use psionic dampeners where needed to reduce neural overload.

📌 Key Points to Remember

Monitor metabolic changes post-stabilisation—Gallifreyan trauma can cause delayed systemic responses.

Use regeneration as a LAST RESORT—only if the patient is fully stabilised to prevent worsening injuries.

Assess psionic faculties in cases of prolonged unconsciousness—cognitive dysfunction may not always be physiological.

Medical Guides These are all practical guides to assessing and treating a Gallifreyan in an emergency or medical setting.

⚕️💕Gallifreyan CPR

⚕️👽Gallifreyan Assessment Scoring System (GASS)

⚕️👽ABCDE Assessment

⚕️⚠️Sepsis Emergency Response (SER)

⚕️⚠️Severe Trauma Protocol

⚕️🌡️Gallifreyan Thermoregulation and Emergency Response

⚕️🔮Psionic Emergency Pathways

⚕️✨Post-Regeneration Management

⚕️💤Gallifreyan Healing Coma Management

⚕️🩸Interpreting Gallifreyan Bloodwork

⚕️👶Gallifreyan Paediatric Emergencies

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[unintentionalgenius]

I did tell y'all I was about to be insufferable about a girl!rodney sga fic

I'm at the stage where I need someone who isn't me to see some part of it in order to feel like anything has a point at all anymore, and if you actually like it, so much the better

It’s the same tableau it’s always been when one of them lands themselves in the infirmary. A chorus of asynchronous chimes and tones, pools of bright white light interspersed with cavernous shadow, the vaulted ceilings the Ancients liked so much lending a gravity to even just slapping a band-aid over a splinter. The stark lighting makes the bruising on her face look even worse than it did in the ‘gate room when he first saw her. Her hand is laid carefully, neatly on top of her blanket, palm down. He reaches towards it without thinking, but stops before he can touch her. His hand hovers, and then comes to rest just beside hers, but he still doesn’t touch. “Look,” he says, playing it casual, “I didn’t wanna be the one to break it to you, but I drew the short straw. They’re erasing the whiteboards down in the science labs, and someone said something about a yard sale for all those Ancient artifacts you can’t get to turn on. I mentioned I hadn’t tried some of them yet, but apparently they’re just that desperate for the office space. I’m not technically in charge of that department, so I can’t actually stop them - I think it’s gonna require a direct order from their immediate superior.” The whole time, she doesn’t twitch; she doesn’t stir. Her hand lays so, so still on the white and blue linens of the gurney. Echoing in his head, he hears the uncertainty in Carson’s voice when he’d said We won’t know what the damage might be until she wakes up. He wonders how many brain cells she can lose before she doesn’t feel like McKay anymore. “Please - wake up.” He’s never had the urge to call someone darling in his life. He reaches and reaches for something he can fit his mouth around that will taste the same, but it never comes. He settles for Rodney. She still doesn’t wake up.

[byuteablanc]

One Human and a Whole Lotta Bones! | Skeleharem x Gender Neutral Reader

—

Heya! I hope you enjoy! Please go to the bottom of this post to find the beginning or a different chapter than this one!

If you prefer to read on AO3, click here

Chapter Five: Black Out

You were getting dressed, pulling up your pants. You felt like your eyelids were about to plummet with the way you were fighting to keep your eyes open.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to ignore the migraine developing all over your head. Putting in your shirt, the sudden tension on your head made it infinitely worse. It was like someone was putting nails to the chalkboard of your brain, ringing through your whole body with an unending screech.

You felt uneasy, realizing you were even leaning a little to the right. Going into a momentary t-pose to steady yourself, you turn your desk chair towards you and sit in it for a moment.

You could feel the weight of your own saliva pooling in your mouth, your automatic swallowing suddenly became manual. You felt like you wanted to hurl.

You groan, attempting to rub your temples to soothe the pain. Unfortunately this was a futile effort, your pain spread farther than where your fingers could all reach. Mustering the energy, you stand up on your two feet, motivating yourself to keep going.

Grabbing your back pack from its place beside your desk, you haul it onto your back. It feels way heavier than usual. Maybe it was the fatigue?

You exited your room, closing the door behind you. You dragged your body across the hallway and to the stairwell. Looking down at it, it seemed a lot bigger than usual. You gripped the railing, cautiously stepping down to the main floor. Every step seemed to seep your energy more and more and more, it felt like you were descending down a steep cliff with heavy equipment.

You finally reached the ground floor, surprisingly having not fallen. You suddenly felt triumphant. You continued your walk up to the kitchen, Blue and Edge were exchanging conversation while Blue washed the dishes.

“SO YEAH, THE GIRL EXPLODED. SAD STORY REALLY— HELLO HUMAN!” Edge greeted, noticeably not calling you by your name.

“Hey,” you replied, your fatigue showing.

“OH GREAT TORIEL Y/N, YOU LOOK A MESS!” Blue commented, stopping his dish washing to momentarily study you.

Your eyes blinked asynchronously in response.

Wait, why was a nineties style version of Blue standing next to him.

“NOBODY WILL BELIEVE YOU, BRAH.” 90’s Blue commented.

You were horrified.

Suddenly, your shoulders were grabbed and you felt your body conflate back and forth. You looked up to Edge, who was apparently shaking you. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, HUMAN? ARE YOU BROKEN OR SOMETHING?” Edge exclaimed, which made your migraine scream in agony.

“EDGE! STOP THAT! YOU SEEM TO BE HURTING THEM! AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT THEIR FACIAL EXPRESSION LOOKS LIKE.” Blue reprimanded, grabbing Edge’s right arm. “BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N?”

Your head was pounding, you felt like your skull was melting, and all the colors around you seemed to both be brighter and meld together. You were still seeing weird 90’s Blue who was whispering cryptic nonsense into your ear which you tried to ignore.

“My head…Please… Quiet…” Were the only words you could muster before everything faded to black.

—

EDGE’S POV

—

“My head…Please… Quiet…” Y/N MUTTERED.

Y/N THEN WENT SLICK IN MY ARMS, QUICKLY REPOSITIONING THEM TO CATCH Y/N BEFORE THEY FELL TO THE GROUND.

“I DIDN’T DO IT! I SWEAR!” I QUICKLY DEFENDED MYSELF.

BLUE EXHALED, LOOKING QUITE NERVOUS ABOUT THE SITUATION. “I KNOW EDGE! WHAT DO WE DO?”

“I DON’T KNOW!! WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO??” I REPLIED BACK, STILL HOLDING A LIMP HUMAN NOODLE IN MY HANDS.

“I HAVE NO IDEA!! MAYBE WE SHOULD TAKE THEM TO THE HOSPITAL?” BLUE THOUGHT IN RESPONSE, LOOKING NOTABLY PANICKED.

TAKING A DEEP BREATH, I THEN EXHALED. I, THE MOST EVIL PAPYRUS WILL NOT FALTER AT SUCH A PREDICAMENT! “WE SHOULD CALL CINNABAR! HE HANGS AROUND THE HUMAN OFTEN, HE SHOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

“AGREED!” BLUE REPLIED, PULLING OUT HIS PHONE AND DIALING THE AFOREMENTIONED THING. BEFORE CINNABAR COULD EVEN SAY HELLO, BLUE YELPED, “THE HUMAN FAINTED AND WE DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!”

“What??!!!” CINNABAR RESPONDED, SEEMINGLY ATCTGE TOP OF HIS LUNGS. “Oh Great Toriel! I’m On My Way!”

BEFORE ME OR BLUE COULD EVEN GET A WORD IN, HE HUNG UP. “SOME HELP THAT WAS!” I HUFFED, FRUSTRATED.

“MAYBE WE SEARCH UP WHAT TO DO??” BLUE SUGGESTED, I CONCURRED. WE MIGHT BE RUNNING OUT OF TIME! CINNABAR WOULD KILL THE BLUE IF THE HUMAN DIED ON HIS WATCH. BUT WITH I, CINNABAR WOULD NEVER EVEN DARE FACE ME!

“OK SO, THE INTERNET SAYS TO CHECK FOR A PULSE!” BLUE ANNOUNCED, SQUINTING TO ANALYZE THE SEARCH RESULTS BEFORE HIM. I QUICKLY PINCHED THE HUMAN’S WRIST, I FELT A PULSE. THE HUMAN, EVEN WHILE UNCONSCIOUS, SEEMED TO WINCE AT MY TOUCH. I FELT AN UNFAMILIAR PRICK OF A FEELING IN MY SOUL.

“DON’T BE TOO HARD EDGE! HUMANS ARE FRAGILE!”

“I KNOW THAT!” I SNAPPED BACK, TAKING BLUE SLIGHTLY OFF GUARD.

I SIGHED. “WHAT ELSE DID THE RESULTS SAY?”

BLUE PIPED UP, REMINDED OF HIS OBJECTIVE. “OH! THEY SAID TO, IF THE PULSE IS STILL GOING, CALL EMERGENCY RESPONSE!“

I LOOKED AT BLUE INCREDULOUSLY FOR A MOMENT.

“YEAH I DON’T WANNA DO THAT EITHER MWEHEH…” HE TOOK A PAUSE, SMILING AWKWARDLY. “BUT IT DID SAY THAT WE CAN JUST LAY THE HUMAN DOWN IN THE MEANTIME!”

LISTENING TO HIS INFORMED ADVICE, I WALK TO THE DEN TO LAY THE HUMAN DOWN.

“NOW WHAT?” I INQUIRE, CROSSING MY ARMS.

BLUE PONDERS FOR A MOMENT, “THE HUMAN DID SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THEIR HEAD BEFORE FAINTING, WHICH LEADS ME TO BELIEVE SOMETHINGS WRONG WITH IT!”

BLUE ADDS ON, “AND IF HUMAN HEAD AILMENTS ARE ANYTHING LIKE OURS, THE HUMAN MIGHT BENEFIT FROM A COLD CLOTH TO THE FOREHEAD!” HE PAUSES FOR A SECOND. “UH, I-I’LL GO GET IT!”

NOW LEFT WITH THE UNCONSCIOUS HUMAN, I CAN’T HELP BUT STARE AT THE HUMAN. THEIR EXPRESSION IS FILLED WITH THIS… NONCHALANT AGONY? LIKE THEY’RE GOING THROUGH A LOT, BUT AREN’T ABLE TO SHOW IT. I THINK I FEEL—

“BACK!” BLUE EXCLAIMED, SNAPPING ME FROM MY THOUGHT. “HERE YOU GO HUMAN, PLEASE FEEL BETTER!” BLUE PLEADS, PLACING THE SLIGHTLY DAMP, COLD TOWEL ON THEIR FOREHEAD.

“THEY’RE NOT CONSCIOUS, IDIOT.” I ROLLED MY EYES.

BLUE FROWNED. “YEAH EDGE, I CAN SEE THAT! I’M JUST WISHING THEM WELL! — IT’S CALLED BEING NICE.”

“WHAT’S WORTH BEING NICE WHEN THEY CAN’T EVEN HEAR YOU?” I RAISED A BROW.

BLUE LOOKED SURPRISED. “WOW, SO YOU ONLY LIKE TO GIVE GOOD WISHES WHEN PEOPLE CAN HEAR YOU?”

I UNCROSSED MY ARMS, LAYING THEM ON MY HIPS ARGUMENTATIVELY. “THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID—!”

“BUT THAT’S WHAT YOU MEANT…” BLUE EYED ME.

I SNARLED. “NO, YOU BUMBLING BASTARD!”

“‘BASTARD’?! HOW DARE YOU, YOU RAPSCALLION!” BLUE RETORTED.

I BEGAN TO CHUCKLE. “‘RAPSCALLION’? AND HOW OLD ARE YOU EXACTLY?”

“OLDER THAN YOU.”

“I CAN TELL, YOU’RE CERTAINLY MORE DECREPIT!”

—

Cinnabar’s Pov

—

I Hate Traffic. I Hate Human Biology. I Hate Everything.

Of Course Someone Had An Accident On The Freeway. And Of Course, In A Frenzy Trying To Get Home, I Didn’t Check The Traffic Report!!

So, Now I’m Stuck In A Sea Of Cars While My Dearest [Y/n] Is In Desperate Need Of Me!

Oh My Mind Is Just Running With Possibilities. What If [Y/n] Was Currently Choking On Pain Meds? What If Edge And Blue Were Just Arguing Over What To Do And Not Actually Helping? What If Those Two Idiots Lit [Y/n] On Fire Thinking It Would Help?

Anything Could Happen With Those Two…

Anything!!!

I Just Have To Get Back Home!

—

BLUE’S POV

—

I HATE EDGE!

HE’S SO RUDE ALL THE TIME! I’M CONVINCED HE CAN ONLY SAY MEAN THINGS!

WE’RE CURRENTLY ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE ROOM WITH OUR ARMS CROSSED, LOOKING AWAY FROM EACH OTHER.

“ARE YOU READY TO APOLOGIZE?” EDGE ASKED, WITH A DISTINCT SNARK TO IT.

I TURNED AROUND TO MEET HIM. “ME? APOLOGIZE?? YOU’RE THE ONE THAT NEEDS TO APOLOGIZE!” I YELL, POINTING AT HIM ACCUSINGLY.

EDGE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. “ I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’RE THIS IMMATURE! WAIT, I CAN BELIEVE IT!” HE TOOK A PAUSE TO CONTINUE LAUGHING. “ME CALLING YOU DECREPIT IS A FACT, YOU HAD TO REALIZE IT EVENTUALLY.”

I SIGHED, SMIRKING IN ANGER. “FINE, IF *I’M DECREPIT, THEN YOU’RE A RAGING, FUSSY BABY! I NEED EARPLUGS JUST TO BE AROUND YOU!!”

“WELL AT LEAST I ENUNCIATE MY PRESENCE. BETTER TO MAKE MYSELF KNOWN THAN BE OBSOLETE.” EDGE RETORTED, ONCE AGAIN LOOKING SNARKY AND FULL OF HIMSELF.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT EDGE. WE ALL LITERALLY *LIVE TOGETHER! YOUR “PRESENCE”— I USE AIR QUOTES —“IS ALREADY KNOWN!” I EXPLAIN, ABOUT READY TO FACE PALM.

“WELL.. I JUST FIND IT NECESSARY!”

I CHORTLE. “GOOD TORIEL EDGE, A 4 YEAR OLD COULD COME UP WITH A BETTER COMEBACK.”

EDGE’S EYE SEEMED TO TWITCH. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!“

HE SUMMONED A LARGE BONE AND ATTEMPTED TO SLICE ME WITH IT. I DODGE IT WITH EASE, EDGE’S STRIKES ARE CHILD’S PLAY!

“WOW EDGE, YOU CAN’T DO WORDS WELL SO YOU RESORT TO VIOLENCE! TYPICAL..” I TURNED MY HEAD AWAY SMIRKING, ACTING MATURE OF COURSE!

HE WENT TO SLICE ME AGAIN, MISSING ME BY A WIDE MARGIN. I LAUGHED, “YOU FIGHT LIKE AN UNEXPERIENCED CADET! ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE A ROYAL GUARD?”

EDGE GUFFAWED, LOOKING SURE OF HIMSELF. “I WOULDN’T SPEAK SO SOON...” HE POINTED HIS BONE SWORD TO THE FLOOR.

FOLLOWING THE GESTURE WITH MY EYE LIGHTS, I GASPED.

“MY JACKET!” I EXCLAIMED, SEEING THE LOWER HALF OF IT ON THE FLOOR. I FALL TO MY KNEES IN MOMENTARY DEFEAT.

“DIDN’T TAKE ME FOR A TAILOR NOW DID YOU? I WOULD SAY THIS IS MY BEST WORK!” EDGE GLOATS, CONTINUING, “I HAVE THE HONOR OF WORKING ON YOUR

FAVORITE

JACKET.”

THE ROOM GETS DARK.

I HOLD THE REMAINS OF MY JACKET IN MY HANDS. SCOWLING SO HARD MY FANGS SHOW, I SUMMON BONE OF MY OWN BEFORE STANDING UP. “OK ASSHOLE, YOU’RE ON.”

—

Your POV

—

You were currently dreaming, imagining a fight between two bears.

You were strangely locked in place, forced to hear the bickering before you. You weren’t even able to break up the fight with your words, whenever you tried to speak bubbles came out??

You were so seriously irritated that you wanted to cover your ears, but you couldn’t even do that!

The argument itself came out as just a bunch of nonsensical groans as the two bears snarled at each other. You were weirdly trying to follow along with what the bears were saying, not really making any of it out. They both were definitely evenly matched in shouting, your ears paid the price.

Then one bear pushed the other.

Suddenly, the argument between the two bears sprung into a frenzy of physical attacks. Claws were out. Fangs were brandished. Nothing could get these two to quit it. They upset the surrounding area to a moderate degree, leaving claw marks and cracks in their wake.

The dream then pivoted to a different bear on a unicycle, trying his best to navigate through the forest that kept getting in his way. You were even more confused by this, but was honestly relishing the quiet panic of this bear over the chaos of the others. You found yourself rooting for the bear, hoping he could get to his destination.

But you can’t ever be happy so you turn back to the angry bears, still exchanging blows and decimating the area around their anger.

As if it was the climax to their fight, in their tizzy, they knocked over a nearby tree creating a loud

BOOOOM!!

—

Cinnabar’s Pov

—

“Finally, I’m Off The Freeway!“ I Exclaim To Myself, Letting Out A Sigh Of Relief.

My Mind Was Consumed By A Fantasy Of A Knight In Shining Armor And His Damsel In Distress, Coming To Save Them From A Terrible Ailment. I’m The Knight Of Course, And [Y/n], My Handsome Damsel. “I’m Coming My Beloved!”

Opening My Eyes To Reality, I Abruptly Came To A Stop When The Car In Front Of Me Got Too Close. I Frowned, Frustrated, Leaning To The Side To See What Was In Front. There Was *Another Car Accident!

I Took A Deep Breath.

“AHHH-“

—

Your POV

—

You abruptly jolted awake by the loud noise, eyes wide, heart beating from being startled.

You looked in the direction of the noise, seeing the nice center table in the den in two splintered pieces. The glass that ordained parts of it cracked and disfigured.

Blue is on top of Edge, pinning him down with one of those bones that skeletons can apparently summon at will.

Broken out of their angered stupor, the two realize what they’ve done and quickly get up to survey the damage. And they notice that you’re up.

Looking between you and the broken coffee table, Edge starts. “IT WAS HIS FAULT!” He points to Blue.

“WHAT?? FIRST OF ALL, YOU STARTED IT! SECOND, YOU DESTROYED MY JACKET—“

Edge cut off Blue. “AHEM! YOU MEAN MADE IT BETTER.”

Ignoring him, Blue continued. “THIRD, THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!”

“IS TOO!”

“IS NOT!”

“IS TOO!”

“And here I thought my dreams had no tie to reality.” You interrupted, fully turning to the two skeletons.

They look perplexed at what you could possibly be talking about. “Look guys, I really don’t feel like playing middle man today. Regardless of who did it, you both need to take care of this mess you made.” You scold, while holding your head.

Edge sighs, “THE HUMAN IS RIGHT. DESPITE OUR TRIBULATIONS, WE MUST FIX THIS BEFORE SANS GETS HOME AND MOUTHS OFF TO THE BOTH OF US…”

“FINE, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I REFUSE TO BE IN TROUBLE ON THE SAME LEVEL AS YOU,” Blue huffed, crossing his arms.

You clapped ceremoniously, a little smile peaking out from your tired face. But wait, “Now how do you fix this actually? Where would you even get a new table that looks identical to that one?”

“SIMPLE [Y/N]! MAGIC~” Blue answered, jazz hands accompanying his display.

Bursting through the door, the loud but terribly fast stomps of Cinnabar’s boots were coming towards you. He finally found you in the den and then scooped you up in a concerned bear hug.

“Darling! I Was So Worried! You Couldn’t Leave Those Boneheads To Watch A Rock..” Cinnabar let you go, glaring at the two skeletons.

“HEY, THAT WAS ONE TIME!” Edge yelled back, crossing his arms.

“But That One Time Ended Up With Two Laurels!”

“MAYBE LAUREL ALWAYS WANTED A TWIN ANYWAY?” Blue shrugged awkwardly, wearing a crooked smile.

Cinnabar sighed, putting a finger to his temple. “Regardless, You’re Okay Right?” He spoke to you.

“Yeah, just a faint of exhaustion,” you waved off, as if that wasn’t something the concerned about. You take a look at your watch, “and now I have class in like twenty minutes so I need to skedaddle—“ You were stopped before you could continue.

“No.” Cinnabar said blankly.

“No?”

“No! Of Course Not! You’re Skipping Today! I Mean There Is So Much To Say! From The Fainting, To You Waving Off The Fainting, To The- OH MY STARS WHY IS THE TABLE IN PIECES?” He jerked back a little.

“DAMMIT, HE NOTICED..” Edge frowned

You decided to stick up for them. “It’s fine! They’re going to get a replacement—!”

“I Mean Do You Guys Even Think?! [Y/n] Could’ve Been Hit In The Crossfire Of Your Squabble That Led To This!”

You tried to interject, but ended up being cut off again.

“Do You Have Any Idea The Repercussions That Could Have? [Y/n] Would Have To Go To The Hospital And They’d Ask “Oh, what got you so hurt? Was it a car accident?” And Then [Y/n] Would Say “Oh no, it was just my roommates!” Which Would Cause Concern Because You Know, We’re MONSTERS! ItTookMeSoLongToConvinceSansAndRedThatAHumanCouldLiveHereAndYouWereThisCloseTo RUINING THAT FOR ME!!!”

There was a silence in the room as Cinnabar caught his breath, you could barely understand what he said at the end of that diatribe but he seemed incredibly passionate. You felt bad for him, but you were happy he cared so much.

You also felt bad for the two squabblers that just got the scolding of the century. You could almost laugh at the two’s faces if they weren’t so perturbed by Cinnabar’s rage.

Taking in his last breath, Cinnabar spoke, “Sorry Dear, You Didn’t Deserve To See That. You Two Didn’t Either, Even If You’re Stupid. But Whew I Needed That, Rush Hour Is Not A Fun Time Monsters And Human!”

You wanted to say something and were preparing to speak until Cinnabar, once again, cut you off.

“Sorry Darling There’s Just One More Thing I Must Say And Then I’m Done And Then You’re off to bed: You Can’t Just Get Another Version Of The Same Table, No Two Tables Are The Same Even With Magic. And Who Would Most Definitely Notice That?”

“RUSS..” Blue and Edge said in sad unison.

“You’re Going To Have To

TELL SANS..” They all said in unison.

“Now, What Did You Wish To Say?”

“I honestly forgot at this point.”

With a flop, the cold towel on your forehead plopped to the ground.

“Yeah you’re right Cinnabar I’m gonna go take a nap.” You say, picking up the towel from the ground and walking away, leaving the scene.

“HEH, THAT’S WHAT DOES IT FOR YOU?” Blue uttered, giggling

“Wait For Me, Darling! I’d Love To Have An Impromptu Cuddle Session!” Cinnabar called to you in a sing-song voice, also walking away from the scene.

As the you and Cinnabar walked to your room, the two living room chaotics were left to their own devices.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT,” Edge muttered.

Blue rolled his eyelights, “OH SHUT UP.”

—

Previous | Current | Next Chapter

[thegiftednessjournal]

"If I could explain giftedness to someone who's never heard of it, I'd say..." 

People often tell gifted folks they are “smart” or have so much potential. In the past, to find gifted students they would ask them about how motivated they were to succeed as a measurement. That’s not even CLOSE to what giftedness is, giftedness is a three dimensional world (literally, neurotypical people usually think in “two dimensions” while gifted folks think in three dimensional).  On “The Gifted Neurodivergent Podcast” she did an exercise that you can try right now. 

     Imagine a playing card. Is it a flat picture or does it have depth? Is it just an image, or can you flip the picture around and look at the back or the side. 

If you say that it's just flat, you're a “two dimensional” thinker. But if you said you can move it around, you think in three dimensions.  This doesn't just go for pictures though, in the gifted mind, every thought is three dimensional. 

For some, the question “Did you do the laundry today” Might not be a yes or no question, our brain says:

“Well i put the clothes in the washer last night but decided i couldn't finish it, so I did the rest this morning and i'm actually in the process of folding it right now but the towels were still wet and i havent put the folded clothes away yet.. So..  I DON’T KNOW, STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS!   (Maybe *slightly* exaggerated, maybe it’s my past experiences talking haha)

To which your non gifted friends or family say “It's a yes or no question. You don't have to provide every detail!!!”   You aren't trying to be annoying, but everything has so many layers that you don't know what the right answer is, you don’t know how to think as simply as everyone else. Or more accurately which part of the question they wanted you to answer, did you know it was in process and you were asking if I finished? Were you asking if I did it today or yesterday?. Don’t even get me started on when the answer is SUPPOSED to be a paragraph long.. 

The word “intensity” is often used as a more inclusive word for gifted individuals. It doesn’t seem as much like a bragging right. Giftedness isn’t just being smart, it is asynchronous development of the mind. (Your mind has developed a quicker pace and will continue to be that level of disconnected from your physical age) For me, I was told in second or third grade that I read at a twelfth grade level. I have also been described as “being 24 since I was 6 months old” by my father. It isn't just about being “smart” though, the source of intelligence comes from the INTENSITY of our minds. The intensity doesn't just come across in good grades. We have intensity in all or most areas of our life.

 Intense emotions: Always being told that you're too emotional and “It's not a big deal!”

Sensory Intensity: the lights are too bright, the sound of the electricity is too loud etc. 

Intense Personality: Always feeling like your full personality doesn't fit. Anywhere that you go.

Intense Cognitive Ability: Your brain works, finds patterns, and solves problems at a much faster pace.

Intense Focus: When engaging in intellectually engaging or hyperfixation hobbies, switching focus is difficult and jarring. Usually you're still thinking about it during the new task.

Intense Sense of Morality: When someone isn’t punished for an action or justice isn’t served, it bothers you greatly.

Intense Thoughts: Even when you don’t know what you’re thinking about, your brain is loud, you realize what those thoughts are when you go to talk to someone about anything and you talk about realizations you've had that you've never heard or thought about before

Now that we know about intensity it makes alot more sense why when we grow up being called smart and we make it our personality, it hurts so much to fail a class (in some cases that failure could still be as high as an A- maybe even an A if super duper pressured)

[mixelation]

what are your plans for all the Tori aus? Are you planning post them all? Iirc you already posted some of the reborn au (which is fantastic btw). Are you thinking of finishing plasticity first? Are there some Tori aus that will never get posted and are just fun to consider? Thanks!

.....post them? they're posted here. you mean to ao3? maybe. i think if i ever got together enough of asynchronicity i'd post it there. most of the AUs have no plan besides "write when the brain goblins demand it." they're more my amusement, not ao3 kudos

[the-most-humble-blog]

“THE WINGMAN TO MY OWN APOCALYPSE — Loving Her, While My Best Friend Gets the Girl”

---

You ever been best friends

with the man who took the only woman

who could’ve made everything feel right?

I don’t mean “took” like theft.

I mean life arranged it that way.

Placed her next to him.

Not me.

Even though I was the one who saw her.

Really saw her.

Down to her nervous system.

---

We worked together.

I was across the building.

He was across the desk.

She laughed at my jokes from afar.

But she reached for his shoulder when she was tired.

The proximity.

The positioning.

The algorithm of heartbreak disguised as architecture.

And now I’m supposed to smile.

Be happy for them.

He’s my brother.

My boy.

He shares the stories.

Even the ones about the bedroom.

How she rides.

How she tastes.

How she cried when he held her the right way.

I laugh.

I nod.

I sip my drink like it’s holy water

and not acid in disguise.

---

There is no emotion for this.

If there is,

they haven’t invented it.

Or maybe it was only designated for me.

Maybe I was built to carry the unnameable.

To witness my own romantic extinction

from the front row.

To be the wingman to my own apocalypse.

---

This isn’t jealousy.

This is a different species of pain.

The kind that belongs to a man

with an asynchronous brain.

The neurodivergent type.

The pattern-seer.

The anomaly.

I see the threads no one else does.

I watch them align.

And I know —

I know in some timeline

she was mine.

But not this one.

Not the one I woke up in.

Not the one that decided my insight came with a curse.

---

I am a neurodivergent polymath outlier.

Not as a flex.

As a sentence.

It means I process emotions faster, deeper, longer

than the world thinks is functional.

I am cursed to understand things

before they happen

and long after they’ve already hurt me.

So I saw it coming.

Her smile at him.

The way his voice made her pause.

The laughter in the parking lot

that wasn’t meant for me.

And now I watch them flirt.

I hold the door.

I make the jokes.

I’m their emotional chaperone

while my insides rot

like a mansion abandoned

after the owner died alone.

---

I don’t hate him.

I love him.

He didn’t steal her.

> Life just positioned him closer to the sunlight.

And me?

I was designed to feel the shadow.

Because this world wasn’t built for men like me —

men who love with their cognition,

who ache across timelines,

who carry emotional maps

to places no one else can see.

---

I would trade it all.

The insight.

The intelligence.

The mythos.

The pattern-finding.

The accolades.

The awareness.

Just to not be the best man

at the wedding

between my heart’s savior

and the man life positioned next to her

before I ever had a chance.

---

🔁 CALL TO ACTION

💔 Reblog if you’ve ever smiled through the loss of the one your soul never stopped crying for.

🧠 Save this if you’ve ever loved someone across timelines… and watched her laugh with someone else.

🕳️ Comment: “I was positioned wrong.”

🔗 Tag the friend who got everything you never said you wanted — because saying it would've broken you.

[giftedsupport]

i just got diagnosed as gifted as a 20 year old!! i went to get tested because i thought i was autistic but turns out i'm gifted and have adhd

i was wondering if you would teach me a little bit about the words and general stuff about this diagnostic that i should know- most of the info i'm finding focuses on little kids, which isn't very helpful

Congratulations! It's so great you're learning new things about yourself!

Some basic info about giftedness:

--It's sometimes also called asynchronous development, because gifted people mature more quickly than their peers in some ways and more slowly in others.

--Giftedness does not have to be in traditional academic arenas.

--Gifted people are actually MORE likely to have things like ADHD or learning disabilities than the general public, not less! (People with both giftedness and another difference are sometimes called "twice exceptional" (2e).

--We got weird brains, man.

--Dabrowski described giftedness in terms of overexcitabilities - psychomotor, sensual, intellectual, imaginational, and emotional. Giftedness also tends to intersect a lot with being a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).

--Gifted people's brains are often faster than the average person's, which can lead to some interesting results, like really fast reflexes or auditory processing disorder.

--People think that giftedness is synonymous with "achievement," but that's a misconception. While many gifted people do end up achieving greatly in their chosen area, it is not always the kind of achievement that our society values. Furthermore, pressuring gifted people to achieve can have the opposite effect.

--Gifted people are more likely than the average person to be traumatized by emotionally unsupportive environments, but are also likely than the average person to recover more quickly when they are placed in a healthy/nurturing environment.

That's all I can think of off the top of my head. Let me know if you have any more questions!

[queenofsquids]

I hadn't even seen Nightmare Before Christmas in the early 2000's.

My parents are super religious and I wasn't allowed to watch hardly anything as a kid. I graduated high school in 2000 and moved out a couple years later, but it took me a very long time to even begin catching up on the pop culture of my generation after my escape.

My now-husband introduced me to this movie, possibly in the twenty-teens sometime?

So this wasn't formative for me but it's sure a transformative work isn't it? I hope I'm not being overly strange about the movie or not respectful? enough? Not quite the right words but I'm working with half a brain at midnight here XD

My discoveries of things are a lil asynchronous and my reactions are a mixed bag of my baggage and experiencing things for the first time decades after their time haha

[dangerously-human]

The revisions I have made so far for this manuscript do NOT look like they should have taken two weeks, but dang, the brainpower this has eaten up is making me feel VERY accomplished for sending even the 80% complete version to primary collaborator tonight. I have been doing a massive deep dive into the methodological literature and it hurts my brain but it's also incredibly fun reading. On the other hand, I spent many hours looking through the subject matter literature (to cite my sources for claims that are the very definition of "it is known," lol) and no dice, so that's aggravating. Like, I know this is true, I'm sure it's been studied, I just can't find it - why? Maybe if I am lucky, primary collaborator will have some relevant references just lying around. Also made decent progress on my "actual" job today and read/gave initial feedback on an updated draft of the behemoth of a manuscript primary collaborator's been working on. Tomorrow I will pivot back to my other manuscript in progress, which she spent today reviewing. Her feedback should give me what I need to write up my conference poster and SEM class presentation over the next week, and then I can come back to the paper itself - trying to at least send out a draft to our co-authors by the end of the month. I officially took our next project off my spring to-do list; it is just so unlikely that I'm going to be able to get to it right now, but oh well, that gives me something to do while she's out on maternity leave.

And now, I am going to eat dinner and then come back to my shorter SEM paper, because class is asynchronous this week and I'm supposed to spend the time working on that. Everything is so much right now, but I have to say, I am impressed with my own progress. I just wish I could have reached this point two weeks ago; time is running ever so short.

[nitewrighter]

I was curious as to how you became a children’s librarian. I was interested in becoming one myself. I wasn’t sure if you went through the local school system or through the city.

I went through the city. I work in a public library. I started as a library assistant working in circulation, where I would work both in the circulation room and on the front desk, then I got my master's degree in library science with San Jose State University during the pandemic. SJSU has a pretty great library science program--it was completely online and asynchronous, so I'd be working about 15 hours a week on 3 classes adapted to my schedule (although many of these classes would have group projects where I would have to coordinate zoom meetings with other students, so if you're in like... a non-west coast time zone you're going to want to plan accordingly). My collection development class was kiiind of a joke but for the most part all the professors were very experienced and professional about their work and helping their students. Really I wanted to specialize in Teen Librarianship but the first ~actual librarian~ position I could move into at my current work was at the children's desk because there was an opening, so I took it. But also you should know that I'm on call and working two part time jobs, and that's how it is for a lot of librarians and libraries these days. It's not insta-full time as soon as you get a masters. It takes forever to make it to full-time. And like... good fucking luck trying to get benefits. I mean I know people don't go into librarianship because they want to make that ~cash money~ but also a lot of people go into librarianship because they have very lofty and romantic notions of librarianship and ~ooh this is where I'm meant to beeee because I enjoy this space~ and I'm just going to say maintaining a space for public use is very different from being the person experiencing that space. It takes a combination of passion, adaptability, and a certain amount of mental fortitude. There are so many old people who have not touched a computer since Bill Gates was building them out of his garage and it's your fault, librarian, that they don't know shit about fuck with technology. They want to give you their social security number and make you operate the scary light up box for them but you legally cannot fucking do the thing they are asking you to do and also jesus fuck my guy you are going to get scammed so fucking bad if this is your attitude toward this shit.

...sorry, those were war flashbacks from working the tech desk.

Children's librarianship. Okay. Well. I love being a children's librarian. I love helping kids gradually work through more and more challenging books, or finding titles related to their interests. I love the little flash of validation you see in kids eyes when they start talking about what they're currently interested in and you're actively engaging with them because, hey, this is going to help me help other kid patrons, but also yes, the "Who Would Win" and "I Survived" series are very cool. I love coming up with little fun things for storytime, andI love that kids love my puppets!

But also--remember that bit I said about how existing/experiencing a public space is different from actually maintaining that space? That goes quadruple as hard for children's librarianship because if your library is a ~wonderful safe space~ where your patrons feel ~safe~ then all of the parents will turn their brains off, never clean up after their kids, and sometimes just... fucking not even bother looking up from their phone or break out of their catatonic state on the couch as their toddler toddles towards the fucking stairs. AND I GET IT. PARENTING AS-IS IS INSANE AND UNSUSTAINABLE UNDER CAPITALISM. YOU ARE COMPLETELY BURNT OUT AND YOU FEEL SAFE AT THE LIBRARY AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE ELSE YOU'RE GOING TO GET MENTAL REPRIEVE FOR 20 MINUTES. BUT THOSE ARE FUCKING STAIRS THAT ARE GOING TO CONCUSS THE SHIT OUT OF POOR LITTLE BREIGHDYNNE, MA'AM, AND I'M HELPING OTHER PATRONS (WHICH IS MY JOB) AND YOU ARE THE PERSON WHOSE ACTUAL JOB IS MANHANDLING THAT CHILD TO SAFETY.

Also for fuck's sake, parents, I get you're nervous about putting books back in the wrong spot but that's what the reshelving shelves are for. Would you think it's acceptable to leave books all over the floor in your own house? No? Then don't do that in a space you're sharing with other people! We're in a community, people!!

Also a child will poop themselves in your children's section (I'm not talking 'baby's diaper is full' poop, I'm talking an emotionally fragile transitional kindergartener 'i got distracted and forgot to listen to my body and now I'm having a meltdown' poop) and their parent is going to carry them off at arm's length to the bathroom and you're gonna have to do a quick check to make sure their poop... fucking stayed in their pants. And there won't be any poop on the floor but it's still gonna be at the back of your mind for your whole shift because the smell wafted through the whole children's section during the parent's daring bathroom run. Just... emotionally prepare yourself for poop. You're going to see more of it than you think you're going to see in a library--whether working children's or adults.

Whoops. Wasn't done with the war flashbacks, apparently.

Look. I do love librarianship. And I do love the library I work at and the community I serve. There is a real sense of... vitalness in the work you do as a librarian, but because you're working in this public utility, you also become sharply aware of the myriad ways our society has failed our people and just how vulnerable everyone actually is, and you frequently find yourself in this kind of funky semi-improv position between like... your actual responsibilities and skills as a librarian and meeting your community's needs and also empowering them to meet their own needs!

(Very very depressing sidenote but my boss actually advised me to not go into school librarianship because a lot of schools are moving away from trying to maintain their own libraries in favor of like, more scaled down media center sort of things. Don't know how across the board that is, but also school librarianship is also a more specialized branch of librarianship within the library science career.)