#i have a good friend who i lived with for two years who is autistic

[neverendingford]

.

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[reasonsforhope]

Life is hard for neurodivergent people in Peru. Now a grassroots uprising of people with bipolar disorder, ADHD and autism – organised through picnics in the park – is pushing for change at the heart of government.

On a bright summer afternoon in Lima, the capital of Peru, Carolina Díaz Pimentel takes some red and green tape out of her backpack. She’s in a park waiting for people to arrive at a picnic she and her friends are hosting. Guests know that they don’t have to be on time, don’t have to make eye contact, and can leave at any time if they feel overwhelmed. No one will question them.

“We want everyone to feel comfortable. At least this afternoon we want to take a break from the rules that are imposed on neurodivergent people every day to fit in,” says Díaz Pimentel, a journalist and a co-founder of the Peruvian Neurodivergent Coalition (CNP), who is herself autistic and has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Hence the coloured tapes. Each attendee will choose one to express their “social battery”. If they choose the green tape, it’s because they want to participate in the activities. Red signals they prefer not to be approached. Everyone wants company, that’s why they are here, but in different ways. And that’s OK. People start to arrive. Several choose red.

CNP is a social initiative that first kicked off in March 2023. It is the alliance of five neurodivergent women who were already making waves by posting openly about their conditions on social media, but who longed to make real-world change. “I used to see this kind of gathering in countries like Mexico and Argentina and was sad to be so far away, until I saw the announcement of a picnic in Peru. Before joining the coalition, I didn’t really relate to anyone. I had good friends, people that care about me, but I knew I wasn’t like them,” says Mayra Orellano, another of the directors, an interior designer with borderline personality disorder (BPD).

Today [in March 2024] is the coalition’s fifth gathering. A picnic may not sound like fertile ground for a burgeoning social movement, but behind the bags of cookies and crisps, that is what CNP is doing – campaigning for the rights of neurodivergent Peruvians to be understood and accepted, and to live free from stigma and abuse.

The birth of the neurodiversity movement

The concept of neurodiversity has been around for almost 30 years after first being coined in 1997 in an undergraduate thesis by Judy Singer. Singer, an Australian who is now an eminent sociologist, argued that conditions such as autism, dyslexia and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) are all simply part of the myriad ways in which human brains are wired. It proposed a new way to think about human difference and provided a name for a burgeoning movement. In Peru, however, it remains a concept that few have heard of.

“Neurodiversity is not a medical diagnosis, it’s a political movement that brings us together to defend our rights,” says Díaz Pimentel. When she first started posting about her bipolar disorder on social media in 2017, it was taboo: very few talked about their diagnosis in public. Bipolar disorder remains a stigmatised condition in Peru...

Diaz Pimentel’s commitment is stronger than prejudice, she says. Two years ago, when she received her autism diagnosis, she posted a photo of herself holding a rainbow cake with the words ‘Congrats on the autism’ spelled out in white icing. She wanted to celebrate with her community because she considered it a rebirth: at the age of 29, some of the puzzles of her childhood finally made sense...

From picnics to influencing policy

Neurodivergence is a huge umbrella that describes people with very different conditions. In Peru, this causes confusion and a lack of accurate data. Even in the case of autism, the best recognised of the neurodivergent conditions, the National Registry of Citizens with Disabilities lists some 15,000 people on the spectrum. But according to international statistics on the worldwide prevalence of autism, there are likely more than 200,000 people with the condition in the country. 

María Coronel, the psychologist in charge of the ministry of health’s child and adolescent mental health department, says that clarifying this data is one of the institution’s priorities. She acknowledges that initiatives such as CNP’s can help educate people: “These organisations add to our efforts to detect people on the autistic spectrum and give them the help they need. They have a great ability to reach others because they are telling their own experiences.”

Although CNP has only existed for a year, the group is already influencing government policy. Two congressmen have asked for members’ feedback on bills to protect the rights of autistic people. The state agency in charge of integrating people with disabilities into society consulted them on the appropriate terms with which to refer to neurodevelopmental conditions. And the ombudsman’s office made a video with them to warn about gender bias in autism early detection. (In Peru, 81% of people receiving treatment are male.) ...

Creating a more sensitive society

The CNP community says its work has changed their own lives, but Díaz Pimentel recognises that it isn’t enough. Some experts agree – that the problems are as much structural as they are societal. “In Peru we have a gap in specialised human resources. We need more psychiatrists and neuro-paediatricians. We need more young people to choose these careers,” says Coronel...

[Natalie] Espinoza is also a CNP founder and the only founder who is a mother. She has a five-year-old autistic daughter. Finding a pre-school that would accept her was very difficult. Espinoza is familiar with that kind of rejection. At a former job, she was fired when they found out she has bipolar. She had always performed well, she says, but she was told that a person “on that kind of medication” could not work with them.

“When I found out that my daughter was autistic, there was no mourning or denial, just a desire to hug her tightly because I felt very afraid of what society might do to her. I would like her to grow up in a more sensitive place,” says Espinoza. Dedicating time to the coalition’s work is her way of contributing to that change. Currently its communications reach more than 12,000 people and it has 15 WhatsApp groups. Messages whizzing back and forth help their community in everything from getting diagnoses to finding places to sleep in the event of being evicted from their homes.

So what does the coalition want next? “We want it all,” says Lú Herrera, a lawyer with BPD and the fifth co-founder. They would love to create, for example, a “neurodivergent house”, a place where they can offer shelter to victims of violence, run educational workshops, organise neurodiverse entrepreneurship fairs and provide legal advice on inclusion rights.  “Everything we already do but in a place of our own. 

“You know what else we want to do in that house?” asks Herrera as if reminding herself. “We want to have mindfulness sessions, dance lessons, pottery classes. Activities that will ground us. We neurodivergents struggle so much every day that it would be nice to have a place to rest.”

For now, the picnics are opportunities to recharge, ready for the next conversation-shifting step.

-via Positive.News, March 13, 2024

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i talked to the school councelor because i suspect one of my friends is autistic? 👁️

(note: asshole is probably a strong word - what i’m mostly asking is if it would be a good idea)

I (17) have a friend (17) we’ll call Alex. I’ve been friends with Alex since we were in first grade, because our parents knew eachother. We kind of grew up together. Our entire lives, they’ve always been “weird,” they’ve never picked up on social cues well, they’re obsessed with chickens and know an absurd amount about them, they describe themself as a “creature of habit,” they struggle to understand when people are joking vs serious, and they are really bad at spelling, just to name off the top of my head. Now, any of these thing in a vacuum wouldn’t warrant anything necessarily, but all together i’m pretty certain they have undiagnosed autism.

Some added context, im not autistic myself, but i do have ADHD and i have an interest in psychology and how the brain works. In doing my own research to see if i was autistic, i noticed a lot of similarities between what i was reading and how i’ve known Alex as a friend my whole life. I’ve had the idea of them maybe being autistic rolling in the back of my head for like, two years now? But haven’t ever said anything about it, because i was afraid I was wrong or overthinking.

Now, here’s why i’m worried about bringing it up to anyone. Their parents are very… “nuclear family” ish. they’re very catholic, and have six kids with a seventh on the way (we live in the suburbs) and a part of me feels they don’t believe in mental health/illnesses/disorders or anything like that. They’re also transphobic, but you didn’t hear that from me. I just fear that telling a counselor would spread the info to parents who either wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t care, or would try and “cure” it. Alex already isn’t doing well mentally (they’ve talked about feeling textbook dysphoria and are in denial about it - i think they’re a transmasc egg) and i really don’t want to bring it up if it will cause problems.

BUT. I talked to my mom about all of this (we’re very close and i knew she wouldn’t make a big deal out of it) and she recommended talking to the school counselor, and im just wondering if it’s a good idea. In the best case scenario, the counselor would work to get them a diagnosis and HOPEFULLY a therapist (oh my god do they need a therapist), but in the worst case? in the awful world for autistic people we live in? i just don’t know if it’s wise. So here i am turning to tumblr, the most neurodivergent site around. WIBTA if i talked to the counselor about my friend who i heavily suspect is autistic?

[jewishdragon]

How to Cure* Yourself of Being a Picky Eater**

by JewishDragon

Step 1: Be me, a same foods picky eater autistic.

Step 2: Have a family member (who doesnt live nearby) be an enthusiastic chef. Loves to cook for people and experiment with cooking. Just throws shit together.

Step 3: Go 2 decades being wary of visiting this relative because you're an extremely picky eater and feel very ashamed when you stay at this relative's house.

Step 4: Get your first summer internship away from home and get housed by this family member who lives 10min from the internship

Step 5: Make a silent vow to Get A Good Grade In house Guest (a very reasonable thing to desire), since you are staying rent free. The vow includes

Clean the dishes after dinner without being prompted

Empty the dish washer without being prompted

Do your own laundry

Pick up after yourself and take out the trash before trash day!

TASTE, HAVE JUST ONE BITE, OF EVERYTHING THIS RELATIVE COOKS

Step 6: have a 3 month summer internship become several years as you get a full time job (and then START YOUR PHD) in the same town. While you now pay a smidge of rent, THE VOW CONTINUES

Step 7: Profit

(Expand your pallet, Discover what flavor profiles/textures you like and dislike with more nuance than ever before. Be able to go out to eat with friends and family without the anxiety over wondering if you'll be able to eat, or have to order from the kids menu as a 20+ year old. But overall, most importantly, it becomes easier to try a new food)

*JewishDragon does not guarantee any part of this method, this method will not work for most people for many reasons.

**This post is made in good humor. I am not claiming picky eating is something to BE cured. I am just telling the story of my journey of being a picky eater. I am still not an adventurous eater. For example: It took me 6 years from my first making the vow before i was brave enough to try a small drop of ranch/caesar style dressing on a single piece of lettuce. (I REALLY wanted to get a good grade in house guest at a weekly nerd gathering!) (also texture is a HUGE issue for me that i cannot expect to ever be "cured".)

(I also am a huge samefoods autistic, i can eat the same thing for two weeks and the only reason I would switch to something else for the next week or so is I ran out of the Thing)

[lixxen]

Idk how well text posts do on Trolls Tumblr, but I have so many thoughts rn and want to talk about feral Branch details.

Feral Branch HC:

Branch has fur, claws on both his feet and hands, his ears move like a cat, and he can see better in the dark

"Feral Trolls" are gray trolls who have adapted from being away from others. Trolls have a built in instinct that recognizes strength in numbers. You see this with rainbow trolls being able to change their colors/auras, and all trolls being able to manipulate their hair. Gray trolls cannot change their aura, but they are around others so they can stay normal

But isolated gray trolls biologically change due to them not being around others. This happens over years, and not automatic. Once a troll changes like this, they cannot undo it. So this is why Branch cannot go back to "normal" physically, even tho he isn't gray and around others

(there's also a psychological/self actualization part. Gray trolls tend to see themselves as the problem and rainbow trolls end up more likely to becoming "feral" looking due to their ability to change their aspects.)

All genres have feral trolls, all presenting differently. Rock and pop are the most similar since they are the two physically closest looks wise

Normal trolls are omnivores, but eat more plants since their digestive systems and body needs focus more on plants. Feral trolls need more meat, but are still omnivorses

If I can get psychological, a lot of their "feral tendencies" are actually just trauma responses and bad socialization issues due to isolation. A lot of responses are stemmed from fear and anger, so lashing out/growling/swiping at others is normally out of fear or response. Plus having to survive in the wild, y'know?

Okay. Done with that part, let's get into Branch!

Branch likes to be in trees and high ground. It comes from living in a pod in the troll tree, but he lives in the bunker because it's safer. So you'll find him in trees normally because he likes being high

Branch normally hibernates during the winter, but ever since he met Poppy he stopped hibernating. This makes him horribly grumpy during the snow season

Not shown: Branch loving his ears to be scratched. Her more sensitive than normal and he loves them being pet. He also loves to lay on top of people. It comes from the need of warmth and him thinking that others need warmth.

He wouldn't lick others, since they don't have fur. But if he's around other feral trolls he'd definitely lick them.

His parents were both half rock and half pop trolls. They both looked like rainbow pop trolls, and the rock parent (dad) did not live in the troll tree. Grandma Rosiepuff was the maternal grandmother and a pop troll

The parents names were Briar and Melody

Branch has the need to burrow all the time. It comes from years in the bunker and from hiding from danger in the earlier years. You will see him burried in someone's bed probably.

Branch is really good at math and science once he starts learning and back into the village. It comes naturally to him. He wants to be a pod architect because it comes naturally to him

Clay and Bruce follow the same thing, where Clay really likes accounting and Bruce loves to run business.

Floyd is the best at performing, with JD behind him. JD though is actually really good at taking care of others and survival. Surprisingly JD can garden and keep a ton of plants alive to feed himself.

Branch and Clay are autistic with different levels of support needed. Branch needs less support while Clay needs more. Thought I'd mention this.

Clay and Viva were best friends before the Troll Tree attack. The others did not know this. Viva and JD are the ones that helped Clay learn better coping mechanisms when the band started to sour

Branch is more sensitive to sound and light. He hates fireworks and doesn't like to be touched unless he knows the person

Ablaze is the one who mainly is teaching Branch coping mechanisms for his PTSD. Poppy is his support throughout everything, but she doesn't know how to help someone heal.

Branch mandates Kismet group cuddles. This dude it touched starved and they’re the only ones he is comfortable like that other than Poppy

Even after Branch is able to speak again, as he was nonverbal when he met Poppy and by Trolls 2 he is speaking again, he prefers to be quiet and doesn't talk as much. It is simply preference at this point

Branch likes to interlock his tail with Poppy's when they're not touching, but close enough :)

I might do more later, but I am about to go into work :)

[damagedcoda6669]

how did youknow youbhad bpd? what were the main "symptoms" ?? soryif it comes off as personal or uncomfy you dont hsveto answer

(im rlly rlly rlly autistic abt bpd PREPARE 4 AN ENTIRE BIBLE ABT HOW I DISCOVERED I HAD IT)

ive exhibited symptoms of bpd my entire life (it usually starts 2 present in childhood or early adulthood, it comes from childhood abuse/neglect) i only started 2 notice something was wrong in my tweens/early teens, when malachi became my favorite person and every1 was calling me mentally ill and weird and obsessive. ive known my entire life i was neurodivergent (first started therapy at 6 or 7, diagnosed with bipolar + autism + adhd + depression + anxiety RLLY early on) but there was something else that felt wrong 2 me. at that age i didnt rlly know what 2 search 4 or who 2 talk 2, so i just went on google and searched "love disorders" and obsessive love disorder came up (which isnt even in the DSM iirc) and i posted on google plus saying i likely had that and was shot down IMMEDIATELY 4 "self diagnosing" so i didnt revisit it again until a few years later.

after my breakup in 2021 i felt like it hurt WAY MORE than was normal. i stumbled across a video abt bpd during that time period and it resonated with me way 2 much. im impulsive, i have angry outbursts, im constantly suicidal, i self harm, i have extreme mood swings, i dont know who i am and ive always just mirrored other ppl, i dissociate, i have black and white thinking, i view ppl as all good or all bad and i split, i have consistently unstable relationships, i get attached 2 ppl more than i should be, and i have a paralyzing, nauseating fear of abandonment. i have every symptom in the diagnostic criteria.

i brought up the possibility of me having bpd with my mom i think (i had no one else 2 go 2 becuz all of my friends abandoned me and my parents took away my internet access) and i was shot down again, with my mom saying the CLASSIC "(insert family member) has bpd and shes crazy. ur normal. stop pretending theres something wrong with u. if u had bpd u'd be vindictive and petty and evil. do u think ur those things?"

once i figured out how 2 get my internet access back, maryland dude forced the bpd label on2 me becuz he wanted 2 explain my "abusive" behaviors (he was abusing me but tried 2 gaslight me in2 thinking i had a victim complex and that it was the other way around) and i became uncomfortable with the label becuz he made it seem like if i had bpd then i was a bad person. i continued researching the disorder becuz it still resonated with me even though i was now insecure abt it.

i became comfortable with the label again after he abandoned me, and i brought it up with my therapist. my therapist would HEAVILY DENY that i had bpd, telling me that "if u had bpd u would be attempting suicide 4 attention" "u fit the diagnostic criteria but ur autistic so all of ur symptoms can just be attributed 2 autism srry" "ive had clients with bpd and if u were like them u wouldve had an outburst in my office and be yelling at me by now" and she would even smile at me whenever i brought up my bpd becuz she thought it was funny that i thought i had it, i think. the first time i brought it up with her she told me "its rlly irresponsible 2 self diagnose after reading liek two articles online abt some extreme disorder becuz u think ur broken. ur not broken. dont self diagnose with bpd" and i had to EXPLAIN 2 HER that i wasnt self diagnosing and that id researched it in depth 4 years actually and that she was making assumptions. horribly ableist towards ppl with cluster b disorders, this is a MASSIVE RED FLAG but i didnt switch therapists becuz i was still living with my parents at this point and i felt out of control in every aspect of my life 4 this reason, i didnt even see switching therapists as an option.

then in 2023, while i was homeless, i got evaulated by a psychiatrist. i discussed my bpd with him and finally got diagnosed. i told my therapist i was diagnosed with bpd and she said something like "well im not always gonna be able 2 catch everything" BUT I WAS TELLING U ABT MY BPD 4 MONTHS!!!!! so glad i dont have that therapist anymore but now i dont have one at all, so liek.. hrmmm >:c

im gonna end this by saying.. self diagnosis is valid!!! its so hard 2 get a bpd diagnosis becuz its so demonized and stigmatized, that even those in the mental health system r ableist towards the disorder and those who have it. diagnosis is not always an option with disorders like bpd, and thats so frustrating. its so hard 2 find help becuz every1 thinks ur crazy. but ur not crazy!!! i love all my fellow bpders, i know how agonizing and it is 2 live this tormented life. if u suspect u have bpd, the bpd community welcomes u and supports u!!! and i do 2 :3

[1863-project]

I've been thinking a lot lately about my experiences as an autistic adult and how difficult certain things actually have been for me, and one of the things that really hit me recently was how I can tell the patrons at the library I work at are judging me. They say things to me they'd never say to my co-workers, because my co-workers seem "normal" to them. But I can think of two different cases in the last year or so that really stand out to me that illustrate this.

The first was a patron who wanted the writing address of the governor of New Hampshire. I found it and went to write it down for her. She didn't want it that way, she wanted it printed. Of course, Wikipedia wasn't going to print well, and she was starting to get difficult about it, so I came up with a solution - I'd type it into a Word document and print it for her. I was excited that I'd come up with something, and I enthusiastically expressed this excitement by raising the volume of my voice. She decided I was "weird," told me so to my face, and left instead of letting me help her.

More recently, I showed similar excitement when showing a patron how to use Google Maps, excitedly reassuring her that we'd do it together and that I wasn't going to just tell her to do something she didn't know how to do. This patron told me my enthusiasm made me seem "like a schoolgirl." I deflated immediately, pointed out I was actually 34 years old, and did everything else with an extremely dampened mood.

Being an autistic adult in the workplace - or anywhere - is an uncomfortable experience. The first patron decided I was scary. The second patron infantilized me. The dichotomy of being an autistic adult is that some people decide you're uncanny and scary and some people decide you're actually a child. Both are microaggressions. Both are ableism. The third option is, of course, to mask so well they can't tell, and then get told "But you don't seem autistic!" when you drop the big reveal on them (if you do). There's no winning here.

I think, often, of Ingo and Emmet, autistic adults who, like me, are in the workplace, are really good at their jobs and take them seriously, and are really enthusiastic about what they do. I think about what sorts of things people must say to them, about the judgment they likely experience from passengers and trainers. I think about how gratifying it must be for them to repeatedly face trainers like Hilda, who only cares about battling and not who she's up against, because in those moments there's no judgment, just Pokemon battles. Just as my regular patrons who know me and are okay with me are a comfort to me, so too must their returning trainers be one to them, a beacon of acceptance in a world that refuses to understand.

I think sometimes about how I can't go into the tags for these characters that are just like me, because there's content that treats them the way the real world treats me. It isn't all of the things people make, but it's enough that I can't take the chance of looking myself, because you never know. It's been this way since 2010, and it shows no signs of stopping. I think about how all fandoms have this problem, about how many people experience this, and it hurts deep in my chest. I wish desperately for a kinder world in which people like me aren't treated as "weird" because we're enthusiastic about work, because we don't have volume control, because we can't mask, because we're not like most people.

I do what I've always done - I generally just talk about the things I like with trusted friends who also like the things I like. It's safer that way. I don't have to worry about stumbling upon the things I already experience in real life. If my friends find something safe, they bring it to me, a wonderful show of kindness and affection that I am always deeply grateful for.

I just wish I lived in a world that thought about how things affect people more, about how a respectful portrayal can give someone hope and help them love the person in the mirror. But every "unhinged" or "scary" depiction of normal autistic traits reminds me how far we still have to go, how Autism Speaks and other hate groups still dominate the narrative even as they fade into the background.

Everyone can do what they want in fandom, but it's supposed to be an inclusive space, not an alienating one, and I think it's good to be thoughtful. You never know who you may be helping or hurting.

[homestuckreplay]

hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today: A Conversation Analysis of Pesterlogs in Acts 1 & 2 of Homestuck

This essay contains spoilers for pages 1-386 of Homestuck. Wordcount 6,700. If you prefer, you can read this on google docs. 

Love and thanks to @rudebreadrolls for being my very cool editor. They did not reduce the wordcount, but did provide some extremely helpful feedback. <3

Introduction

‘In watching our participants deftly manage multiple messages, and then interweave these messages into the larger storylines of their lives, we became aware that the drama, the story, and, indeed, the enjoyment of [instant messaging] comes from the entire session itself: its flow, its arc, and various aspects of narrative tension across messages.’ - Lewis & Fabos (2005)

In 2009, internet use is approaching universality among American teenagers. Around 93% of teenagers use the internet, compared to around 10% just ten years earlier, and academic research about the effects of internet use is beginning to catch up. There is huge variation in findings, with some studies reporting that internet use, social media use, and instant messaging with friends can decrease depression and social anxiety, while other studies find that online activities are harmful to mental health. Similarly, some papers show that friendships formed or maintained online are more surface level, less honest and less emotionally fulfilling than friendships maintained in person, while other papers suggest that young people are more vulnerable and uninhibited online, leading to deeper friendships. 

‘The internet’ and ‘teenagers’ are extremely broad categories, so it’s no surprise that findings are so varied. Two particularly interesting individual findings are that ‘Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) youth were more likely than non-LGBT youth to have online friends and to appraise these friends as better than their in-person friends at providing emotional support’ (Ybarra et al.), and that ‘online communities illustrate these tenets [belongingness, social connectedness, and political connectedness] of the autistic cultural identity, as well as how these communities, by the basis of being online, enable autistic social connectedness to occur more readily and smoothly then within everyday life in the “real” world’ (Le Vine-Miller). 

Two common hypotheses discussed in online friendship research are the rich-get-richer hypothesis, which posits that popular individuals with good offline social skills can use those same skills to achieve similar popularity online, and the social compensation hypothesis, which argues that people who struggle to form social connections offline often find it far easier to form friendships in online spaces. These hypotheses are not mutually exclusive, and both are supported by research. When discussing Homestuck, I make the assumption that the main characters are friends exclusively online and have never met in person, due to their geographical distance from one another, and that they are socially isolated with few if any in person friends, due to none of the characters mentioning a social life outside of their families and online messaging group. I also believe that whether or not this is intended by the author, it is easy to read these characters as queer and/or neurodivergent, which further positions them as socially marginalized. Therefore, these characters would best fit within the framework of the social compensation hypothesis.

Research on instant messaging (IM) typically discusses IM as a hybrid communication form, incorporating elements of both spoken and written communication, and further suggests that IM is a third form of communication that cannot fully be analyzed by either or both of these frameworks. Significant variation is seen between participants in their use of language and paralanguage, and there is a strong research focus on the capabilities and constraints of IM platforms. Researchers also discuss the varying prevalence of features unique to IM or other computer mediated communication (CMC), such as emojis, acronyms, gestures, and message spacing and timestamps.

However, this research is often limited by researchers’ needs to compare IM to in person communication and judge which is ‘better’. They typically conclude that IM is a lesser form of communication, and that participants in their studies have a preference for talking face to face. This may be because these studies primarily use participants who began using IM as teenagers or college students once they already have strong real life friendships. General studies on IM are less likely to study those who grew up with IM from a young age and who use the medium more akin to a first or native language - an increasingly common phenomenon - which limits the conclusions these studies can draw.

In instant messaging research, most authors rhetorically distance themselves from the topic, with some explicitly stating that they do not use instant messaging services themselves and none (that I found) discussing their own personal experiences. I personally have been a regular user of instant messaging services since the mid 2000s, including both one-on-one and group chats with both online only and in person friends, using primarily MSN Messenger, Skype, Facebook Messenger and Discord, and these experiences inform my discussion of this topic.

In this essay I will explore how Homestuck’s online teenage social group - John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, and gardenGnostic (GG) - communicate with each other and manage friendship via the in-universe instant messaging service Pesterchum. I will discuss what these friendships mean for the characters within the story itself, as well as what the use of instant messaging does for the author and audience who are reading this story. 

I used five Pesterchum conversations to conduct this analysis: John-Rose (p.256 - 332 words), John-Dave (p.386 - 542 words), John-GG (p.293 - 412 words), Rose-Dave (p.333 - 402 words) and Dave-GG (p.382 - 424 words). For each pair of chums, I chose the longest Pesterlog by wordcount between the two characters, with a pesterlog defined as a conversation occurring on a single page of Homestuck. In the end, all these conversations came from the first 140 pages of Act 2. 

I selected eight possible characteristics of instant messages to analyze in these conversations, inspired by, but not identical to, those explored in Kelley’s work ‘The Hybrid Structure of Instant Messaging’ (2008). My categories are as follows.

Grammar - includes punctuation, capitalization, and similarities to formal written language

Conversationality - includes exclamations, filler words, and similarities to informal spoken language

Internet Language - includes internet specific features such as emojis, abbreviations, and methods to emphasize words

Structure - includes length of messages and numbers of consecutive messages

Informativity - how effectively information is conveyed and interpreted

Vulnerability - emotional honesty and openness 

Agency - control over topics and flow of conversation

Color - cultural associations with chosen text color

I was unable to analyze two additional features. Pesterlogs do not include timestamps, so I could not discuss time between messages. However, overlap between messages and events in the narrative suggest that conversations take place in near-real time and are the primary activity holding characters’ attention. Interjections like ‘EB: um… hello?’ suggest that waiting for a response is the exception between these characters and not the norm. Additionally, errors and repair, where one participant makes a typo and corrects it in a subsequent message, do not appear in Homestuck. I assume that this is artistic license on the part of the author to improve readability of the text.

John Egbert

John’s typing style is the most conversational of the four main characters, with the greatest similarities to spoken dialog. He appears to be fairly unfiltered, and it’s easy to imagine that he would talk very similarly if he were hanging out with his friends in person. Grammatically, John does not capitalize proper nouns or the start of sentences, but he does use correct punctuation including commas, periods, and apostrophes. This is his main concession to written language, as correct punctuation makes his messages very readable even for people who are not familiar with instant messaging dialects, and means his statements are clearly delineated from each other. 

John uses contractions such as ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t’ whenever it makes sense to do so. His text contains a lot of filler words, such as ‘well ok,’ ‘like,’ and ‘er…’ which demonstrate his unfiltered, stream of consciousness style. He also uses exclamations such as ‘oh jeez’ and ‘ok ok stop!’ which would also be common to spoken language, but not written. 

John occasionally uses Internet-typical acronyms such as ‘brb,’ but they don’t form a major part of his typing, and he doesn’t make use of emojis or special characters that could indicate paralanguage cues. Once in a while, he uses all caps for emphasis, such as ‘haha I WISH.’ and ‘SO LAME.’ As this is the only capitalization he uses, it’s effective when present. John doesn’t elongate letters in words for emphasis, but he regularly uses question marks and exclamation points, and sometimes elongates these to two question marks or three exclamation points when he wants to indicate that something is particularly important.

John’s messages tend to be short and sweet, mostly containing a single clause or sentence, but there are outliers. When he has particularly strong feelings about something, for example his near-death meteor experience or the idea of a white ventriloquist rapper, he can get caught up in a run-on sentence confined to a single message. In instant messaging, it’s common to split a thought across multiple messages and take several conversational ‘turns’ in a row. John does this sometimes, especially when each message contains separate thoughts or when he needs some time to think, indicated by ‘hmm…’ or ‘see…’ as a single message, followed by a longer response. However, when he is having a singular thought, he doesn’t always take the time to hit the enter key, and instead constructs the whole story at once, as in the example below.

EB: but now i'm trapped here and it's weird and dark and i can't find my dad and i just lost the car and my copy of the game in the pit and i think i have to save the world from the apocalypse!!!

He could have chosen to split this message into multiple parts, as demonstrated below, but is either too caught up in the emotions of what he’s typing to do this, or sees this as a singular thought that should be kept together without line and punctuation breaks.

EB: but now i'm trapped here.EB: and it's weird and dark.EB: and i can't find my dad!EB: and i just lost the car and my copy of the game in the pit!EB: and i think i have to save the world from the apocalypse!!!

John can be vague with information, using ‘i think’ and ‘i guess,’ but he seems to be aware of that fact - possibly from communicating with the same people for an extended time. He sometimes self corrects to add more information when he realizes he’s being confusing. In general, he doesn’t seem to have perfect control over language, and can use awkward and clunky phrasing - ‘yeah, more like the opposite of all those things is the thing that is true!’ - which ties back to the social compensation hypothesis of online friendships. John isn’t a smooth talker, but it’s easier for him to talk through IM, because it provides more opportunities to self correct, and his conversation partner can read back over what he’s said and take more time to interpret it than they could in a spoken conversation.

John is honest with his friends about the situations he’s in, and the unfiltered way he talks carries a lot of implicit emotion, but it’s rare for him to outright state how he feels. When he does, it’s always more neutral emotions - ‘ok i don’t really care.’ or ‘but i’m ok!’ - never strong emotions, either positive or negative. However, it’s easy for someone who knows him to interpret how he feels through messages like ‘you never even wished me a happy birthday!’ It seems that John isn’t making an attempt to hide his emotions, but also doesn’t explicitly acknowledge them, whether that’s just to his conversation partners or also to himself.

John’s conversational agency is highly variable. He seems to naturally take the lead in conversations when he has strong opinions about the topic under discussion, like when he tells Dave to stop an extended monologue, or changes the topic away from Dave’s criticism of his sylladex. In his conversations with both Dave and GG, he seems to be guiding the flow of topics, even though Dave is sending far more and longer messages. In contrast, in his conversation with Rose, John is taking a backseat. He recognizes that he has less information than she does, although he sometimes pushes back against her with emotional interjections. He still attempts to exert agency in the conversation by asking questions, but she overall appears in control.

John’s chosen color for his messages is #0715cd, which is described as ‘medium blue’ or ‘strong blue.’ Blue in its entire spectrum is currently seen as a masculine color, and is associated with oceans, sky, open spaces, introspection, sadness, wisdom and serenity. This particular shade of blue is closely linked to computers - the standard HTML code for hyperlinks, including the ‘next page’ links in Homestuck, is #0000ee, ‘blue’ or ‘pure blue.’ John’s text evokes his status as a ‘digital native’ who predominantly spends his time using technology. Blue is also a standard color for ink pens, and a color most people are accustomed to reading in. John may have chosen blue for his text because it is unobtrusive and doesn’t stand out in any particular way.

Rose Lalonde

Rose’s typing style stands out because of the four main characters, she is the only one whose messages reflect formal written writing. Outside of messages she is both a creative writer and an informative writer (via GameFAQs), and unlike some writers, she doesn’t draw a strong distinction between this and her instant messaging. Without exception, her messages are complete sentences with correct punctuation and grammar. She also obeys some stylistic guidelines for writing, such as varying her word choice, mixing complex, multi-clause sentences with shorter ones, and occasionally using metaphor and simile. 

Rose does not use filler words, and each word she chooses appears purposefully placed to add something to her message. She does make use of contractions such as ‘I’ve’ and ‘didn’t,’ as her one concession to spoken language, although she uses the full ‘cannot.’ She also makes some use of exclamations, although in the sample studied here this still appear to be carefully considered full sentences, such as ‘Baseless accusation!’

Rose appears to have no interest in tailoring her writing to the Internet. Some users of IM believe that using internet language and paralanguage makes them appear younger and less intelligent, which could motivate Rose to avoid these. The one acronym she uses is ‘PDA,’ which is an accepted acronym outside of IM, and the closest she comes to slang is the phrase ‘skyward asses.’ This phrase is more likely an example of mimicry, where somebody uses a phrase they would not normally use to (whether intentionally or unintentionally)  imitate their conversation partner, in this case Dave.

Rose does make use of message spacing and multiple turns, the one clear difference between her instant messages and other forms of writing. She averages around 10 words per message, the highest of the four characters, and sends strings of two to three messages more often than single messages. Each message can be as many as three full sentences, which are always directly related. Her message strings can be due to topic changes, but can be directly related thoughts separated for stylistic effect or to create tension by making her conversation partner wait for the next message.

Rose clearly pays great attention to precision in her writing, conveying all necessary information without shortcuts. She uses a wide vocabulary for her age, with sentences typically readable at a high school level, and expects her conversation partners to be able to understand her. She is also excessively verbose, choosing words to showcase her personality and intelligence, instead of trying to send the quickest messages possible, as in the example below.

TT: Navigating the urban landscape I'm sure is difficult enough without an obstacle course of deferential flesh and skyward asses.TT: Perhaps adapting the art of parkour to your unique environment would help?

Rose could instead write the following, which is significantly quicker to type and easier to read, but she does not.

TT: Being in the city must be hard enough without people falling at your feet.TT: Have you tried parkour?

Many researchers hypothesize that response speed is a big factor in people’s IM word usage, but this is not true for Rose - even when her life is in imminent danger, her typing style does not change. This is probably uncommon, but no ethics board has yet approved a research study investigating this.

Rose’s messages typically stick to the facts, with occasional speculation. She prefers to discuss the specifics of her situation and goals, and avoids obvious cues to her emotions. In both conversations analyzed, she offers one emotion-based statement at the end of the conversation, which could suggest one of two things - either she needs to take some time to warm up to a conversation before she’s comfortable expressing an emotion, or she’s so uncomfortable expressing an emotion that she needs to leave immediately afterwards. In both cases, the emotions remain somewhat buried within intentionally complex language.

Rose naturally takes charge in conversations, and prefers to discuss topics she feels knowledgeable on. When talking to John, she employs subtle topic shifts to focus on what she knows for certain and what is directly actionable. She also explicitly refers to doing outside research to be better informed in this conversation. When talking to Dave, Rose engages in conversational sparring where neither party is in charge of the flow, and is thrown off when Dave is able to take control over the conversation by seeing through her surface words to the motives beneath.

Rose’s message color is #b536da, described as ‘bright magenta’ or ‘dark orchid.’ Purple is broadly associated with royalty, power, magic, night, creativity, and enlightenment. It is also a feminine color, and surveys suggest it is a more popular color for women than the archetypically feminine pink. In Rose’s case I would highlight purple as a spooky and mysterious color, distinct from black (which is most likely the Pesterchum default color), which she may have chosen due to her interest in horror and her desire to appear mysterious. ‘Purple prose’ is also a common term for unnecessarily extravagant and fanciful writing, which on the meta level of the story, could be a good description of Rose’s typing overall.

Dave Strider

Dave’s typing style is extremely minimalist, stripped of most signifiers of spoken, written, and internet language. He very rarely uses capitalization or punctuation - he sometimes uses question marks when relevant, but not always. ‘what do you want with john’ leaves the question mark implied. Dave does however make extensive use of quotation marks, which he uses to roleplay with himself and create hypothetical characters on the fly. He is a writer like Rose, creating blogs and webcomics, and this shows in his extensive instant message monologues. However, as all of his writing intentionally breaks the formal rules of written language, his messages share very few similarities with standard writing and are mostly incomplete sentence fragments.

Dave uses filler words and conversational slang, and contractions without an apostrophe. He regularly uses ‘yeah,’ ‘what,’ ‘look,’ ‘ok,’ ‘damn,’ and ‘shit,’ which are written out even though they don’t add additional meaning to his messages. Despite this, his typing overall reads as less conversational than John, partly because the lack of punctuation means his words don’t have the clear cadence of speech. 

Dave does not use emojis or laughter, which connects to the overall lack of emotion in his messages. He occasionally uses acronyms such as ‘FU’ and ‘nm’ which are exclusive to internet language. In his case, this might indicate that he has no interest in the topic under discussion and doesn’t think it’s worth the attention of a full message, as he has no issue writing far longer messages when he has the inspiration. His other hobbies indicate that Dave is familiar with Internet culture overall, so not using internet language is a conscious choice he makes - perhaps he thinks this style of messaging is no longer cool.

According to my editor who is cool for real, being taciturn (untalkative and reserved) is a classic trait of “cool guys,” suggesting that Dave uses acronyms when he is focused on his cool persona, and writes longer messages when he gets swept away in his thoughts and forgets to put on this act.

Dave averages around seven words per message, although the sample taken did not include any of his raps, which could potentially raise this number. In his conversations with Rose and John, he sends significantly more messages than his conversation partner. With GG he sends a similar number of messages, but in all three conversations, Dave has a much higher total wordcount. He clearly has a lot to say and has no qualms about saying it as often as he likes. There are also only two occasions where he includes two separate sentences in the same message, and he regularly splits up a sentence across multiple messages, such as when he sends ‘cal is dope’ ‘puppets are awesome’ ‘john egbert blows’ as three separate entries. Dave’s general lack of punctuation means that the enter key is the closest thing he has to a comma or period, which could explain his greater tendency to split messages. Alternatively, the fact that he is generally extroverted and enjoys talking could mean that he sends one message at a time and then continues to add additional thoughts until his conversation partner responds.

Dave is fairly vague with information as it pertains to his own life, saying that he ‘took [his] awesome katana’ to the living room ‘in case things get too hot to handle’ without elaboration. It is possible that he is working on the assumption that his friends already know about his life. Alternatively, he may not want his friends to know these details, or he may simply want to appear cool and mysterious. When talking about a hypothetical scenario, Dave gets a lot more specific and highly detailed. This shows that he has a strong and active imagination and has no trouble conveying information when he chooses to do so.

Dave is highly defensive when criticized by his friends, even on things that do not particularly matter. He is also extremely opinionated and expresses this often, using a lot of language that is strongly positively or negatively charged. This definitely gives a sense of his personality, and could perhaps be mistaken for emotion, but it’s very hard to get a sense of how he actually feels from his messages. The only emotion he expresses is frustration – despite his desire to talk to his friends often and extensively, he interjects often with ‘oh for fucks sake,’ ‘ok whatever’ or ‘whenever we talk about your goofy modusses i get a migrane [sic]’. It is uncertain if this frustration is how he genuinely feels, or if this is part of an overall affectation crafted to hide more vulnerable feelings.

Dave tries to maintain agency in conversations primarily by holding the floor. In his conversation with John he sends nine consecutive messages, by far the most of any character in the samples taken. When taking these multiple turns, there is less of a chance for his conversation partner to change topics or disrupt the flow. When his friends get a word in edgewise, Dave does accede to topic changes and will stop talking if instructed. He often doesn’t have as much control over his conversations as he’d like, and with both John and Rose, he regularly plays defense against their differing opinions, such as when Rose suggests he might be gay due to refusing to play a game with her, and he tries to assert that he’s just busy.

Interestingly, Dave is just as wrongfooted in his conversation with GG as he is with John and Rose, but he does not act anywhere near as defensive. This may be because John and Rose are intentionally trying to throw him off balance, while GG is simply stating their greater knowledge without a motivation.

Dave’s chosen text color is #e00707, described as ‘vivid red’ or ‘electric red.’ Red is overall associated with heat, fire, passion, danger, blood, anger, love, and courage. It is thought of as a highly emotional color and is eye-catching and difficult to miss on the page. Dave could have chosen to type in red because it gives his messages a sense of urgency, meaning his friends might respond to him more quickly, like when a red flag or exclamation point is added to an email to indicate high priority. A red flag is also a metaphor used to indicate a problem requiring attention – Dave’s red text could mean he either has a problem that isn’t being addressed, or will go on to cause problems for others. Red text is also used in schools to correct errors, and Dave talking in red feels like he is always correcting his friends on their opinions and beliefs.

gardenGnostic

GG has adapted their typing style to the instant messaging medium more than any other character. An online typing style seeks to replicate not only spoken and written dialog, but also paralanguage cues, and adapts itself to the specific medium where the conversation is happening – in this case Pesterchum. In some programs, this could include adding images or external files to a message, or changing font style and size, although we have seen no indication of these being supported on Pesterchum. One of GG’s concessions to the medium is primarily using punctuation for emphasis and effect, not grammar. GG also varies on whether or not they use contractions, sometimes using ‘im’ and ‘dont’ but sometimes using the extended form ‘it is’ – this lack of consistency could again suggest that this is done for effect. 

GG s does not always use full sentences, for example using ‘mr cool guy?’ as a sentence when it’s really just a fragment. As such, GG’s messages don’t resemble written language in any meaningful way besides being technically written down.

GG uses filler words such as ‘well,’ ‘anyway,’ ‘so,’ and ‘oh!!!!’ as a way of changing the topic while acknowledging that they are doing so. This is their main concession to spoken language, softening their messages and indicating that they are paying attention to their conversation partner and the overall flow of topics.

GG is the only character to make regular use of emojis, and uses a variety of them. :), :O, :D, ._., O_O and <3 all appear in their text at some point, either as responses in their own right or at the end of another message. They also sometimes use long and drawn out words for emphasis or sarcasm, such as ‘sooooo cooooooool!!!’ As indicated in the same phrase, they are prone to using long strings of exclamation points and ellipses – up to seven exclamation points at once and an eight-period ellipses, both when talking to Dave. They use both ‘lol’ and ‘hehehe’ to indicate laughter. 

These adaptations could suggest that GG is accustomed to talking to people on the internet – perhaps they have grown up regularly using chatrooms and have adopted internet communication from here. The opposite could also be true. GG could be accustomed to conversations in real life, and could be making use of these features as they are the only way to convey facial expressions, tone and body language that would come across automatically in person.

GG averages around five words per message, the lowest of the four characters. Their average is brought down by their single-emoji messages (each counted as one word) and their extensive use of message splitting. There are only a few occasions where they include two sentence clauses in a single message, and sometimes they even break up a single clause, seemingly for anticipation – for example ‘it is usually……..’ ‘intense!!!’ as two separate messages. Overall, GG sends fewer words than their conversation partners, but sends a similar number of messages. They don’t appear to be mimicking the number of messages sent, as in their conversation with John, each of them gets a chance to hold the floor and tell a longer story. 

GG conveys information clearly, but obscures its source. Their sentences are easy to interpret linguistically, but content wise can appear nonsensical, as they make wild claims that cannot be backed up by available evidence and expect their conversation partners to take this on faith. When questioned how they know these things, GG states ‘i don’t know’ ‘i just know that i know!’ Interestingly, GG does not offer this same faith to their friends, asking John ‘how did you know??’ when he correctly guesses that a meteor explosion happened near her house.

GG’s messages contain almost exclusively positive emotions, and these tend to be exaggerated. Even when discussing restrictions on their own life, they soften more negatively charged messages with a brighter tone and liberal use of exclamation points - ‘i dont think i could if i tried!!!’ GG might be uncomfortable discussing their own negative emotions and any problems in their life, but they’re happy to discuss and even speculate on other people’s feelings. They commiserate with John when he’s upset about losing his neighborhood and potentially his dad to the meteor collision, and they suggest that their pet Bec thinks their own local meteor is dangerous and is trying to protect GG from it. It’s possible that focusing on other people in this way serves to divert attention from GG’s own emotions, allowing them to maintain that positivity whether or not it is true.

GG appears fairly savvy regarding social dynamics and conversational practice, more so than any of the other characters. They seem to maintain agency in conversations whether or not they are actually taking the lead. When talking to Dave, they dispense information slowly and on their own terms, taking advantage of their own superior knowledge. This technique for maintaining tension in a conversation has also been noted in research. GG also utilizes more subtle techniques to manipulate the affect of others, gently poking fun at Dave’s coolness and telling John that all the bad things happening to him might actually be his destiny. This understanding of their friends’ feelings is a unique skill within the friend group.

GG’s text color is #4ac925, also known as ‘strong lime green’ or ‘harlequin green’ - ‘harlequin’ specifically linking them with John, whose house is covered in harlequins. Green in all its variations is associated with nature and plants, growth, life, envy, money, and both health and sickness. Somebody being ‘green’ can mean they are naive or new to something, and GG certainly seems to have a bright and idealistic worldview. Bright green is a fairly gender neutral color and could be used by someone who doesn’t want to associate with either masculinity or femininity. More generally, GG may have selected a bright color to indicate a fun-loving person who doesn’t take themselves too seriously. GG is also the only character whose screen name – gardenGnostic – directly relates to their text color, with the phrase ‘green thumb’ referring to somebody with a talent for gardening. Lime specifically is a type of fruit, potentially one GG could grow if they live in a hot climate.

Analysis (in universe)

When Homestuck begins, John, Rose, Dave and GG already have an established friendship. We don’t see their early interactions or learn how long they’ve been friends, but they know each other well enough to exchange real full names and home addresses, and send each other expensive birthday gifts. As online communities in this era focus on anonymity and internet safety, with many users exclusively going by their screen names, this indicates a close and long term friendship.

Furthermore, these characters have a deep involvement in each other’s day to day lives. One criticism of online friendships in research is that they will always be more surface level than in person friendships, as online friends cannot exist in each other’s space, with their interactions limited to an online setting and sometimes a specific online activity, such as gaming. The rise of smartphones may see this change in the real world, and it’s reflected in Homestuck – John has adopted his dad’s PDA while Dave owns an iPhone, a top of the line technology first released in 2007. Both of them can now talk to their friends from anywhere with internet signal.

Even without portable devices, these characters’ conversations deal with the minutiae of their movements. Dave mentions moving from his bedroom to the living room, John discusses looking for his dad, GG talks about having to go feed a pet, and Dave and GG even consider whether John has checked his mail today. They are about as involved in other people’s lives as geographically distant friends can possibly be, even without accounting for Sburb. They do not exclusively talk about shared interests or focus on the most exciting things happening to them. 

In some ways, their relationship is closer to roommates or colleagues – people who spend enough time together every single day that they don’t always enjoy each other’s company, but they continue to navigate how to share space. This is even indicated by the application name ‘Pesterchum,’ with ‘chum’ being a colloquial term for a friend, and ‘pester’ meaning to trouble, disturb, or annoy persistently.

In Homestuck, this shared space is a digital space and all four of them are free to disconnect at any point. Leaving a house or a job is complex, but online there are infinite chatrooms and forums these kids could explore to find new friends, and Pesterchum almost certainly has a ‘blocked users’ function if any of them wanted to cut the others out of their lives. Online friends are friends who continually make the choice to be in each other’s lives without circumstances dictating this, and it is a sign of a strong bond, maturity, and the acceptance of others’ quirks that four thirteen year olds are making this choice despite personality differences and sometimes visible annoyance with each other. 

All four characters have strong and well established typing styles that they don’t significantly modify based on their conversation partner. While they might use an individual turn of phrase borrowed from a friend, they keep the same stylistic features, which is not always the case for IM users. Some real world users may be inclined to, for example, use capitalization if their conversation partner does this also, for fear of standing out negatively.

It’s certainly possible that they would change styles when talking to somebody outside their social group, and the biggest limitation of this analysis is that we only have Pesterlogs between these existing close friends. It would be very interesting to see these characters talk with strangers or acquaintances, and compare these with their in-group chats. It would also be interesting, if any of these characters ever meet in person – as John and Rose may if she is able to enter the Sburb universe – to compare their spoken dialog to their Pesterlogs.

One research group noted that young people did not subscribe to ‘an artificial distinction between the corruption of online space and the sanctuary of the home’ (Valentine et al.), as their participants broadly believed that harmful content online could also be found offline. I believe that on both its in-universe and meta levels, Homestuck begins by drawing this boundary in the opposite direction. The work presents Pesterchum as a sanctuary from the troubles of the offline world, and the home as the corrupt space where unpleasant entities invade on the characters’ lives and minds. 

Homestuck may go on to interrogate this dichotomy via Sburb, but its early position does reflect a reality. Many young people don’t view the home as a sanctuary, and are forced to find community and collective identity elsewhere. These characters’ geographical isolation is not their only problem; all four have tense relationships with their families due to a disconnect in identities or expectations. And due to their differences in personality and hobbies, there is likely a common factor linking these four kids together. 

Queer communities and neurodivergent communities have been found to flourish online, and these communities often more easily understand the communication styles of others within the group, while those outside the group may struggle. I believe that the characters all belonging to one of these groups could explain the strength of their friendship, and the reason they feel most comfortable in online spaces.

Analysis (out of universe)

Zooming out one layer further, I’ll consider the implications that Pesterchum has on Homestuck as a work and its audience.

So far, Homestuck only has one line of spoken dialog – the word “Stop!” used by Dave on page 354. As such, Pesterlogs are not a supplement to spoken conversations, they are a substitute. Pesterlogs are effective in that they can make use of the stylistic features discussed in this essay to add characterization. These features show how the author views their characters, as well as how the characters view themselves, given their control (in universe) over their messages. In a story where the narrator appears to be a character, with their own perspectives filtering the thoughts of John, Rose, Dave and GG, it is valuable to give these characters a chance to make themselves heard directly through their messages.

A webcomic is an exclusively online medium, and while some aspects of the Internet (such as social media) are becoming mainstream, webcomics still attract niche audiences of people who spend a lot of time online. While a few have broken from their confines, such as xkcd, these tend to be single-strip serialized comics like those found in newspapers, not longform stories like Homestuck. As such, it’s a reasonable assumption that Homestuck readers are probably also instant messenger users – and that they likely have online friends and acquaintances, read other webcomics, look at memes, read or maintain blogs, play video games, and may even have a basic knowledge of coding. The average audience member has already experienced the different multimedia formats that Homestuck plays with, and can relate these to their own experiences online.

Instant messaging chatlogs are just one of many formats that slot perfectly into a webcomic, not only because the medium allows for them on a technological level, but because of this assumed familiarity that would not be present in other groups. A Pesterlog could appear in a different form of fiction, such as a novel or even a poem, but novel and poetry readers skew to an older and less online demographic. They may struggle to interpret Dave’s coolguy slang, GG’s emojis, or the significance of Rose’s perfect grammar, while reading messages and gaining an implicit sense of character comes naturally to IM users.

John, Rose, Dave and GG’s typing styles are all different enough that, even without chumhandles or colors, it would be easy to determine who was speaking just from their messages - something much easier for an author to achieve in IM versus spoken dialog. It also reflects the reality that, far from being the homogenous wall of acronyms expected by writers and researchers who don’t use IM, people do type in a wide range of styles that reflect their actual and assumed personalities. IM users exercise a certain amount of control over how to present themselves, but their choices here reveal many clues to their underlying selves.

Finally, Homestuck successfully and sympathetically portrays a different lifestyle to what’s commonly found in fiction about teenagers. Television shows commonly explore the social and popularity dynamics of high schoolers forced into the same building, and while unpopular characters may well be protagonists, giving them friends and love interests at school is necessary to tell the story. Characters who are entirely socially isolated in real life need to have this factor changed before they can be three dimensional and participate in the narrative. This means that a character who lives online is typically a caricature, shown either as an unfortunate and inept loser who needs to be ‘fixed’ (or is beyond help), or a naive and uneducated child who will learn a lesson about internet safety when someone they talk to online turns out to not be who they claim. 

In Homestuck, in person social dynamics are nonexistent or irrelevant. Online friendships are allowed to meet characters’ social needs with peers of their own age, and are never shown as lesser than other kids for having these online social lives. While the narrator gently pokes fun at characters for their mishaps, these jabs aren’t based on their popularity or ‘weird’ status. To an online audience, many of whom are or were in the same position as these main characters, Homestuck earnestly validates how fulfilling and meaningful an online, instant messenger based friendship can be. In my opinion, this is one of its greatest strengths as a work.

--

Here is a list of sources used in this essay 

Thanks so much to anyone who read all this! :D

[copingwithobsessions]

Billy is autistic ♾

Just me rambling about an headcanon I take wayyyy too seriously :)

Hyperfixation : horror movies (obviously)

He just keeps talking about it. All the time.

Like

Also him using his hands while talking in this scene

(There's also something to be said about him mentioning the queer actors and not the 'straight' characters but that will be for another post-)

Also in the phone call where we're sure it's him :

(If he was the one calling Casey then there's even more-)

Also him just constantly talking with movie-related things : "It was edited for TV- all the good stuff was cut out", "nice solid R rating, on our way to a NC-17", "lately we're just sort of edited for television", "Maybe your movie-freaked mind lost it's reality button","It's all a movie, it's all...one great big movie.Only you can't pick your genre","I think she wants a motive","I don't really believe in motive, Sid.", "See it's a lot scarier when there's no motive Sid", "Is that motive enough for you ?", "How's that for a motive ?", "Just pretend it's all a scary movie Sid...How do you think it's gonna end ?", "Perfect ending.", "Now Sid, don't you blame the movies. Movies don't create psychos, movies make psychos more creative !" and basing his killing spree on horror movie tropes : phone calls, masked killer, virgins being the final girls (literally having sex with Sidney to fulfill the trope), 'no motive' etc...

2. Abnormal posture

3. Staring (last 2 photos, both scenes in Sidney's room, police station scene...basically when there's Sid) or excessive blinking (doorway scene, kitchen scene...(basically when there's Stu)

4. Plans and changements

Billy (and Stu) planned their entire killing spree (from the dates it would be on : surrounding the one year anniversary of Maureen's death, to the person they would frame and his supposed motive as well as Casey and Steve's murders with the phone call, the attack at Sidney's house, Billy's incarceration, Stu's phone call following it, Billy's fake death, kidnapping Neil before his flight and using his phone, hiding his car, using a voice changer, stabbing each other to seem like victims, the party etc...)

When Billy's (and Stu's) plans get changed (Dewey, Gale and Kenny being present, Sid escaping the kitchen with her dad and Stu losing too much blood), Billy panics and goes into what could be defined as a meldown : throwing out insults, walking in circles, never going to check on the first floor, destroying Stu's living room and just panicking all around-

(When he fails getting Sidney to trust him and makes her escape to the toilets, he punches himself in frustation)

5. Insociability

Basically doesn't talk in the fountain scene

Awkward and Unsettling while talking, even to his friends

Doesn't pay attention to girls being interested in him

Doesn't seem at ease with the number of people leaving the party

(Even fidgeting though that may be just be him checking that the people are leaving for real)

6. Overdramatic

7. Favorite person/people

Okay this one's not that common in autistics but for Billy, he definitely has a special person, two in fact :

He literally started killing because his mom "moved out and abandoned" him.

For Stu, I will be vague cause I'll talk about it in detail in the other post 👀but basically he's not really himself unless Stu's there and planned a killing spree where only they would survive (+ trusted him to stab him).

Bonus : If Billy is the one who called Casey

"I only eat popcorn at the movies" Well I'm getting ready to watch a video "Really what ?" Oh, just some scary movie "You like scary movies ?" Huhuh "What's your favorite scary movie ?" Hum- I don't know... "You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind ?" Hum...Halloween ! You know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters. "Yeah." What's yours ? "Guess." Hum- Nightmare on Elm Street ! "Isn't that the one where the guy had knives for fingers ?" Yeah, Freddy Krueger. "Freddy, that's right. I liked that movie.It was scary." Well the first one was but the rest sucked."

"It's an easy category : movie trivia"

"Come on, it's your favorite scary movie, remember ? He had a white mask, he stalked the babysitters"

"Then you should know Jason's mother, Mrs Vorhees, was the original killer ! Jason didn't show up until the sequel."

And that's it ! A complete analysis of what could be considered autistic traits from Billy that got way too long-

[uboatheflesh]

Here's me recording/performing of empathy shield live on Behind The Mirror, RTR 92.1 FM on the 24th of August 2023. photos by alt.live.perth (Jess).

Set was a little shorter due to the radio time constraints. Also gave a brief interview (the interview on the site was done beforehand over email, theres also a pre-mastered version of empathy on there, I only spoke briefly after the set on radio). Again, empathy shield was completely improvised based on carefully pre-selected sound design elements. Done in the middle of autistic burnout, where I could barely speak on radio due to slowly going into verbal shutdown . Luckily my tour hosts Jess and Amir were absolutely supportive and got me through it.

I went on to play this show a few days in later, also in borloo/perth at the Badlands Bar. It used a lot of the same elements of empathy shield. I have a few feelings about it.

After the end of my set, I had a total verbal shutdown as soon as I got off stage and snuck back into the green room.

Worse, I managed to break the zip on my dress (got caught in the mesh I was wearing) and was stuck in it for 20 minutes before I had to ask a band for a shirt to cover the broken top half. Then several old perth friends I had not talked to in ages came in to talk to me only to find me simply unable to say hi back. I felt terrible about it. Indeed, I was in a terrible state. However - everybody around me there understood. A fellow autistic woman even gave me a fidget spinner. Even if I didn't use it (weirdly too overwhelmed to stim?), I kinda happy cry every time I think about that somebody even offered one to me non-judgementally. Only a few years ago would I have seen as a ridiculous r*tard baby for being a 'professional musician' who does this, but now it's ...its treated kinda like normal. Wish I had this kind of understanding growing up before I was diagnosed. Now, I am never the only ND at the gigs I play. Indeed, the NT's are usually the minority at them. Then theres the fact that so many other (and more well-known) musicians are being open about their autism (like Ethel Cain or Justin Broadrick) which would also be unthinkable years beforehand. It genuinely warms my heart. This is why I am loud, proud and cringe about my neurodivergence now. I don't want to be repeatedly traumatised by it anymore based on misunderstandings that we autists inevitably get, or failing to meet allistic standards. Every time I see a fellow autist get horridly traumatised because somebody (usually NT) got the ick it fucking hurts. Or when they blame themselves for failing to meet arbitrary allistic standards and fall into a horrible depression for not being 'normal'. It hurts even more if its a fellow autistic transfeminine person. I wish I could do more about it, like psychology or social work - but music is what I am stuck doing for the time being, so I'll try to do what I can here. Hence several upcoming songs /records (including the two Roadburn commissioned original compositions) neurodivergence takes a central role. It's lame, but sometimes its good to be lame. Sometimes it's necessary. We have a long way to go, but its also important to remember we have also come a long way too.

/gen

[princesspastel8]

• Gentle •

A Sleep token(Vessel) one-shot

No smut, just fluff.

《 First time writing a xreader. So bare with me.》

°this is based on a dream I had. I hope you all enjoy°

~ words used throughout this story: you, your, you're, she, her ~

♡ Story written in Third Person POV ♡

- Life is full of ups and downs. Most go through trauma that shapes and molds them into who they are today. Others seek help. Most live with it. Life is full of trials, some easier than others. You past a few and fail others. Life is full of choices. You may choose good, but everyone is allowed to make bad ones - bad choices.

Life is what you make of it.

But sometimes, life can get lonely. One can surround themselves with family, friends, or maybe even a lover- but most still feel an empty void that no one is able to fill. So you try a different tactic, shopping. This method only hurts your pockets and places others in debt.

Music

A way to express one's self. A way to distract or help concentrate. An alternative method to fill a void.

That is y/n's method. The only one that serves to distract the ache in her heart when the loneliness strikes. Y/n's life is one that most could relate to. Growing up as the middle child, parents constantly arguing, a passive-aggressive older brother, a compulsive lying little sister, and a brother with autism that's a year apart from her in age.

A loving family, on the surface.

There wasn't abuse of any kind, but the weight of responsibility fell onto y/n's shoulders at such a young age. Trying to protect her siblings from hearing their parents fight while watching over her autistic brother. You suffered in silence, thriving for perfection in everything you do to avoid being fussed at and nitpick - while dealing with a little sister that always got her way by lying.

Sure, this life may not be as bad for most - but pain is pain. Trauma is trauma.

As the years pass, the weight of this responsibility grows heavier. Y/n grew up with no friends and not much attention given to her by her parents. You did receive love from your aunts, but that too was cut loose by your jealous mother - having witnessed her daughters grow closer to her sisters.

Middle school came and went, only making two friends - both transfering to different schools. High school came, full of nothing but hardships that caused y/n's trust issues to blossom.

Y/N has been known to be the strong one. Strong and independent - you needed no one, but she did. Y/N struggles to express yourself properly. In times where crying is needed, you'd turn to anger - wrath - until she snaps. Having to deal with a narcissistic toxic best friend, you desperately needed someone - anyone. Y/N couldn't let the best friend go, having been your only friend at the time.

Y/N didn't want to be alone.

But the dating began....

Relationship after Relationship leaves you more battered and bruised than the last, but senior year comes - and you meet him. A man Y/N couldn't get enough of. A man who knew her better than you knew yourself. A man who also hurt her in the end.

He did return, making amends - but nothing comes from this. Your heart, however, still wanted him - but you knew you had to let him go.

Have you ever encountered someone and began to picture how your life would pan out if you were to be with them?

Y/N did, with that man. She could see her life pan out differently, the opposite of what she wanted.

To put it quite frankly, Y/N is terrible at love.

How can she spot a good man when Y/N's father has only ever been an example of the bad? He did try his best, but it wasn't enough.

So here she is, now living with the aunt that showered her in the attention she needed as a child. Life is better, more calm - peaceful. The once suffocating responsibility is light. She has friends who are trustworthy, loyal, and honest. That deep void full of sadness & loneliness should be gone - yes?

No.

She has love. Love from family. Love from friends. Yet she still longs for something she's no longer sure what it may be.

A lover.

Again, her luck in men is poor. She's never encountered a man who has a gentleness to them. Most men try to use her, her last relationship being the worse. The provoking picking leads to pointless arguments. The pressure to perform lewd acts, only to be left disgusted and full of shame.

At this point, she doubts she'll ever meet a man who will cherish her.

Having never been shown proper love from a partner, she stays to herself. She's still so young. She has time to find the right one, but her mental road blocks prevent her from being optimistic.

Music.

Ah yes, the one healthy method to help sooth the ache in her heart.

Music has been the one thing she fully relied on to help ease the tiniest pitches of pain lingering in her heart. It's only a matter of time before she stumbles upon a band known as 'Sleep Token'. Instantly, she's hooked.

Their songs, their sound - his voice.

She's obsessed, deeply rooted in all things involving this band. Their music, the lyrics, captivating her in a way she couldn't explain. Sleep token brings her peace within her clouded void. They're the perfect distraction.

Soon, she goes to see them live. The experience lights a spark within her, making her truly cherish the art that is Sleep token.

Y/N starts from the back rows, with each passing show - bringing herself closer and closer to the stage until she's front row. Mesmerizing. The only word she could use to describe that breathtaking moment.

Watching Vessel prance around, ii banging out on the drums, iii and his wild antics and screams towards the crowd, and iv- making the ladies scream with his sensual hand motions Truly a experience all should bare witness to. A taste of a drug, and she's addicted.

Every show that's near, she's there, front row with the brightest smile - swaying to each song and softly mumbling the lyrics word for word. Watching Sleep token live & up close has become her only means to de-stress.

It didn't take Vessel long to notice her. Sure, he's performed in many sold-out shows, seen many faces within the crowd- but seeing her front row during his concerts brings a joy he struggles to describe. He sometimes finds himself scanning the crowd in hopes of seeing her, though performing in a state too far for her to travel.

He's just as captivated as she is with him, if not more. The way her e/c eyes sparkle when he performs her favorite songs, the way her h/c hair aligns with the swaying of her hips, and how her smile brightens when she believes they've made eye contact- y/n can never tell due to his mask.

Vessel catches himself singing to her rather than the crowd. He can't help himself. Something about her is so alluring. At some point, he can no loner bare just watching her from the crowd. He wants y/n near, closer.

He proposes the idea of backstage passes, adding heavier security to keep things safer for everyone. iii is always the one doing most of the talking with fans while the other bandmates participate in taking photos. It isn't until the second to last fan leaves that Vessel's efforts finally paid off.

There she is, smile so bright, it's blinding. He's the first to approach her, hands clasp together in thanks as he nods his head to her.

"Oh my gosh, Hi! Uh- hello! I'm a huge fan. I hate that I haven't discovered you guys sooner. Your music is amazing, I love what you guys do! I try to come to every show to gather in worship with you all!" She geeks, rambling nervously.

Vessel watches her, his heart light & full of joy. He chuckles, "Yes. I've noticed."

Silence.

His bandmates are surprised, but y/n looks as if she's about to faint. Vessel doesn't speak directly, nor indirectly to the fans. Its apart of his persona as 'Vessel'. Nevertheless, why did he speak to her out of all the fans he's encountered today?

"Y-Y-You have?" She gulps, stammering over her words.

He smiles, taking the pen and notepad from her hands. "Yeah. It's hard to forget a smile as bright as your own." He said, writing his autograph as well as a little note only meant for her eyes.

The others share a look from behind their mask, walking up to the two. iii grins, giving y/n a side hug while signing the next page. ii and iv following suit while iii does most of the talking. Vessel stays near, a smile tugging at his lips. The sparking joy in her eyes makes his heart leap.

Y/N turns back to Vessel, a blush growing on her cheeks. She's gotten a picture with all the other members, except him. "U-Uh...can- I mean, may I have a picture?" She didn't forget the compliment made about her smile.

He nods, moving to stand next to her and places his hands together. He keeps a good distance, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Once the picture is taken, Y/N gives her thanks that turns into rambles again. Noticing this, Adam comes over to inform y/n that time is up.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I know you guys must be exhausted. Thank you...so much!" She smiles, about to turn away.

Vessel stops her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She turns to look at him, eyes wide. "I'll... see you at our next show, right?"

Y/N still isn't used to Vessel talking so freely like this - she'll never be. With a quick nod, she says, "Well, duh! Front row, too!"

He laughs, her enthusiasm contagious. "Looking forward to it." He hums, waving as she leaves.

iii is the first to speak up, "mate, what the hell was that?"

Vessel turns to them, shrugging with a grin. "She waited all that time to meet us. Wanted to give her something worthwhile."

ii nods, understanding his reasoning - but that grin of his tells a different story. "Right... but be careful. Some fans can be pretty -"

"Yeah, yeah." Vessel waves him off, still feeling giddy from finally being able to properly meet you, talk to you.

iv grins, putting two and two together but stays quiet. He, to, has noticed your familiar face in the crowd of their shows. He knows true devotion when he sees it. This goes beyond loyalty. This runs deeper. Whatever Vessel is planning, he's sure it's for the betterment of her as well as himself.

Y/N makes it home, heart full of happiness. She rushes to her room to share her time with yet the same guy mentioned before - the one who knows her better than she knows herself. However, he wasn't amused. He showed no signs in wanting to share her joy. He does that, showing no enthusiasm when it comes to anything he doesn't like - Sleep Token being on that list.

With each passing text, her excitement & joy die down - turning stolis. Wish a heavy sigh, she places her phone down, curling up in bed. She should cut ties with him. They have no future together, so why hold on to hopeless love?

Time.

So much time has been invested into this person. Starting over is out of the question. Going through opening up, being vulnerable to another potential partner isn't a option. Y/N doesn't want to risk having to bare yet another broken heart.

She holds her notepad close to her chest before opening it, smiling sadly at their signatures- until looking at Vessel's. Her eyes nearly bug out of her sockets. She traces her fingers over the writing in complete shock.

".....why would he...me? Of all people.." she questions while staring at the phone number written under his name.

"It's a joke...has to be..."

But Vessel wouldn't joke about this. He wouldn't joke about the risk of exposing his identity. Though a leak did take place, it didn't blow completely out of proportion. However, the Sleep Token members did have to go radio silent until the mess died down.

.....so why would Vessel risk it happening again?

Being skeptical, y/n grabs her phone - putting the number in before shooting a text. "This isn't a real number. As if he'd - "

Her breath is caught in her throat at the immediate reply.

"How long were you going to keep me waiting?"

"....there's no way I'm texting THE Vessel from Sleep token."

[Image attached] "Believe me now?"

"AAAAHHHHHOUVVY8C8RX7RXT- NO WAY!"

Vessel sent an image of himself in their tour van still dressed in his costume, about to prepare for bed. Y/N's head is reeling. This can't be real. It has to be a dream - a sick twisted dream. She gulps, grabbing her phone and gathering courage to read his replies.

"💀"

"I didn't scare you off, did I?"

"Come back, love. I promise I don't bite."

"This is a dream. This whole day is a DREAM! THIS CONVERSATION ISN'T REAL!"

"Its not-"

"IT IS!"

"Love, breathe. This is real. I'm real."

"Ok...ok, I'm breathing, but..why? Why text me? Why even give me, a fan, your number? For all you know, I could leak this and cause from really bad damage."

"Are you?"

"Of course not! I'm just making a part here!"

"I see...well, it's alright. This is a burner phone anyways😊"

"I-"

"🤓 I'm smart enough to know how to cover my tracks."

"Oh? So this isn't the first time you've done this?"

"No love, you're the only one.😇"

"Don't believe you.😕"

"Would looking through my phone help defend my case?"

"Hm...maybe-"

"🚩🚩"

"Haha, very funny. Fucking hilarious🙄"

"🤣 jk jk. But it's late, you should rest."

"Not really sleepy🤷🏾"

"Really? You seemed pretty exhausted to me. Want to discuss what's keeping you up?"

Should she tell him? That's considered trauma dumping- right? Besides, they hardly know each other. She wouldn't want to waste a once in a lifetime moment by chasing him away. So with a heavy sigh, she replies -

"No, no, I'm ok! I'm sure you're far more drained! You were a ball of energy on stage today. You and the others deserve much needed rest! I'll leave you be now, bye!"

And with that, she turns her phone off, to anxiety driven to dare leave him on open. She wouldn't get much sleep that night, still in disbelief of what took place. Nothing about her is that special, so it's hard to believe when he said she's the only one. Maybe looking through his phone will give her a moment of clarity.

Vessel, on the other hand, has the biggest smile on his face. "Damn, she ran away."

iii looks over, taking off his mask. "Who?"

"...bloody hell I didn't ask for her name." Vessel huffs, tossing his burner phone aside as he prepares for a quick, much needed shower.

iv raises a brow, "That girl from earlier? You gave her your number?"

Vessel smiles, looking at his bandmates. "Maaaaaaybe?" Before they can question him further, he dashes away to the bathroom.

Though, after his shower, he's faced heavy interrogation. ii & iii let up only a bit after being told it's a burner phone number. , however, r is still suspicious. Why is his friend being so friendly with a random fan? What about her makes her importance?

It's the next morning, You didn't get any rest. How can you? You're still questioning if last night was a dream, so you grab your phone - turning it on. Her heart thumps as her cheeks grow red.

"Wait, you don't have to share if you don't want to."

"I apologize for intruding."

"Rest well."

"Good morning, love."

"What's with the nickname?"

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"My bad, good morning. What's up with the nickname?😐"

"If I say it's a British thing, would you buy it?"

"No.😐😑😐😑"

"🤣 I don't know your name."

You sigh heavily, pitching the bridge of your nose. Why are you being so rude? Maybe because of the little sleep you got, thanks to a certain someone.

"Oh... right, it's Y/N"

Vessel smiles at her message, finding her feisty & sarcastic messages to be amusing. He hopes he gets to experience this side of her in person. He wants to witness all sides of what makes her - her.

"Pretty name, love. I gtg- just made it to our next stop. I'm looking forward to seeing you gather with us in worship🙏🏻"

You don't reply, needing to get ready to see them again, front row. She's eager to see them perform again. However, her mood is quickly soured by a message from him.

"Another dry text...if he doesn't want to talk.. he should say that.."

She gulps, debating on replying or not. How does one reply to an 'ok' text? So with a heavy heart, she leaves him on open - something she's never done in all the time she's known him. Whenever their conversations run randomly dry, she would send memes or funny videos in hopes it'll start a conversation- but it never does.

A few days before the concert, he tried sexting her, but she wasn't in the mood. It happens sometimes, and normally, he'll bounce back and understand. But this time feels different, like he placed a wall up all because she wasn't in the mode. Maybe leaving him on read will make him see how hurt she is.

Once ready, she drives two hours to the next town - booking her hotel. She gets there hours before the show starts, watching the team continue their set ups. There's only a handful of people there, most still at work since it is a weekday. She doesn't notice that Vessel is watching her from backstage.

Immediately, he knows something is off. The sparkling light in her eyes dimmed. He raises a brow at you, continuing to check your phone only for your eyes to dim even more. She's sad, and he's eager to know what or who is causing it. He just wants to see her smile again.

His bandmates notice his stare, their eyes locking onto you. "Mate, you look like a lost puppy dog," iii snickers.

"She looks sad..." Ves said, pouting.

"Obviously," ii points out.

iv sighs, turning up his guitar. "Then let's do what we do best." He nods.

And they did, performing for the crowd while Vessel performed for her. He can't help the smile that grows from seeing your own. It truly brings a joy that he can't comprehend.

The show went on without a hitch, the crowd cheering with gratitude as Vessel bows. He moves in front of you, bending to one knee with his hands clasp together in thanks. He stays in that position for a few seconds before raising his head, catching sight of your breath taking - dazzling smile.

The view almost makes him break character. He stands, giving the crowd one last bow before leaving the stage - sparing you one last glance before disappearing behind the curtains. A sigh of triumph leaves his lips as he sits down, his crew gathering around and packing things up.

"Her smile is pretty bright." iv admits.

"Did you hear the way she screamed at me? That girl knows how to play the bit." iii grins.

- The classic "ARE YOU IN PAIN LIKE I AM?! -

- iii "I don't think so" -

Vessel opens his mouth to reply, but he hears a 'ding' come from his burner phone that's laid on a table behind him. He picks it up, face lighting up under his mask at the sight of your name on his screen.

"Be careful now, Bowing and smiling at me like that. Wouldn't want word spreading of you having favorites🤭"

"A message from your sunshine already?" iii grins, looking over his shoulder.

Vessel reaches back, placing his hand on his face to push him back playful. "For my eyes only, mate." He chuckles, shooting a reply.

"I have to display my gratitude for your loyalty towards us."

Vessel almost slipped up and said 'towards me,' but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

She smiles, now in her hotel room. She takes a quick shower and settles for bed before replying to him.

"Well, regardless, you guys have made my days a lot more brighter. I wish I had discovered you guys sooner. 🥺"

Vessel didn't reply right away. He took a shower and made his way to the let out bed within their tour van. When comfortable, he opens your message, smiling. But he remembers that distance look in your eyes, a look of hurt shadowed by her forced smile. Something happened. He's eager to know what or who caused you pain, but again, he doesn't want to overstep.

"Thank you, love, but I have to ask. Is everything alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seemed...off. I don't know you well, but I know pain when I see it. If you want to share....I wouldn't be opposed to listening."

You feel a bit...blindsided. You're known for being able to mask your pain very well. Its apart of your 'tough girl' act after all. You two don't know each other personally, but for him to see right through you is astonishing. Only one person has been able to do that....and he hasn't sent a text just to check in. Vessel gave her the opportunity to open up, but her instinct is to reject it automatically.

"Nothing is wrong, but thank you for asking! I'm just a bit jet lagged from driving most of the day. Well, it's getting late, and you have a show to do so rest up! Goodnight🤗"

She places her phone down with a heavy heart, curling up in her bed as she sighs. It's ironic how the one that checked in on her isn't the guy she was hoping to do that.

Vessel, too, places his phone down - heart oddly tight. He isn't sure why he has such a longing attraction towards you, but he's eager to know more about you - and to witness more of your blinding smile.

•

•

•

•

°

°

°

°

A week turns into a month and a month into a year. Vessel & you have gotten closer. You also have gotten to know the other bandmates quite well. iii is a ball of energy that's always ready to start some shenanigans. ii and iv are more mellow but hold great conversation.

Then there's Vessel. You don't want to admit it, but you found yourself beginning to develop feelings for him. His laugh, silly jokes, and his smile brightens your day. The way he comforts you and is able to tell when you aren't in the best of moods sets your heart ablaze.

Unfortunately, you live in the United States and him in the United Kingdom. Most interactions are done over the phone or video chat. It isn't until you obtain a visa to live in the United Kingdom for a whole year that you've gained more time to spend with them.

But once again, your attention is focused elsewhere. It didn't take Vessel and the others to realize that your attention seems to be stuck on a man you can't seem to let go of. They've tried to get you to open up about him, but you'll brush them off - saying over and over that it's no big deal.

It was only a matter of time before Vessel lost his patience with you. He would've waited, for as long as it took, but the end of your visa is nearing - and the thought of you running into the arms of another man pushed him over the edge. He's longed acknowledged his feelings towards you. He would show his affection discreetly and make jokes on what it'll be like if you two were together. He just wishes you'd give him a chance.

Though you two are on a silent treatment, that didn't stop him from allowing you to attend band practice for their upcoming UK tour. But just like every other band practice, your face is in your phone - tears would sometimes build in your eyes until you look up and force a smile to push the tears back down. The lump in your throat would continue to fill until you rush home and cry yourself to sleep.

And here you are, repeating the cycle. This guy has yet to check in to see if you're well after you left him on open for the second time. Once again, his dry replies leave your heart aching. Two nights before, he was trying to engage in sexting with you once more, and you turned him down. You weren't in the mood. All you wanted was conversation, but he wouldn't give you that.

For the first time in the many years you've known him, you feel used - tossed away when you didn't give him what he wanted. It hurts. The pain makes your heart burn and fill with agonizing loneliness that's too much for you to bare. A lone tear slips from your eyes, bringing an abrupt halt to Sleep Token's band practice.

"Who do I need to go fuck up aye?" iii huffs angrily, stretching his long limbs.

"Huh?" You question, not realizing a tear fell from your eye.

"You're crying..." ii points out with iv joining your side.

You force a tight smile, waving them off as you set your phone down. "I'm fine, you guys! I-I just uh...saw a sad video on snapchat, that's all! Keep playing. You guys are doing amazing!" You cheer, not fooling anyone.

The band shares a look of worry, Ves finally speaking up. "Let's take a break. Why don't you guys go grab pizza? I'll set up Elden Ring."

The three picked up what Vessel is putting down. He wants to be alone with you. iii grins, nodding his head as his long legs take him out of the room. ii & iv follow behind.

"Oh wait I'll go with-"

"Nah, we're good! Can't leave Ves alone for too long, or he'll 'accidentally' break or get stuck in something." iii snickers, further pushing the theory of Vessel being a cat at heart.

"Fuck off!" He laughs, shooing them away.

The moment they're gone, the tension rises instantly - becoming too suffocating. Vessel looks as calm as he can be while setting up the game, while you look stressed & bothered. You take in a deep breath, glancing down at your phone to still see no messages from the man you're still trying to hold onto.

She releases a shakey sigh, the lump in her throat building. This isn't fair. She invested so much of her time, so much of her heart into this person. Why is he suddenly treating you this this? It hurts. It hurts it -

"It hurts." You say aloud, drawing Vessel's attention.

"What hurts love?" He asked, moving to sit cross leg on the ground in front of the tv - his back turned to her.

"My heart...it hurts. I put so much time into him. Time I can't get back! It isn't fair! I don't give him what he wants, and he just tosses me to the side?! He had never been like this before! I-I just..." her throat closes in, her eyes beginning to build with tears.

Ves keeps his eyes trained on the screen, trying to defeat a boss. "Keep going, I'm listening." He said calmly, wanting you to get it all out. He wants you to finally open yourself up to him. He's been aching to cross this line with you.

She bites her lip, shaking her head as she sniffles. The thought of having to start over, be vulnerable again to someone else, is far too scary. She can't. She won't. She swallows the lump with force, blinking her tears away. You can't handle being rejected anymore.

So you smile, a smile Vessel has grown to hate. A smile used to mask your pain while your eyes screamed for mercy. He's not your hero, nor is he a savior - but he's willing to do what he can to fill your world back up with the joy you deserve.

"No..N-No it's nothing. I'm fine."

Hearing that, he pauses the game, standing to his feet. He turns to you, walking towards you. You raise a brow, reminded of the height difference between you two as he gets closer. You take a few steps backward, feeling the atmosphere shift to something... you're unfamiliar with but not apposed to.

"Whoa- what are you -"

He places his hands on your shoulders, carefully pushing you against the wall. You're not given a chance to process what's happening. His lips now press against your own. Your eyes widen, body frozen in shock - but you don't push him away. Vessel moves closer, one hand moving to your waist and the other to her cheek - making you tilt your head to kiss him back.

This...isn't anything you've experienced before. His hands are rough, yet his touch is so light, feathery. He pulls you even closer, body pressing against your own. He deepens the kiss, hoping to convey his feelings through this - praying they finally reach you.

You feel yourself melt against him, closing your eyes as you kiss him back - the shock fading. You fall deep into his tenderness, his touch so serene. Most men are forceful when it comes to their advances towards you. You thought that's how it's supposed to be. You weren't shown the rights and wrongs of dating. Therefore, you experienced so much hurt - feeling pressured to please your partners until you can't take it anymore.

Never once have you had a man touch you as if you were the finest glass - a man holding you so gently as if you were a porcelain doll. This....is all so new. A lone tear slips your eye, your heart exploding with so many buried wounds and fragments kept deep inside - too scared to face, but Vessel brought them out with a simple kiss.

He pulls away, chuckling at her daze expression. He moves his thumb over her eyelashes, drying her tear away. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. A part of her feels light, calm - but the other is hurting, trying to twist this intimate moment into something it's not.

"Why?" Y/N question as he pulls further away. "Why did you do that?"

"I've been pining for you since the moment I saw your beautiful smile. That smile sparked something in me. The joy in your eyes made me smile. I wanted to know more about you, see more of you, and get to know you." He sighs, shaking his head. "But you continued to turn me away, your foucs stuck on someone who doesn't deserve your fragile - clement heart."

Vessel steps back, moving to sit back down on the ground - resuming his game. He figures you'd need a moment to process his words, and you did. However, that other part of you is polluting your thoughts - telling you he's feeding you lies. No man can show such genuine emotion without hinting at a ulterior motive.

"Stop...stop lying to me, Ves. Don't feed me false hope!"

"What reason would I have to lie?" He questions, not turning away from the screen. "I risked so much just to have you this close to me. iv could've been right. I could've ruined this band by being so open and willing to let you into our world, my world. You could've exposed so much of us, but you dudnt. And that...that made me fall more for you, love." He pauses the game, turning around to look at her but doesn't leave his spot on the ground. "All I want in return...is for you to trust me. Trust me with your heart Y/N. Open yourself to m-"

"I can't!" Y/N shout, the tears breaking way - your sobs racking through your body. "I just can't! I can't start over! It hurts too much! I've been hurt... so many times, Vessel. If I open up and get left again.. I-I don't think I'll be able to handle another heartbreak. Please just let me g-"

"I gave you a taste of what you deserve. Are you willing to give up so easily? I, too, have been hurt. I take what I've learned from that pain, heal, and continue with my life. Yes, it gets hard. Yes, some days are worse than others , but I push through. I push through in order to gain what I know I deserve. My love, you can do the same. Until you're able to, just lean on me."

His words only make her sob harder. He opens his arms, a smile on his lips. Her body moves on its own, moving onto his lap and allowing him to hold you as you cry onto him - opening up about everything.

"We're only human, love. We're flawed creatures. We aren't meant to be strong all the time. You should've never been placed in those positions you were forced into. You deserve to be pampered, loved, and cared for. You aren't an object for men's pleasure. You're a woman who desires love. Nothing is wrong with that."

You nod, leaning your head up to look at him. "I'm sorry..." Y/N whisper.

"What for?"

"That stupid argument, undermining your feelings, and just overall being so mean to you at times. You dont deserve that...gosh, I'm such a mess." You laugh, smiling sadly.

He smiles, bringing his hands up to dry her tears. "It's alright, I apologize for snapping at you. I just... couldn't take the thought of you leaving and returning to that...fucking jerk."

You giggle, his pout making your smile brighten. "You were jealous?"

"Yes! Your face would sometimes be in that phone, wanting for that idiot to reply to you with something meaningful! Bloody hell, I almost snatched your phone so many times." He grumbles.

You lean forward, pecking his lips. "I'm sorry. I'll block him...for real this time. It's time to let go...."

Vessel stares down at her, her smile making his heart skip and eyes fill with so much adoration towards her. "Be mine."

Your heart skips, but your happiness dies down as quickly as it comes. "I want to...I want to give you a chance, but I have to leave to the US. You have another tour coming up. I don't think -"

"No. I'll make it work. We'll make it work. I've waited so long for you, and I won't let you slip through my fingers. Not anymore."

He captures your lips again. This kiss filled with passion yet holds so much gentleness. Both melt into the other, their feelings finally reaching the one another. Vessel's patience and understanding have truly paid off. You will work on yourself. You will work to become the best version of yourself, not only for yourself - but for Vessel too. The both of you deserve happiness and a life full of love.

"Ahem." iii clears his throat, a cheeky grin on his face. "Ooolala! Did we interrupt a precious moment? ii you got that on video, right?"

"Yup." He said, still holding up his phone.

iv holds his hands up, displaying he has no part in their antics. Vessel huffs, gently moving you off his lap. He pecks your forehead before charging at iii, chasing him around the room - eventually wrestling him. ii would join in, feeling iii out numbered, but Ves doesn't back down.

You laugh at their shenanigans, iv moving next to you to watch as well. "I should apologize."

"For?" You question him with a smile.

"For misjudging you. He's been happier ever since encountering you. You have my thanks." He nods.

Your smile widens, heart swelling with no much joy you can barely take it. She can't remember the last time she's felt this light. "No, no, I understand. Some fans are just badshit crazy. You're just looking out for your friend."

Ves gives up, walking back over to you and lays his head on your shoulder. "Fuckers." He grumbles, hearing them laugh and tease the two of you.

You giggle, kissing his cheek. "I'm sure a bit of food will fix you right up."

He beams, making a dash into the kitchen. He knows if iii gets his hand on the food first - he'll swallow everything whole. Soon, everyone is sitting at the table, talking about the upcoming tour and your departure from them until your visa is renewed.

Though you'll miss them terribly, you'll be leaving on such a high. Having made friends with her favorite band and opening yourself to Vessel has been the highlight of your life.

Every day will now appear far more brighter, thanks to that illuminating smile of yours that started it all.

《 I just want to put a disclaimer. Though I love Sleep token, I'm not some crazed fan that ships myself nor write fanfics or sumt of the members on a daily Occurrence. (No shame to the ones that do. That's just not my cup of tea) I was going through a rough patch of loneliness and decided to watch live shows of them on YouTube to help ease that pain. I ended up falling asleep by doing so - hence the dream I had. Only the second part is my dream. The first half is just a story building.

《 Thank you all that read this, and I hope it helps any lonly girlies out there that are turn to Sleep Token for comfort.

《 Likes and repost are very much appreciated. Much love to you all! 🫶🏾❤️🖤🩶🤍

[irisbleufic]

Of all the current Devil’s Minion writers your playlist is the one I want to see. Do you have one? If not, are there particular songs you’ve been listening into to while you write? The vibe of your prose with them is hypnotizing like the short story about them in the books, it’s impressive, and does your music also inform this choice if at all?

Intense question, anon. Fourteen-year-old me fucking hyperventilated after reading the DM chapter in Queen of the Damned (me, on the floor of my bedroom at 3am because I don’t want to get caught reading this book, staring dazed at the ceiling; me, now, three weeks ago, sitting shellshocked on the sofa after watching S1 and S2 over two days as a binge; me, over two of those weeks following the binge, rereading the first half of the Chronicles and starting to see double, tilt the prism, see what happens when the narratives are overlaid and blurred), and it still feels like that. Likely my prose turning out the way it is in these stories is about 90% my giddy teenage self having access to my adult self’s writing experience to finally write this beloved pairing without fear of litigious letters (IYKYK, my fellow elder Millennials in the fandom). I don’t often love film and TV adaptations of my favorite books, but I adore this show. It’s flawlessly transformative; its improvements only make the resonances and overlaps that much more meaningful. No notes.

However, I have been listening to the same small handful of songs on repeat for 6 days as I write these pieces. I imagine they are affecting my sense of scansion at points; my writing life didn’t begin with fiction, it began with years of poetry before I ever tried prose. These tracks are as meaningful to me as poems as they are songs. It’s as good a starting point for a playlist as any; I’ll keep adding and put it together on Spotify at some point.

1. Vesuvius - Sufjan Stevens

Vesuvius, I am here

You are all I have

Fire of fire, I'm insecure

for it is all been made to plan

Though I know I will fail

I cannot be made to laugh

for in life as in death

I'd rather be burned

than be living in debt

This song was my entire first 72 hours of writing. I’m that Autistic weirdo who will listen to a single song on repeat for a month and think nothing of it. Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii being the nexus point of their love story from beginning to end in QotD, this is everything to me; I was never going to be able to write about the show incarnation of them without integrating this location and this imagery in the most reverent love letter I know how. This is why my series title for these stories is Caldera. Volcanic crater blowout if ever I saw one; I ran with it.

2. I Forget Where We Were - Ben Howard

Hello love, my invincible friend; hello, love, the thistle and the burr. For you, I have so many words—and I, I forget where we were. I haven’t known this song for all that long in the grand scheme, but it found me via Spotify shuffle in 2022 right after something awful happened. The longing in this song hinges on one of the lovers in it waking up to something they’ve forgotten about their relationship, something precious, and I’m thrilled to finally have a fandom application for it.

3. Make You Better - The Decemberists

I sung you your twinges

I suffered you your tattle-tales

and when you broke sideways

I wanted you, I needed you, oh

to make me better

Oh, to make me better

But we're not so starry-eyed anymore

like the perfect paramour you were in your letters

And won't it all just come around to make you

let it all un-break you to the day that you met her

No excuse for this one; it does a great job of speaking for itself. Front-man Colin Meloy is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and his work is frequently dark, creepy, and/or gothic enough in flavor that I could find a few more.

4. Song to the Siren - Elisabeth Fraser & This Mortal Coil

On the floating shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

till your singing eyes and fingers

drew me loving to your isle

and you sang, “Sail to me,

sail to me, let me enfold you—

here I am, here I am,

waiting to hold you.”

This cover of Tim Buckley’s folk masterpiece completely transforms the vibe of the song, and in the kind of way you need for this pairing. This one is at responsible for the events and imagery in my “Still Life with Sunken Treasure.”

5. Hal - Yasmine Hamdan, Only Lovers Left Alive OST

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اطلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي شرّفي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وطلعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتريحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتلحلحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وسمعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتفرفشي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي قربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

فرشنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اقلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتجرأي

لأ مش ممكن

شلحنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتغندريله

يا حبيبتي اتذوقيله

افهمي يا سيدي مش قادرة

وطبعا تقنعني مش واخدة

ايه يا عزيزة؟

ايه اللي إنتي عملاه ده؟

يا يا يا راجل يا هوه!

مش عيب عليك اختشي ونو

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اخلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتشخلعي

لأ مش ممكن

يا خيبتي يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتبغددي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي جربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وجينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

جينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

I don’t think the Arabic justified to the correct side when I copied this, but the translation is very easy to find. I don’t speak Arabic, but honestly the English translation is dull compared to the beauty of this language. If you haven’t watched Only Lovers Left Alive, what the hell are you even doing with your vampire-loving, monster-fucking life? All the tracks on it have the right vibe for DM, really.

[disventure-rewrite-takes]

I just wanna live in a world where Tom is canonically autistic and his entire arc in All Stars would have been to learn that yes, you can unmask and some people will still like you for who you are. Maybe he did work on himself after season 1, maybe he got a diagnosis as an adult after feeling weird and out of place his entire life. It would have been fun to see him unmask, both literally and metaphorically. I don't know if I would have made him a cop tho, but that's on me. I think he would do much more good as a park ranger or something. He always loved nature, but befriending Gabby is what made him realize his true potential. Tree huggers besties for the win

I think it would have been lovely to see an autistic adult connecting with others despise his inner struggles and showing his strenghts (making plans, great memory, a natural leader, literal body strenght) as much as flaws (scared to show his real emotions, overstimulation, clumsiness and not fully understanding social clues).

Of course Tom wouldn't have ghosted Jake for two years, but maybe he's been acting distant on text/video-calls for some time now. Oh boy if I hc him as scared af of Jake discovering his real self. He's so convinced that Jake fell in love with his "normal" version and now whatever he actually is now- is not worthy of his love. Or maybe he thinks that Jake would treat him differently if he discovered his diagnosis. I could see Tom trying to mask too much around him, to the point that even Jake can tell he's hiding something from him. Maybe I would have kept the silly Jake/Tom/Aiden drama for two episodes, because Jake would have still jumped to the worst conclusion first. But James isn't booted first for this reason, dear god. Jake would grow suspicious of Aiden after some time, because Tom doesn't bound with Aiden THAT fast to the point of being an enemy in Jake's eyes in a single day. Let some episodes pass, let this drama being a background issue in the big schemes of things, until Jake sees Aiden and Tom holding hands and cuddling or something from afar. It does look very suspicious when your maybe-boyfriend-maybe-not acts weird around you and gets intimate with someone else. Now that's when Jake acts like he did in the original series, let's say around the musical episode. Tom and Aiden do NOT kiss on stage, anyway. But he gets reminded of what he saw in the woods earlier and that memory haunts him. But you know what? Jake decides to do better than his past self and tries to confront Aiden, first. He can't stand traitors, but since Tom keeps avoiding him, what else is there to do? Aiden, of course, acts like a mature person and doesn't out Tom to Jake directly. But he does says that what Jake saw earlier was Tom feeling so overwealmed that he couldn't even breath properly and he needed someone to calm him down. He tells Jake that Tom is scared of being treated like a big baby and doesn't want to show that to anyone else- besides himself. Why is that? Aiden says that he "gets it". He could be neurodivergent himself, or maybe James is or maybe he's got a close relative or friend who is. He just gets it, but Jake doesn't get what "it" is.

AIDEN: "Why don't you ask him for yourself?"

JAKE: "TSK! As if, he keeps avoiding me and acts like a weirdo whenever I want to talk"

AIDEN: "Then don't. Be there for him without talking. You'd be surprised how much that helps him"

Aand that's how this silly drama ends and Tom and Jake finally sort things out and you get to see their relationship blossom again. If Aiden-Tom-Jake make it to the merge, they'd be a cool alliance until something happens and one of them gets eventually voted out.

THIS IS SO GOOD???? HELLO this ask single-handedly make me like tomjake like. 2% like it. that is CRAZY the power that you hold

i think this would be even better if aiden himself (or james as you said) was also autistic, and yk what, pairing this with some other anons that have said this, make jake also have BPD and that makes tomjake bond even more. they're a gay4gay nd4nd couple and i feel like that would be such a better exploration of their relationship and characters than the utter bullshit we got

this is genuinely one of my favorite asks i have ever gotten on this page. thank you so much for this

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AMITA for lying to everyone I know about my identity’s as a queer/neurodivergent person?

I (18M) am a bisexual, transgender man who is also autistic, ADHD, and OCD. When people hear this about me, even if they know me, I feel like they build up this image of me as an awkward, “cringy” 11 year old who’s obsessed with “cringy” fandoms. And while i have a qualm with this because I know they are looking down on people who are just less masked/higher support needs, I also dislike that they do this because it’s just not who I am. Without the labels, I mostly seem like just a normal dude, if not a bit nerdy.

I also used to be extremely bullied as a kid (7-12) to the point of a suicide attempt, mostly due to homophobic, transphobic, or ablest remarks about me. Since then I’ve completely changed community’s and do not talk to anyone i knew before high school.

When authority figures (Teachers, Show Directors, Investors of the teen programs I lead) apply ablest/transphobic stereotypes or prejudices to me, they also tend to be less,,, normal? around me. Less kind compared to other kids, call me an “inspiration”, or they’ll coddle me when I’m incredibly capable. I do a lot for someone my age- and I know the connections I make now at conferences and whatnot will help me in the long run. My dad’s family is poor, and my immediate family is more comfortable but not that much. I know I’m smart, and I can weaponize that to get a better life for my family by getting good scholarships and jobs in good fields. I can’t just let people who could be very important to my goals look down on me. So i just.. don’t tell them anything about me. They might assume Im odd or “not normal”, and for the most part I let them assume whatever, but if i’m ever asked directly about anything I deny it. Especially in relation to me being transgender; I have the very privileged ability to pass without any medical intervention, and I use that to pretend to be cisgender. Living in the deep south of USAmerica, most of who I am could make my social life very uncomfortable to downright miserable.

Here’s where the problem starts happening. when my social and (what i consider to be a) “professional” life occasionally touch, I wouldn’t be able to be out everywhere socially without someone I don’t want knowing finding out. So i don’t tell any of my classmates/friends/peers about any of my identities either. I hang out with queer and straight people, never be actively homophobic/ablest, and will be very vague about the two questions i’ve ever received about any of that stuff. It’s very, very exhausting to pretend all the time, every day, especially pretending that I’m cisgender because it’s a tricky game, but I can’t really back down and I’m afraid that I might get bullied again if I was ever open about it with classmates.

A few months ago, I was dating this guy, who i’ll call Kai (17M) Kai is also a transgender man, but does not pass at all and is comfortable with it. He’ll get shit sometimes, but also has essentially no straight friends. I told him I was queer when we became good friends, and then told him I was trans after we started dating. I also told him why I lie about being cishet or neurotypical, and while he didn’t seem happy he didn’t push it at first. I told him that I understood if he didn’t want to be in a secret relationship, but because of where we live and what I want to do I wasn’t comfortable with being out again. He said he still wanted to date me, and claimed he would support me, and we had a pretty good relationship overall.

A month after that, he started bringing it up again. He told me that I was more than my identity, and if people didn’t see me for who I am instead of stereotypes, it isn’t worth talking to them at all. And while I agree with the sentiment, it’d never be possible to just not hear someone if they were harassing me, and while I truely dislike a lot of the authority figures that I engage with, they are in the professional fields I’m interested in, and I’m incredibly lucky for getting where I am so early. Kai also said that since I am well known in our very small school (only 300 kids), being out could be a positive influence on what people think about autistic people or trans people. In a particularly heated fight, he even said I was doing a disservice or betrayal to my community by not representing or being proud of being apart of them publicly.

We broke up pretty soon after, but I think about what he said a lot. I know that I wouldn’t be the only out person at my school, and that my school is actually a lot better compared to most local schools, which are a lot larger and… dramatic, but I just don’t think I could be out without going back to how I used to be mentally. And Kai was right about how I could be a good influence on some of the meaner classmates- I do think some of my peers who I ingenuinely connect with might reconsider their prejudices if they knew I was transgender.

I’m intentionally choosing not to take the opportunity to do better. It wouldn’t ruin ALL my relationships with the authority figures I consider to be important holding, since it would just be my school, It might dampen one or two of them. Plus, I’m lying to pretty much everyone who knows me. They build relationships with a false idea of me, and I feel like an asshole sometimes because I’m not honest.

TLDR: I’m a transgender, autistic guy in a very bigoted community. Everybody thinks i’m cishet and neurotypical. AMITA for not being proud of who I am because of potential social losses, and AMITA for lying to people and giving friends/peers false ideas about who I am even if they would not be friends with me if they knew?

What are these acronyms?

[butterflyscribbles]

So I haven’t talked nearly enough about Mutant Mayhem yet but I saw it for the second time a few days ago and they have consumed all my thoughts have some random headcanons I’m dying I have to talk about them more:

⚠️(Spoiler warning for MM as well)⚠️

April

- Lives with her mom and grandfather on her mother’s side. Raised by a single mom who’s a veterinarian and her grandpa, a retired tailor and clothing retail manager, moved in after her grandma passed away a few years ago.

- Listens to way too many murder mystery podcasts and thrillers are her favorite movie genre

- Practices doodling a lot in the sides of her journal or class notes. She’s inspired by courtroom sketch artists and old biology journals.

- Swears like a sailor. Even more than Raph. Tries to censor herself around them but it only gets worse the closer they become as friends

- Becomes a sort of ambassador for the turtles and other mutants in the city. Anyone who doesn’t approve of them, goes through her…

- Favorite subject is biology, outside of working on the school newspaper of course

Leo

- Big time book worm. Has read a lot of the classics like The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, etc. which gives him an advantage heading into high school. His favorite subject is literature naturally as a result.

- Autistic, practically canon but just putting it out there

- Like April, he’s got a sensitive stomach under pressure. Nausea flares up all the time, especially at the sight or smell of blood. They bond over it. Nothing brings two people together like commiserating that your tummy hurts all the time🤝

- Hopeless romantic. Had fallen head over heels for a few other girls he spotted up top even before April came along. She was just…different. He watches a lot of sappy romance movies too they make him feel all warm and fuzzy.

- Love language is words of affirmation big time. He’s always about hyping up the people he loves and will defend them through anything.

Raph

- He’s the team medic in this iteration. He’s no professional but growing up he had so many injuries from being a scrappy lil dude that he picked up on how to take care of ‘em on his own and of course shares that knowledge with his bros and April later. He’s surprisingly gentle when he needs to be.

- He’s the most prone to nightmares/night terrors. The fact that Raph was the one to go seek comfort from Splinter in the tots scene is so important to me.

- He and Donnie are the anime enthusiasts. Hasn’t seen as many as Donnie but it’s close.

- Scratching his shell gently, especially up by the shoulder blades, is like an automatic snooze button. He passes out within minutes.

- Second biggest crybaby to Mikey. It happens when he feels any emotion too strongly whether it’s happiness, anger, sadness, etc. and he hates it. Makes him feel weak, which is why there usually is a lot of punching involved too.

Donnie

- Can’t swim and is the only one who actively dislikes getting into the water.

- He and Leo have been studying how to speak and write Japanese together for years. Don has picked up a lot from all the anime he watches.

- Is the most emotionally open version of Donnie to date. He’s always telling his family how much he loves them without restraint and is the first to ask what’s wrong if he picks up on someone acting weird or trying to hide something.

- To compliment the above hc, he’s insanely observational, like Sherlock level. They don’t know how he’s able to do it but his attention to detail and his ability to take that and create plans and get a read on people is baffling. If Donnie doesn’t get a good vibe off someone, believe him and run the other way. (Makes him really good at those spot the different puzzles too lol.)

- Loves to dance just like his previous incarnation before him:’) Bootyyyshaker9001

Mikey

- Is actually afraid of cats…growing up with Splinter, who would freak out at the sight of them, only taught him to freak out along with him. They are sharp and unpredictable.

- Other than that however he’s an animal lover. Had a few pet fish through the years that he saved after being flushed.

- Practically canon but the most physically affectionate by leagues. Constantly seeking a brother, adopted mutant family member, or an April to cling to.

- Super into musicals and is a actually a decent singer

- Can take a punch like nothing you’ve ever seen and can still be standing….but gets sick constantly his immune system is wack